The door at the top of the stairs was blue. It was a bright, baby blue, the color of the sky outside. The stairwell however, was dark. We had found it, oddly enough, in the kitchen.
That was the next room we had decided to investigate. It was a large kitchen, which made sense, given the grand size of the house. There were large gas stoves and cavernous double sinks. An entire staff could work in that room, easy. But it looked like nothing had been touched in a long time, maybe not ever.
Except, of course, the coffee maker. It still blinked a feeble red in the corner next to the refrigerator. A refrigerator that had had opened, only to find absolutely nothing inside.
That had been disconcerting enough. Until Heather noticed the dark stairwell and the blue door.
It's very presence had sent a chill down my spine. It didn't have anything strange on its own-- but it felt strange. Until Heather had pointed it out, I hadn't noticed it. But not just not noticed it-- it was like I couldn't notice it. Like my eyes wouldn't let themselves settle on the stairwell, or travel up the steps to what lie ahead. It was like my mind wanted me to just skate over it. To stay away.
Yet here I was, staring directly up the dimly lit stairwell in the kitchen, directly at the Blue Door.
"Tommy lives alone, right?" Heather asked quietly.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," I answered.
She frowned, then raised an arm to point up the incline. "Then why would he need that?" I followed her gesture up to what hung from the door's handle-- a large, rusted, brass padlock.
I wiped my sweating hands on my pants. "We should go back to the parlor. Tommy's probably back by now." Heather wasn't looking at me, though. Instead, she was taking one cautious step into the stairwell. Immediately, I took a step back.
She stepped from the bright lights of the kitchen, into the dark shroud of the stairwell, and I felt a sudden aversion to her. It was the way you might feel uneasy about catching just a glimpse of something just barely rising to the surface of a dark pond. I didn't like it. But I pushed the feeling out of my mind. "What are you doing?" I hissed.
She waved me back with one hand as she continued up the steps. "I just want a closer look. Tell McAfee I'm in the bathroom or something."
I hesitated. I didn't want to separate from Heather. I wish I could say it was because I didn't want her to be alone in the house, that I was worried for her. But that wasn't true. Heather could take care of herself. I just didn't want to be alone with Tommy.
"Sam, go," Heather said as she reached the top. "Before he gets suspicious." She stood there, next to the Blue Door. I swallowed the urge to tell her come back down, to get away from it.
"Fine." Then, I turned, and went back to the parlor, thinking that Heather would be fine. That I would be fine.
How naive.
Tommy was already there by the time I got back. He was sitting calmly in his armchair. He held the cup of coffee, the one I knew to be filled with plastic in his hand. His other hand was absentmindedly stroking the large, pale cat that sat in his lap. It was staring at me as I entered, and I could hear it's loud purr.
"Sorry," I said quickly, returning once more to the sewn-up sofa across from him. "I was helping Heather find the restroom."
Tommy smiled at me. "And did you find it?"
His voice sounded newly sinister, and my mind flashed to the blue door. "Yes, we found it. She should be back soon."
His smile faltered. "Doubtful."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
My heart sped up in my chest as Tommy, still stroking the cat, slowly peered in his coffee cup and frowned. "You know, Mr. Singer," he said slowly, "Sometimes I don't feel quite like myself." Then, he very carefully tilted his cup over, until it was upside down. Nothing came out, and his frowned deepened.
"Are you okay, Mr. McAfee?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I was extremely nauseous at this point, both because of Heather's absence, and the conversation I was having-- but there was something else. The sweet smell, the synthetic hydrangeas' scent, had suddenly gotten even stronger.
Tommy kept staring into his cup. It was as though he had just realized, for the very first time, that there was no coffee inside. "You want to talk about those three days, Mr. Singer," he said quietly, his face unusually blank. "But I don't remember. It's as if..." he paused. "It's as if I fell asleep in 1980, and I've been in a dream ever since. It's a fine dream. I am okay. But every now and then, I get a glimpse of it-- of reality." He stared even harder into his cup.
He had stopped petting the cat, and it was getting up. It's stretched, pushing its rump into the air. It lightly jumped down from Tommy's lap. It was looking at me. It started to come over. Before I could stop it, it jumped into my lap.
I didn't want to touch it. Tommy was across from me, still staring at his plastic coffee. I could see his eyes had glazed over. One small tear had begun to make its way down his cheek.
Very slowly, I started to pet the cat. It's fur felt strange, almost waxy. It was staring at me, it's expression as blank as Tommy's. With a shaking, but cautious hand, I slowly slid my hand around to its stomach.
There. There it was. There was a zipper on that cat's stomach. I traced the metallic grid that went down the length of its middle, until I felt it. The tab. I hesitated. Why would I pull it? What would happen if I did? The cat began to purr.
Suddenly, Tommy snapped his head back up. I yanked my hand out from under the cat's stomach, away from the zipper.
Though the tear was still shining wet on his cheek, Tommy's frown had bent itself back up into his earnest grin. He laughed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Singer, I think I dozed off for a moment." I didn't know what to say. I watched as he took another sip of his fake coffee. He looked at his cup for a few seconds. "I had the strangest dream," he said cheerfully. He stared at it intently, but his facial expression didn't change.
Then, he held out his cup, and overturned it onto the floor.
A smattering of coffee fell from the cup, and onto the wooden floor. It could tell from the steam that it was still hot.
Tommy smiled fondly at the stain, then set his cup back onto the doily.
I reached my hand slowly back down, against the flesh of the rumbling cat in my lap, down to its core.
The zipper was gone.
---
Credits
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