Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a Lark

Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a LarkVincent van Gogh Vegetable Gardens in MontmartreVincent van Gogh Vegetable gardens at the MontmartreVincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and orangesVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Straw
blinked. The glow faded from her eyes. She looked down, her expression of horror turning to astonishment and then, when she saw Gaspode leering up at her, back to a more mundane horror.
‘ ‘Allo,’ Sunnink dreadful in there, he thought. Prob’ly tentacled fings that rips your face off. I mean, when you finds mysterious doors in old hills, stands to reason wot comes out ain’t going to be pleased to see you. Evil creatures wot Man shouldn’t wot of, and here’s one dog wot don’t want to wot of them either. Why couldn’t she . . .
He grumbled on towards the town. Gaspode said, ingratiatingly. She backed away, bringing her hands up protectively. Sand dribbled between her fingers. Her eyes flickered towards it in bewilderment, and then back to Gaspode. ‘Gods, that’s horrible,’ she said. ‘What’s going on? Why am I here?’ Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered, ‘not again!’ She stared at him for a moment, glared up at the doorway, then turned, hitched up her nightdress, and hurried back to town through the morning mists. Gaspode struggled after her, aware of anger in the air, desperately trying to put as much space as possible between the door and himself.