Have you heard the tale of little Marty Matthews?
He lived in that old house just around the corner, the one that’s been empty for a while.
Marty didn’t have much of a happy life, his parents were siblings so he was born deformed with brittle bones and susceptible to illnesses that to an average person would be fine, to Marty they’d cripple and could kill.
For the majority of his life, he didn’t even see most of his own house, forced to stay in his bedroom, watching the kids outside play and yearning to be one of them.
Then his father became ill, the connection between them abruptly ended, his mother uncaring.
A week after being completely isolated, Marty saw a door in his bedroom he’d never seen before. It was blue, as blue as the oceans and sky in his picture books.
Hesitantly, he opened it and was met by a mirrored replica of his bedroom all in blue.
A girl as blue as her surroundings, around the same age was stood, holding the door handle, mimicking his actions.
Marty had finally found a friend, they both let go of the handles and put out their arms to hug each other, but as Marty touched her, she burst, a spray of mist hit Marty’s face and the girl became droplets of tears left behind.
He walked through the door into the blue room, adding his own tears to the girl and was never seen again.
Supposedly if you walk by the house on a night, you can hear the poor boy crying.
It’s believed that anyone who enters, never comes back, they find the blue door and become Marty’s new friend forever.