Archive of Our Own ^beta

A book, once opened, can never properly be closed. Place it back down and the cover will leap up, pages separating, ready to spread out again, ready to tell you everything it holds. 

Wilbur Cross knows this well. 

The Black Book, once opened, did not let itself be closed. Pages spread and the words would never stop coming. The Lords, The Lords In Black tried to leap out through the words, tried to form themselves out of ink, right there in the halfway space between worlds. 

But a book is only a window. Not a door. He saw them through the window, their glorious colour, their power, their awesome, horrifying nature, but he could not quite touch them. Not at first. And they could not touch the world. 

Not without his help.

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A mind, once opened, can never properly be closed. Subject it to whatever you want—‘rational’ arguments, emotional appeals, the things (people) it once cared for—but it will not shrink back into the confines of its skull, will not let go of what it now knows. 

Uncle Wiley knows this well. 

A gap in his mind, created by the Black Book, let the fingers of The Lords tear the whole thing open,: inscriptions of new and wild knowledge were carved into all his brain matter, his whole body doused in the ink of centuries of knowledge. There was no way back, no way back to weak, stupid Wilbur Cross and his pathetic human connections. There was only Wiley. There was only the Black and White. 

But most minds, even when opened, cannot hold all the intricacies of what his masters need. Very few minds are born to open gates, to bring about births, to pull between words. 

Luckily, two minds that can reside in Hatchetfield.

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A door, once opened, can never properly be closed. The frame and door both warp, and there is always a gap between one and the other; a gap that can fit, a hand, an arm, a body. A gap that will let something in.

The town of Hatchetfield knows this well.

The door into America did not begin with Wiggly, did not begin with Pokey either, though that was closer to the start, in a certain sense. The door into America did begin with Hatchetfield, and a little girl, and a witch. It opened years ago, and it will not be closed. Uncle Wiley has made his way back and forth time and time again, preparing to open it fully, to let wiggly through.

But locking a door is not the only way to deny someone entrance to a room. And John, as ever, turns up to ruin his plans, to burn Wiggly’s idols, to kill the prophet, to make his body the lock on the door that keeps it closed.

But Wiley knows that there are other doors, other rooms, other houses. So he lets this one blow up, and moves on to the next one .