# THE FIRST DOOR **[Intro — sparse piano, distant guitar]** *"Don't trust them..."* Three little words still turning in my head. *"Don't trust them..."* No name, no reason, no explanation. Just a black envelope and a warning from a stranger... as I stood outside the gates again. --- **[Verse 1 — The Gate]** Brass key sitting in my hand, but nowhere it could go, no lock, no bell, no intercom, nothing there to show. I held it to the cameras, feeling foolish standing there, perhaps behind those darkened lenses someone watched me stare. I turned to leave, then stopped myself— that's not how this game is played. I ran my fingers round the plaque, across the letters raised. The brass inside the **O** was different from the rest. I pushed. It moved. A keyhole underneath. I laughed— *"Of course."* **[Instrumental — playful, angular guitar]** Invisible ink, a hidden lock, a number without a name. Maybe these people never really stopped playing childhood games. I turned the key. A heavy click. The iron gates withdrew. *"All right, Northwood House..."* *"Let's see what you can do."* --- **[Chorus I]** Every answer opens another door. Every question leaves me wanting more. Common sense says turn around, but curiosity keeps pulling me inside. And somewhere underneath it all, three words I can't ignore— **Don't trust them.** **Don't trust them.** **Don't trust them.** --- **[Verse 2 — Northwood House]** Gravel breaking underneath me, trees surrounding either side, then the road opened before me and the house stood there in sight. Three floors of red-brick Gothic, stone and windows reaching high, more old hospital than gentlemen's club beneath a grey morning sky. No limousines. No blacked-out cars. No chauffeurs standing by. A battered Ford, an old estate, a little Japanese car outside. Above the door, cut deep in stone, words from another age— **Vulgāres sunt extraordinarii.** I reached for my phone and found the translation: **The ordinary are extraordinary.** I looked up at the house. *"We'll see."* --- **[Verse 3 — The Foyer]** No bell. No knocker. No hidden lock. I pushed. The door swung wide. A world in coloured stone lay mapped across the floor inside. A staircase climbed before me, split left and split right, galleries overlooking me from almost twice my height. No receptionist. No butler. No one waiting there. "Hello?" My voice came back from somewhere up the stairs. Nothing. *"Fine."* If curiosity brought me here, curiosity would choose the first door. --- **[Instrumental — exploratory acoustic guitar / flute / piano]** Books. Maps. Encyclopaedias. Engineering. History. Medicine. Art. Nothing forbidden. Nothing occult. Nothing particularly strange. Just knowledge. Everywhere. Then behind me— *"Ah... you're here."*
