River Stones at the Keyhole

River Stones at the Keyhole

I was looking for my apartment keys in the pocket of my winter coat, but instead pulled out three smooth, heavy river stones marked with scratched geometric patterns. I needed to get into my old college dorm room, which was somehow located at the end of the hallway in my current office building. My coworker Mark was standing by the water cooler, but in my mind, he was also my high school chemistry teacher. He told me I was missing the ritual, entirely matter-of-factly, like he was reminding me about a staff meeting. I reached the door and pressed the stones against the keyhole in a specific order, completely certain that geometry dictated whether the lock would turn. When the knob finally clicked open, the room inside wasn't a bedroom at all, just a narrow, dead-end stairwell lit by cold blue light, smelling like rain and old paper. I woke up with this weird, heavy sense of having forgotten some basic rule about how buildings work.