More Short Stories: The Wreathkeeper’s Door

This short story was prompted by this curiously shaped small door, in a house near the end of a street in St Helier. I pondered this and wondered if there was a story behind it. Who lived there? And there was clearly seen a wreath on the door. What did it symbolise? With apologies to those who live there (and I am not going to name the property), here is a short story drawing upon that image. The ending is deliberately ambiguous - let the reader take it as they will!

The Wreathkeeper’s Door

Most people passed it without a glance. Just a rusting fleur-de-lis gate, a narrow passage, and a small arched door tucked into the side of a whitewashed house. But those who lived nearby knew better. They called it “The Wreathkeeper’s Door”.

Every season, the wreath changed. Spring brought daffodils and woven twigs. Summer, seashells and lavender. Autumn, like now, burnt orange leaves and tiny gourds. Winter? Holly, cinnamon sticks, and a single silver bell. No one ever saw who changed it. The door never opened. Yet the wreaths appeared, always perfectly timed.

Children whispered that the Wreathkeeper was a retired florist who’d once lived above Burrard Street, crafting wreaths for every wedding and funeral in St Helier. Others said she was a parish guardian, keeping watch over the seasons and the souls who passed through them.

One November evening, a boy named Eli lingered by the gate. His grandmother had died that morning, and he didn’t know where to go. The hospice had been quiet. The flat was colder. He stared at the wreath - orange leaves, a sprig of rosemary, and a small tag tucked behind the ribbon.

He reached through the bars and gently turned it over.

“For remembrance. For warmth. For you.”

The door creaked open.

Inside was a tiny room lit by candlelight. Shelves lined with wreaths for every season, every mood. A kettle steamed gently on a stove. And in the corner, a woman with silver hair and kind eyes looked up from her workbench.

“You’re early,” she said, smiling. “But you’re welcome.”

Eli stepped inside. The door closed softly behind him.