The Door, part I

“And what brings you to our Guest House tonight?”
the clerk asked as I filled out the paperwork.

“Just a place to stay the night,” I replied, signing the last line of the agreement. “And this is one of the few places open in Ocean City this time of the year.”

“Well we are pleased that you’ve chosen to stay with us,” the clerk said. I smiled back at the cheery manner. The light from above his desk reflected across the lenses of his glasses, but it was his smile that seemed to shine. In contrast, his dark blue jacket seemed to absorb any light which shone down on it, which lay overtop of a white button down and a dark red tie. “Have you ever stayed at a boarding house before?” I nodded, as did the couple checking in next to me. The clerk smiled, pleased.“That’s great to hear— just to retouch on some things, I’ll just run down a few rules of the house. The kitchen is free for any of you to use, our meals are usually potluck style at seven thirty. And the lounge is open afterwards for parlor games. However, you have just missed tonight’s games and dinner by fifteen minutes, I’m afraid.”

Looking around at the lounge, I saw no board games about on the tables or even any stragglers. The only ones around were the clerk, myself, and the couple checking in next to me.

“Quite alright, we are a little tired for games,” said the wife. 

“Another time then,” the clerk said, his tight, polite smile never wavering. His pointed toward the hall behind me. “Your room, sir, is down there to the left. Room seventeen. Just right beyond there are more rooms and the communal bathroom. Again, everything is open for you to use, we only ask that you clean up after yourself. And we hope you enjoy your stay.”

Slinging my bags over my shoulder, I nodded to the couple and made my way down the hall. The lamps protruding from the walls were set low, making the green carpet traveling the hall seem darker than it probably was. I could barely see beyond the next lamp— the place was probably winding down for the night. I was more than ready to settle down with it.

My room was simple. In one corner was a desk, empty except for a lamp and a mirror on the wall behind it. A small dresser of dark mahogany stood opposite the desk, pushed up against a blank wall. Boarding houses I had been in before had been decorated with a painting or two here or there, but this room was devoid of any decoration.

What they did have were spare sheets on the bed. Setting my bags down I turned them over in my hand with surprise. Some places I had stayed before did not offer sheets. It was a nice gesture by the establishment, but I had brought my own sheets.

Satisfied with my accommodations, I began to make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, perhaps a quick shave. Pacing down the hall, I looked at each door, wondering if there were anyone else inside. The place seemed very quiet— was it maybe later than it felt, and I had checked in as people were heading to bed?

Almost absent-mindedly, I pressed the power button on my electric toothbrush. The thing would not turn on though, and I looked down at it, puzzled. I pushed the button again— still nothing. It charged just last night, and was working this morning, I thought as I grabbed the doorknob to what I thought was the bathroom. Was the toothbrush jammed?

I turned around in the hall to head back to my room. I would get a charger, or use a simple toothbrush if I had one. I wandered back down the hall, muttering to myself as I was intently focused on making the electronic work. Grabbing the doorknob of what I thought was my room, I entered.

Closing the door, I looked up to see that I was not in my room. I had wandered into another bedroom, this one with someone in it. Two someones, actually. Sitting on a bed pushed against the wall was a little girl, dressed in a very peculiar dress. The lace and patterning on it made it look as though it belonged on an old doll.

The girl in the dress stared at me, eyes wide from behind a mess of brown curls.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, holding my hands up. “I thought this was my own room. I must have not looked.”

“It’s quite alright,” she said in a pleasant voice.

“It happens a lot, actually,” came a voice from the desk. An older boy, probably in his late teens, sat reading a book under a lamp. He did not turn around to greet me, but I could see through the mirror his square framed glasses and short hair, in a similar brown hue to the little girl’s. Siblings? I thought.

“I was looking for the bathroom. Is it nearby?” I asked them.

“A few doors down,” the boy said, not looking up as he turned the page.

“Thank you, and again, sorry for intruding,” I said as I reached for the door handle. However, as I turned the knob, I found it stuck. But it swung in so smoothly from the outside, I thought.

“Sorry, but your door is stuck,” I told them, twisting the knob again.

“That happens sometimes,” the boy said in an almost bored voice as his head turned from one side of the book to the other. “You just need to give it time.”

I tried again, but the doorknob would not move. I frowned, feeling awkward and embarrassed that I was intruding on these strangers’ room.

“Do you have parents that are coming?” I asked them. “Perhaps it will only open from the outside.”

“Papa will be here soon,” the little girl said brightly.

“Your Papa?” I asked. She nodded. “Papa said to clean up the room, and he would be back soon.”

I looked around. Unless there were clothes in the dresser which had been put away, or a bag of their things shoved under the bed, there was nothing visible that needed to be put away.

“I think it would look bad if your Papa walked in on some stranger with his two children,” I said, trying the doorknob again. This time I pulled as I twisted. The door bent a little from the middle, but the latch would not move, even though it was definitely unlocked. I was stuck in this room, I realized, at least until Papa came.

“It happens all the time,” she said. “The house is very old.”

“It is late,” I said to the girl I thumbed my toothbrush nervously, trying to pass the time with small talk. “Shouldn’t you be dressed for bed?”

“This is what Papa said to wear,” was her reply. I nodded slowly, trying to figure out what to say next.

“Have you stayed here long?” I asked her. She nodded.

“We have stayed here for a very long time,” she said, emphasizing the last three words. I opened my mouth to ask what was a very long time, but something in the back of my mind told me I should not. There was something very peculiar about this room, and I was suddenly very uncomfortable.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“That is Charles,” she said, “and I am Victoria.”

“Well… it is very nice to meet you,” I told her, trying to seem enthusiastic. I could not however be more ill at ease. I tried the doorknob again, but drew my hand away from the knob. The metal had become very cold. In fact, the room itself was growing very cold. I shuddered, rubbing my arms. There were no noticeable vents for air conditioning, yet the temperature in the room was dropping at an abnormal rate. How was this girl, in this dress, not feeling it? The boy seemed to be indifferent to the change as well, although he was dressed in a thicker long sleeve shirt.

“What are you reading?” I asked Charles. I had tried gleaning a peek of the title from the reverse image in the mirror, but could not make out the book’s cover.

“A manual,” he said.

“A manual for what?” I asked. “You look like you’re in school. Do you go to college around here?”

“Papa has me read,” Charles said. “He helps me learn.”

They must be home schooled, I realized. Maybe Victoria was as well. However, that did not seem to be the right word to describe the two children’s odd manner.

“What about your Mother?” I asked the children, trying to figure out something else to say. “Is your mother here with Papa?”

“Oh she is not with Papa,” Charles said as he turned the page. “But she is here.”

That gave me chills. It could have been an innocent statement, but in my growing paranoid state… I looked around the room, trying to stop my mind from racing.

The door knob turned, and I jumped. Victoria’s eyes were wide, and even Charles looked up from the page into the mirror.

Read Part II (the conclusion) in the November issue of Ocean City Magazine.