Kat had walked past the house everyday on her way home from school for the past three years. Today would be the last day. After years in the public school system she was finished, and with a diploma no less. No more jobs in fast food for her. She would go to university and become a doctor or something- preferably something that made more than minimum wage.

Kat had big dreams.

Today, like yesterday and countless days before, there was music coming from the house. Today it was a flute. Yesterday had been a piano; the day before a guitar. Whoever lived there was very talented and probably had a lot of free time. Kat bet that they didn't spend thirty hours a week trying to sucker some lady with three kids to buy some fries. No really, the fries are made with a real potato-like substance! No meal's complete without them!

Today, however, there was something different. Something just quite not right. Kat stopped and stared at the house for a few moments before she realized what it was. The door. It had been painted- to the extreme. It wasn't the same dull beige as the two neighboring houses or the pathetic eggshell blue that framed the entrance of her own home. No this door looked like opened into some sort of otherworld.

It was black. Startlingly so. There were squares of red that seemed like they were added in an hurry. The bottoms dribbled down like it was bleeding paint. That was only the beginning. The edges were framed in silver sparkles that glittered so brightly it was blinding if you stared at it for too long. Randomly carved on the door were dozens of flowers: roses, daises, tiger lilies. Those were the only ones Kat could recognize.

Kat moved further toward the door, trying to ignore the fact that she was trespassing. Before she realized it, she was standing on the stoop of the house. Kat wondered briefly who lived behind this door. What if, she thought, I moved my hand and knocked? Who or what would answer?

The possibilities flew threw her head: a rock star (because of the music and all), a poet, an artist, a pirate, a football player. Heck, it could be Queen Mab for all she knew.

Which is why she was so surprised when her fist starting knocking on the door. Because there could be a serial killer behind there either. A music playing, flower carving serial killer. It could happen.

Luckily for Kat, the person who answered her knocking wasn't a deranged psychopath. It was something worst- a teenage guy. And not just any teenage guy- it was that guy. The one who sits in back of the class making cryptic and creepy remarks every so often. Luckily, they're the type that doesn't show up to school everyday. Or even every week for that matter.

"Yes?" he asked, his name escaping Kat for the moment.

"Umm, I... that is. Your door. It's cool." Cool? Could Kat be anymore lame? "Well, I'll just be going now." And with that she Kat started to back away slowly, keeping one eye on Creepy Guy to make sure he didn't move from his stoop. Then, when she realized he wasn't following her, she ran.

When her house was finally in sight, Kat stooped over and tried to catch her breath. Running could take a lot out of a girl. When her lungs were no longer on fire, Kat walked up the stairs to her front door.

Inside was cool and smelled of coffee and bread. "I'm home." Nobody answered. Figures.

Having the evening off- no homework, no annoying kids begging for a toy, no exasperated parents- was relaxing and soon Kat fell asleep reading Jane Eyre.

The next morning she woke up to screaming. Kat yawned. It was seven o'clock. It was way too early for this. Kat got out of bed and went into the kitchen. Her mother and father were standing there looking alternately confused and furious. "There better be a dead body somewhere."

Her father gave her a look."Worst- look what some vandals did to our house last night." Curious, Kat went outside and she to see. The eggshell blue of the door was gone and replaced with a deep green. There were yellow and red polka dots scattered randomly around the edge of the frame that got denser as you traveled in further. The dots, if you looked long enough, took a shape.

It was a cat, Kat saw clearly. The cat was holding a mouse between it's claws, and the mouse, much to Kat's amusement, was holding a single rose which had been carved into the wood.

Rose, Kat remembered suddenly, His name is Luke Rose.

"I'm calling the cops," she heard her father say from inside. "Kids. They think that they can can away with anything these days." Kat, as usual, ignored him, but this time it wasn't because she didn't care.

She stood where she was mesmerized by the swirling colors and the intricate patchwork of dots. The early morning air bruised her skin and she started to shiver, yet she didn't move.

She wanted to stay outside where every door had the possibility to lead somewhere new. Somewhere not quite comfortable, not quite sane. To a place where flowers are made of wood and where the wind carries music.