I dare not run until I know which direction it’s coming from. I make two slow turns on the spot, but there are no eyes staring out at me from the bushes. I’m missing something. Something obvious. If it’s silenced the birds or caused them to disperse, that would suggest – What? That they are its prey? And if I’m being stalked by a thing that eats birds… I’m such a fool! I’m looking in the wrong direction. I lean back and stare directly up, just in time to see huge, furred pads with long, black claws reaching down for me, raking the air. The creature misses me and lands with a heavy thump on the forest earth. I tear off through the forest, the thin branches of young trees whipping my face, tearing at my skin. What the hell is it? I’m sure I saw muscular limbs in a golden furred body. A flying lion?

  It gives out a high-pitched caw. Nothing like a roar. I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of a giant bird’s head, screeching at me. With its hook nose and white plume, it can only be an eagle. What happened to the lion?

  Wait, I can hear the lion bounding through the wood behind me. There’s no mistaking the thrum of its paws as they hit the ground. A lion and a giant eagle? Hunting together? No, wait, they’re the same creature! It’s a—what’s it called?The name drops into my head. A creature from mythology.

  It’s a griffin. I’m being hunted by a griffin.

  I dart between the trees. I can’t outrun it, but if I can keep to the thickets and trees that are close together, then it won’t be able to get hold of me with its giant beak.

  It shrieks in frustration as it tries to hack through the denser foliage. Eventually it gives up and launches itself directly upwards, tearing through the canopy of trees, and beating the wind with its wings as it flies away. I don’t dare stop, but hurry home, my white knuckles still gripping both orange carrier bags.

  I rush into the clearing, which houses the old barn that connects to the back door of our house. The safety of my world and my house is a few steps away, when the griffin lands in front of me and screeches in my face. I freeze, staring up at its yellow beak. Both of its black pupils are fixed on mine. There’s nowhere to run.

  What will happen to mum when I’m gone? Discharged to a hostel. Destined to become one of those people talking to themselves on the high street. The type that everyone pretends they haven’t seen.

  The griffin is still staring down at me. What’s it waiting for? It keeps cocking its head from side to side, appraising me with its pale eyes. They’re a lighter yellow than its beak, but its pupils are jet black and focused intently on mine.

  Why hasn’t it attacked me?

  It takes a step back, its front and back legs moving in unison. Its body is huge, three times the size of the tatty lions I’ve seen at the zoo. It stretches out its enormous wings, easily twenty feet from tip to tip. It beats them, slapping me with air this generates, the it tucks its wings away and sits back on its haunches. It leans down, so I can see where its grey feathers become golden fur. Is it bowing to me? I have often wondered why it’s me, and seemingly only me, who can make any door open to this world. Does it think that I am its… what? Owner? Master?

  It tugs at one of the carrier bags with its long, hooked beak. Oh, it’s hungry! I’m clearly not as important as I thought I was. It just wants to eat. I slowly put the bags on the ground and poke through the one it was interested in. But what does it want? Probably not the wine. Ah, the two chicken breasts cellophaned to a tray. I slowly remove the packet from the carrier bag and tear through the cellophane with my fingers. This is harder than I thought, particularly when any sudden moves could cost me my hands. I hold one of the chicken breasts between my fingers. I’m about to toss it to the griffin, when the creature suddenly darts forward. Faster than I can follow, the chicken breast is gone and the griffin has tilted its head back to slide the meat down its throat.

  My heart is beating loudly in my chest, cold sweat trickles down my spine. I start to edge towards the barn, but the griffin pads quickly forward, blocking my way and indicates the packet with the other chicken breast in my hand. I hold it out and the griffin lunges for it, impatiently. This time I am ready and I hold it away. I toss the open packet with the chicken breast over to the other side of the little clearing. I have to dodge out of the way as the creature charges after it.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  I run to the barn door, grab the door handle, make a decision and open the door. The kitchen is in darkness. I slip inside, turn to quickly slam the door but hesitate. The creature is completely focused on the chicken breast, pinning the packet down with one of its mighty front claws and stabbing at it with its beak. It’s an extraordinary thing to witness. A single creature made from two: its body a lean, dark amber lion but then feathers coat its shoulders, from which its mighty wings sprout. A magical creature of legend driven by the same mundane urges as the rest of us.

