I had a student job nearly twenty years ago, in a huge library. One of my tasks was to retrieve stuff in the underground archives.
Now imagine. You’re in the elevator, going down to -5, and the doors open on this massive floor that someone only briefly showed you a few days ago. The fluorescent lamps of the central aisle automatically light up as you step out and begin walking. On your left and right are dozens of narrow rows of shelves, that are so long that the light can’t reach the end. And you’re there all alone, walking past these identical never-ending shelves that end in darkness, looking for some decades-old newspaper. The further you’re going from the elevator, the more uneasy you are. You hope that the motion detectors all work so the lights don’t suddenly go out.
But you’re on the wrong floor, what you’re looking for is actually in -6. So you take the service stairs down, and arrive on this floor that somehow looks even more oppressive. It’s smaller, the ceiling is lower, the shelves are packed tighter, and at the end of the floor, in a corner, there is this massive metal door. It looks so out of place, what could be on the other side? But you don’t dare open it, not a chance. You know ghosts and monsters don’t exist, you’re an adult, but you won’t open this door.
A few days later, when you go down again, you’re with another student. He also noticed this door, and also did not open it. Now, since you’re no longer alone, why not open it, just to peek? You unlock the heavy latch and pull the door. There is a sudden draft with a howl, the wind almost closes the door by itself, as if you’re the first ones to open it in years.
And inside, there’s literally nothing.
An empty dark space of naked concrete floors and walls, that is only barely lit up by the light coming from the open door. Not a single piece of furniture, a light fixture, a cable, or a pipe. Just an empty room, too dark to see through, sealed with a heavy metal door. You close it, disappointed but not really relieved. You ask one of the librarians what’s inside, what’s the purpose of that door, and they don’t know. It was probably a maintenance storage. Maybe. You’ll never get an answer.
And twenty years later, I still think about those shelves and that door whenever I see something about liminal spaces.
This was originally posted as a comment on Tildes, in a discussion about liminal spaces.