You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension - a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.
Don't be afraid, it's not much different from your own world. Because really, it isn't at all.
Everything in this zone and real is true, because again, it's your very own world.
And in a small, quiet town, was a small, quiet girl. She lived in a small, quiet house too. Other than that, nothing else about her was all that small, at least not physically.
Every day, she wore her hair in small pigtails. She rode her bike, still with training wheels up and down the sidewalk until her neighbors begged her to go away. To go and make some friends.
The thing is, this little girl had no friends. Despite her sweet appearance, she was calloused like an experienced guitarist's hand. She was rough and tough and full of nicks and scratches. The other schoolchildren saw this and scurried away from her at the recess bell.
In a sense, she felt nothing but apathy. She was a grim girl. A grim, grim girl.
Her parents seldom watched her and took onto their own lives and interests. Their world, in their opinion, was their oyster. And their daughter was in no way at all a part of it.
So, her parents hired babysitters for her. To attack their world and their oyster, they had to leave this girl with someone, right?
Well, of course! Exactly! So, these parents hired babysitters. Often. Each time, it seemed, their daughter would say yet another walked out and would quit, resulting in them having to go and search for another online.
Each of these babysitters had a relatively easy task. The girl mostly played with her dolls and stayed inside, so they watched her do that.
Each doll seemed to resemble a babysitter, as her longing for remembering their fear was one she had quite often; and the babysitters of the past feared for each one that came by, knowing they would suffer the same consequences.
Every teenage girl, college student, or single mother who ever babysat Quinn Behr had one thing in common.
Their fate.
Each and every one of those women ended up in a wicker box in the closet, only summoned at Quinn's demand.
They only saw light when the girl shouted, "It's time to play!"