A faint chill goes down your spine as you pass the space once occupied by the strange door. You're not sure if it's residual... whatever caused that door to appear, or a psychosomatic response to the memory of walking through it. Either way, you walk what you consider to be "up" the dirt road, although "up" and "down" map more to a relation to one's location than to any concrete directions.
It doesn't take long before you see, and then come to, a fork in the road. A signpost haphazardly driven into the ground between the branches declares that "Waldenmouth" is to the left, and "Finkendorf" to the right.