Once upon a time,
(Because all good stories should start like that)
There was a world that was created in the mind of a somewhat deranged, insane, slightly disturbed cartoonist. Because all creativity is real on some level, this world not only existed in the artist's brain, but in a separate plane of existence reserved entirely for the artist's somewhat sick and twisted imaginings.
However, the artist being the easily distracted human-being type thing that he is, either forgot the world he created or simply left it to rot in favor of some other, newer version of reality.
This was a grave mistake.
It resulted in the twisting of space and time, colossal tears in the fabric of reality, the virtual end of the world as we know it, as well as the destruction of many small innocent animals and quite a lot of tears shed by angsty teens who really cared nothing about the deterioration of the world, but rather needed something to complain about and thought this as good an excuse to whine as any.
You might think that it'd be a good idea to go bother the artist now. To throw rocks at his car and stick pens in his eyes and fill his jelly donuts with something other than jelly. Not only would that be mean, but…
Well, actually, it'd be kinda funny.
But then, without the artist, there would be no story.
So once upon a time, in this incredibly horrible, pointy world that sits abandoned by it's creator, a door appeared.
Just a door. Nothing fancy. Wooden, with a handle shaped exactly like a handle. It's quite unremarkable, really, except for the fact that it's standing in the middle of the road.
Yep. There is a door in this poor sad abandoned world, and this door was never there before. Nope. This door has spontaneously appeared, as sometimes happens in worlds abandoned by their inventors. Because without their creators around to protect them, they are quite… well, vulnerable.
Though vulnerable wasn't exactly a good word for this particular world.
The door. It stood alone in the center of the road.
Actually, in the center of a collection of car accidents which had occurred the moment it appeared in the middle of the street would have been a more accurate way of describing it.
The people of the lonely, forlorn and rejected world, unaware of their state of virtual non-existence, just as they are unaware of nearly everything else, squawked and squealed loudly at each other in their confusion, trying to figure out who had decided to put a door in the street.
None of the occupants of the discarded reality noticed as the door opened, revealing the worst things that could ever possibly happen to their already screwed up world.
The door opened.
And writers came through.