Author’s note: This is fourth and final installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 2 and The Far Door: Part 3.
It is nearly midnight, and I am getting drowsy.
There is a light clicking noise, something I would have missed in my bedroom. I look at the front door, sure that Franc has opened the lock—nothing there! Shaking apprehensively, I turn to look at the far door. The huge copper lock has unlocked itself and is now hanging in the air, slowly descending to the floor without a sound. The metal latch slides open quietly.
Very slowly, thick, fat, gnarled, grey fingers appear on the side of the far door, slowly pushing it open.
My mouth opens in a silent scream—I am clearly not prepared for an attacker who isn’t a human. Should I just hide here and pretend I am not awake? Afterall, it hasn’t touched me yet. Or should I keep an eye and see what it does? Will I ever be able to forget seeing a monster? I am still dealing with so many demons from my own past…
A low squeak, a strangled cry of alarm, reaches me. A child? Is it torturing a child?
The thought of a child in trouble gives me strength I need to face whatever it is. Picking the metal rod and the pepper spray can, I run to the far door and pull it open all the way…
A strange sight greets me. In a darkened room lit by only a night lamp, an incredibly old man—grey skinned with long ears—is standing at the doorway dressed in pyjamas and what looks like a crumpled blazer. The glazed eyes tell that he is sleepwalking. A couple of kids are holding him back—a girl around six and a boy around eight—also grey with long ears, wearing similar crumpled blazers. The kids look stunned at my sudden appearance. The old man simply takes the metal rod from my hand and starts chewing. He doesn’t do it to look intimidating, more like he isn’t really all there.
The boy stutters, clearly at his wit’s end, “S‑Sorry, He’s sleep‑eating. Can’t remember he mustn’t eat metal!”
I blink at his response, not sure how to respond at the apology, “How did he open the lock and latch on the other side?”
The boy is terrified and looks ready to tell me anything, “Standard magic—he can manipulate the metal lock and latch. The wooden latch used to stop him from wandering off in his sleep. But Dad said it is not in its place anymore, so we have to hold him back physically until Dad returns home around midnight. But it is so late in the night, and we get drowsy…and Grampa always gives us a slip. Sorry for the bother!”
Nothing is making sense anyway, so I try to get to the most obvious question, “Why isn’t he eating his own metal? There are plenty of metal fittings here?” I gesture at the copper vase and copper‑framed mirror.
The little girl pipes in, “Copper tastes awful! I guess, that’s why they put it everywhere in the building so the residents wouldn’t eat the fittings.”
A French window opens on its own. Aren’t we on the third floor? Alarmed, I turn to find Franc standing on the attached balcony with his wings (?) open, taking in the scene apprehensively. He is grey-skinned with large ears too. With a huge sigh, he places his laptop bag and restaurant food from a twenty-four‑hour joint on the floor and touches his watch. In a blur, his wings wrap around him like a blazer and turn white. His ears are now normal and skin olive again.
Is it fear lingering in his eyes? He tries to cover it with an apologetic smile, “I see you have met my family. Welcome to the Gargoyle residency. Please don’t freak out. We are not monsters—we just co‑exist.”
His eyes are pleading me to understand. He looks unsure of what else to say, probably waiting for me to freak out anyway. I lean on the nearest couch to support my failing knees. I should be scared but, once I look at the laptop bag and restaurant food at his feet, weirdly, I am relieved instead. Curious—baffled… but not afraid.
In my sternest voice, I demand, “We need to talk.”
I glance at the children. They look scared, and I melt a little, “And I need something to get over this. Who’s up for a hot chocolate?”
The children cry happily in unison. Apprehension gone, Franc is now smiling in the earnest, “Allow me.” He moves towards my kitchen, followed by the kids who take their rightful places on the dining table.
Grandpa is still busy chewing the rod while I lead him to the sofa in the hall. I smile at the absurdity of the moment—the place finally feels home.
END
Author’s note: If you prefer to read the entire book rather than in piece-meals, you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily
Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 