I was providing a little support for an author friend, and we both wrote a drabble (strict 100 word story) to accompany the following photo:

Colin paused, bending double, his breathing slowing, ruing all those expense-account lunches. He straightened again, looking up at the sky. In the distance, dark clouds were gathering. He turned, and his breath caught in his throat.

“What the …?”
Nestled amongst the trees, a door – white paint peeling and faded, innocuous in the natural surroundings. A glassed Gothic arch above bled feeble yellow light into the deepening gloom. He approached, slowly, carefully, dried twigs snapping under his feet. Despite the obvious anachronism, he couldn’t dispel the his feeling of unease as he extended his hand towards the round, brass handle.