Evelinn
Well-Known Member
This was an idea I suddenly had while walking in my street looking at all the very normal houses. Who knows what people do behind their doors? We all wear faces in public. What if someone had to wear a face? had to hide what went on behind a closed door...
It was an ordinary looking house, in an ordinary looking street.
Ordinary looking people trudged by, not noticing the house in the slightest.
And like most houses; this one had a door, though it was not an ordinary door at all. It might look ordinary to the ordinary people in the ordinary street.
No, this was not just any house with just any door. In fact the door was a gateway to another dimension.
But the ordinary people had no notion of this, it was too far out of their ordinary lives and their ordinary thoughts to even contemplate such an absurd possibility.
Mr Anderson though, he knew better, after all it was his ordinary house and his not quite so ordinary door.
It had not always been an unusual door, at least not in the beginning. But Mr Anderson was too tired to think of the past; the past is much better left behind, he thought. Much better indeed.
No, this old man looked to the future, he thought vigorously and felt his back twist in a cramp as he tried straightening out.
Well, his ambition would not be lost even if he had to hunch his shoulders while he walked.
He passed through the tall gate to his house like he had done every day at precisely two o’clock. Everyday for three hundred years, give or take, the memories were a little rusted.
His cat Fluffy leisurely stretched himself in the rocking chair on the modest sized porch.
Fluffy was one of those cats perfectly described by its name, not like his younger brother Tits. Anderson did not want to dwell on how the poor fellah had gotten such an un-catlike name. Tits had belonged to his sister a long time ago, a very long time ago.
He looked around nervously, the neighbours would be peeking through their curtains. It was quite bothersome having to uphold this outwardly normal looking existence.
If the world knew what he knew; it could shake the foundation of society into a crumbled heap of political pebbles.
Rummaging through his coat pocket Mr Anderson produced an unusual looking key. Yes, all unusual looking doors had to have an unusual looking key. It was just the way of things.
A crumpled piece of paper fell out along with the key. Mr Anderson bent down to pick it up and let out a groan as his back made alarming noises.
“You could have asked me to fetch it you know.” Said Fluffy, but did not show the posture of someone about to move.
“Hmm. Likely.” Said Anderson in a contemptuous manner and stretched out a knuckled hand to retrieve the bit of paper.
It was a note; clearly written by himself—carelessly scribbled letters like that of a really old Doctor with parkinsons-decease—covered the creased jot.
He would read it later, he told himself and stuffed it back into his pocket.
The unusual key fit perfectly in the unusual door, the door even made an unusual sound as he opened it. Like a stuck refrigerator door suddenly releasing its vacuum after endless pulling.
The ordinary looking house actually had a ordinary looking living room, who would have guessed?
Mr Anderson placed the key on a little shelf as he always did—three minutes past two—everyday. Though today it might actually be four minutes past two.
Ordinary people used to say Mr Anderson was a crazy old man and the fact that every evening he would stand on his porch an shout for his cats to come in for the night, well, it really didn’t help the situation.
“Fluffy, Tits!” His voice would echo off the neighbouring houses. Mrs Rose next door would stick her head out of her bathroom window and shout in return: “Believe me, you don’t want that!”
But that would not happen until nine o’clock. First he would cook dinner.
Reaching his hand into a kitchen cupboard; he took out a fresh tomato, in another cupboard he found...well, let’s just say it was not food.
The shifting of dimensions could sometimes be a little...moody.
Predictability, not such a strange thing for an old man living in an unstable dimension to want. And he grasped hungrily at it as often as he could.
Random occurrences was a big part of life for Anderson, the little predictability he managed to scrounge up was all that kept him slightly sane.
If everything went according to plan; tree o’clock he would eat his dinner, four o’clock he would take a nap and from five to nine he would watch TV.
But not TV from the human world, oh no, that was far too boring for someone like Mr Anderson.
What Anderson called a TV might look like a TV to ordinary people, but this was nothing like a box with pictures in it.
The only thing that could possibly be called unusual in his living room was a slightly tattered couch; mismatched to the rest of the furniture with a colourful eye-twisting pattern of...well, there was no way to describe it really.
The colours seemed to change as he looked at it, and it moved around in the room at its own will.
Sometimes when he came home from his ordinary job; the couch would be on the other side of the room, or perhaps in the kitchen. It was even observed on the ceiling once.
That had certainly been an interesting day. Anderson shook his grizzled head and tried not to think of the past.
No, the couch was defiantly not ordinary, not on earth anyway. It came from one of the other dimensions. If he sat in it; a kind of screen would appear in front of him and he could look into the other worlds.
“I’m hungry.” Tits jumped up on the kitchen counter. Anderson turned in the doorway to the living room, still holding the tomato.
He had let his mind wonder again. It would be such a relief when he could turn his unusual job as Gate Keeper over to someone else.