  I’m so absorbed watching it, that I don’t register that it has finished the chicken. It turns to face me, blinks once and then hurtles towards me, screeching madly. I slam the door in its face and put my weight against it.

  It’s only then I realise that I’m not alone. Teresa is staring at me, a lighter in one hand, an unlit spliff in the other. Her eyes are wide with shock.

  ‘The fuck was that?’

  I’ve never shown anyone The Other Place. That’s not completely true. I did show a friend at the children’s home when I was eight, but he only wet his pants and screamed for so long they had to call an ambulance for him. But as an adult, I’ve always kept it a secret. I’ve never tried to talk about it; I wouldn’t know how.

  ‘What was what?’ I reply, lamely.

  The joint in Teresa’s hand is trembling. ‘That… thing. That animal…’

  ‘There’s no pets here. It’s a rule.’

  She grabs hold of me, pulls me out of the way. ‘It was daytime. How was it daytime?’

  She goes to open the door, but it’s locked. It was always locked. Whether the original door is locked or not makes no difference when I’m opening a doorway to The Other Place. It’s the doorway that matters, not the door itself.

  Teresa turns the key in the lock and opens the door. The view of the garden is the exact same one as through the glass pane of the door. The snow, the submerged garden furniture, the moon low in the night sky.

  She turns on me. ‘It was there. I saw it!’

  I shrug, like I think she’s crazy, but she’s not having it.

  ‘Oh come on. You saw it too. That’s why you slammed the door on it. Now tell me, what the hell was that thing?’

  ‘I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  She throws me a look and I feel the years between us. ‘There’s a name for it. It was the mascot for the sports team when I was at— Griffin, that’s it.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘Are you honestly going to stand there and lie to my face?’

  Am I? I shrug and turn away. I’ve kept this to myself for as long as I can remember. It would be good to try and make sense of it with someone else. Not feel like such a freak. Not to feel so alone. I open the door and the doorway and we both blink at the brightness of another world. The clearing is empty. The griffin has gone. I glance up at the brilliant blue sky above the trees. There’s no sign of it. Teresa joins me at the doorway, taking in the daytime scene that has replaced the snowy back garden.

  ‘How is this possible?’

  She steps back so she can look through the window in the backdoor. Through the window is the darkened garden. She moves the door on its hinges, and the snowy garden remains exactly where it should be. She peers around the door and there is the sunny clearing. She crouches at the metal strip that’s been screwed down across the doorway to keep the lino in place.

  ‘The sunlight doesn’t come into the room. Why doesn’t it come in?’

  ‘I’ve never noticed before.’

  She looks astonished. ‘How have you never noticed?’

  I feel vaguely stupid for my lack of curiosity, but The Other Place has been in my life since I was five years old, before I could differentiate between the ordinary and the extraordinary. For me, it’s always just been… there.

  Teresa puts a foot over the doorway. The bottom of her jeans looks lighter in the sunlight. She places her foot on the grass of the clearing. In my world, there’s a step down from the kitchen into the back garden, The Other Place continues straight from the door. She goes to step through and I pull her arm gently.

  ‘It could still be out there.’

  She ignores my warning and steps out on the grass anyway, although she checks the sky for a possible attack. ‘Feels amazing. The sunlight’s so warm’

  She takes a few more steps into the clearing and looks back. ‘It’s a barn. How is your house a barn full of wood?’

  ‘It’s not. It’s the door. I can make any door connect to… there.’

  ‘Where is this? What’s it called?’

  ‘I dunno. I just call it The Other Place.’

  ‘The Other Place?’ She rolls her eyes and then laughs, but she’s not laughing at the name, she’s laughing at the impossibility of it all. Witnessing her wonder, makes me grin. The sound of a bird calling, loudly, spooks Teresa and she hurries back. I close the door behind her.

  ‘Could it get through there?’

  She opens the door again, and we’re hit by an icy wind. Now there’s only the darkness of the garden and the snow.