The only problem with that was that it would have to be someone from the other side this time.
The Gate Keeper
It was an ordinary looking house, in an ordinary looking street.
Ordinary looking people trudged by, not noticing the house in the slightest.
And like most houses; this one had a door, though it was not an ordinary door at all. It might look ordinary to the ordinary people in the ordinary street.
No, this was not just any house with just any door. In fact the door was a gateway to another dimension.
But the ordinary people had no notion of this, it was too far out of their ordinary lives and their ordinary thoughts to even contemplate such an absurd possibility.
Mr Anderson though, he knew better, after all it was his ordinary house and his not quite so ordinary door.
It had not always been an unusual door, at least not in the beginning. But Mr Anderson was too tired to think of the past; the past is much better left behind, he thought. Much better indeed.
No, this old man looked to the future, he thought vigorously and felt his back twist in a cramp as he tried straightening out.
Well, his ambition would not be lost even if he had to hunch his shoulders while he walked.
He passed through the tall gate to his house like he had done every day at precisely two o’clock. Everyday for three hundred years, give or take, the memories were a little rusted.
His cat Fluffy leisurely stretched himself in the rocking chair on the modest sized porch.
Fluffy was one of those cats perfectly described by its name, not like his younger brother Tits. Anderson did not want to dwell on how the poor fellah had gotten such an un-catlike name. Tits had belonged to his sister a long time ago, a very long time ago.
He looked around nervously, the neighbours would be peeking through their curtains. It was quite bothersome having to uphold this outwardly normal looking existence.
If the world knew what he knew; it could shake the foundation of society into a crumbled heap of political pebbles.
Rummaging through his coat pocket Mr Anderson produced an unusual looking key. Yes, all unusual looking doors had to have an unusual looking key. It was just the way of things.
A crumpled piece of paper fell out along with the key. Mr Anderson bent down to pick it up and let out a groan as his back made alarming noises.
“You could have asked me to fetch it you know.” Said Fluffy, but did not show the posture of someone about to move.
“Hmm. Likely.” Said Anderson in a contemptuous manner and stretched out a knuckled hand to retrieve the bit of paper.
It was a note; clearly written by himself—carelessly scribbled letters like that of a really old Doctor with parkinsons-decease—covered the creased jot.
He would read it later, he told himself and stuffed it back into his pocket.
The unusual key fit perfectly in the unusual door, the door even made an unusual sound as he opened it. Like a stuck refrigerator door suddenly releasing its vacuum after endless pulling.
The ordinary looking house actually had a ordinary looking living room, who would have guessed?
Mr Anderson placed the key on a little shelf as he always did—three minutes past two—everyday. Though today it might actually be four minutes past two.
Ordinary people used to say Mr Anderson was a crazy old man and the fact that every evening he would stand on his porch an shout for his cats to come in for the night, well, it really didn’t help the situation.
“Fluffy, Tits!” His voice would echo off the neighbouring houses. Mrs Rose next door would stick her head out of her bathroom window and shout in return: “Believe me, you don’t want that!”
But that would not happen until nine o’clock. First he would cook dinner.
Reaching his hand into a kitchen cupboard; he took out a fresh tomato, in another cupboard he found...well, let’s just say it was not food.
The shifting of dimensions could sometimes be a little...moody.
Predictability, not such a strange thing for an old man living in an unstable dimension to want. And he grasped hungrily at it as often as he could.
Random occurrences was a big part of life for Anderson, the little predictability he managed to scrounge up was all that kept him slightly sane.
If everything went according to plan; tree o’clock he would eat his dinner, four o’clock he would take a nap and from five to nine he would watch TV.
But not TV from the human world, oh no, that was far too boring for someone like Mr Anderson.
What Anderson called a TV might look like a TV to ordinary people, but this was nothing like a box with pictures in it.
The only thing that could possibly be called unusual in his living room was a slightly tattered couch; mismatched to the rest of the furniture with a colourful eye-twisting pattern of...well, there was no way to describe it really.
The colours seemed to change as he looked at it, and it moved around in the room at its own will.
Sometimes when he came home from his ordinary job; the couch would be on the other side of the room, or perhaps in the kitchen. It was even observed on the ceiling once.
That had certainly been an interesting day. Anderson shook his grizzled head and tried not to think of the past.
No, the couch was defiantly not ordinary, not on earth anyway. It came from one of the other dimensions. If he sat in it; a kind of screen would appear in front of him and he could look into the other worlds.
“I’m hungry.” Tits jumped up on the kitchen counter. Anderson turned in the doorway to the living room, still holding the tomato.
He had let his mind wonder again. It would be such a relief when he could turn his unusual job as Gate Keeper over to someone else.
The only problem with that was that it would have to be someone from the other side this time.
Way Station(C. Simak) similitude...
