Silent Hinges

Some mistakes aren’t

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This short story is presented for personal entertainment only. Commercial and all other use is expressly prohibited.

(c) 2015-2017 Robert Horseman, All rights reserved.

The evening was beginning to cool, and I had to find a site to set up my tent soon. Dusk was an hour away at the most, and I supposed the place I stood was as good as any. I slipped the straps off my shoulders, and let my pack fall to the ground. A carpet of dry fallen maple leaves crackled under it. I’d have to be careful with my campfire, lest I set the forest alight. I released the bungees holding my tent to the pack frame, shook the tent out of its bag, and rolled it out. As I stooped to pick up the small peg bag, a white flash caught the corner of my eye. It appeared to come from down the gentle slope, in the direction I had come. I didn’t recall anything unusual on my trip up, and it sparked my curiosity. Dropping the peg bag, I took a few steps down the slope. There was something white down there, but it was partially hidden by the trunks of several trees. I looked around, decided that I had just enough time to investigate before the light failed, and walked down. It was soon apparent that it was farther than I had first thought, but my curiosity was aroused. It looked like… that couldn’t be right, it had to be something else. I rounded the last tree, and found a door. A white six-panel door to be exact, complete with frame, hinges, and a knob. In the middle of nowhere. There was no building behind it, and there did not appear to be anything holding it up. Curious, I walked around to the side. It got thinner as I progressed, until it was little more than a faint white vertical line in the woods. I stopped breathing for a moment and my heart skipped a beat. My ears seemed to buzz with a high frequency whine. One more step around to the back side, and it disappeared completely. I closed my eyes and took several controlled breaths. When I thought I had my panic under control, I reopened my eyes. Nothing had changed, except that the light had faded a bit. It must have been a hallucination, perhaps one of the mushrooms I had picked on the way in had been of the magic variety. I walked back around to where the front of the door had been, hoping that it would not reappear. It did. I sat down on the leaves in front of the door, and stared at its knob. How deep did the rabbit hole go? Would I dare open it? Could I walk away? The answer to that last question was easy to answer. If I didn’t try, I would wonder for the rest of my days. I looked around again, some inner hope telling me it was an elaborate practical joke, but no one sprang from the woods yelling “surprise”. The light was failing fast now, but the door seemed to be the same brightness as before, now glowing faintly compared to its surroundings. I stood again, and walked to within a step of it. My right hand, almost of its own volition, reached out and grasped the knob. It tingled under my palm as though there was a slight electrical current. While part of my brain prayed that it would be locked, another part turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open on silent hinges, exposing a bright reception room. A man dressed in an immaculate gray suit looked up from his seat behind a marble counter. “Ah, I’m sorry. Excuse the interruption,” I muttered, as I reached to pull the door shut again. “Ah, there you are Mister Kline. Please come in. We’ve been waiting quite a long time for you.” I had no intention of going in, and I seemed unable to move my legs. The impatient doorway puckered forward and engulfed me, and I found myself standing at the counter. I stood ramrod straight in alarm, and twisted my head to look behind me. Just as in the forest, there was no door on this side. Only a wall with a series of forest paintings. “Don’t be afraid, Mister Kline. I’m sure you are confused by this strange turn of events, but there is nothing here that can hurt you.” I dry swallowed and rasped, “Where am I?” The man pursed his lips and frowned. “That’s what they always ask first. I get it, I really do, but it is so boring. I wish someone would ask something different for a change.” “Fine,” I said, “then let’s start with you. Who are you?” He sighed. “Marginally better. I am the administrative assistant.” “Assistant to who?” He frowned. “You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t. No matter. Now, Mister Kline, let me ask you a question. How old are you?” “Thirty-two,” I said with the ease of long practice. “I think you’re underestimating, don’t you?” “Don’t I look thirty-two?” “Of course, but that’s not what I asked, is it?” I threw up my hands. “Would you believe a hundred and thirty-two?’ “No. Mister Kline, I am not fooled by outside appearances.” He picked up a folder. “I have your file right here.” “Fine,” I said in frustration, and looked up as I did some mental arithmetic. “I’m about six-hundred and forty something. I don’t keep track anymore. Satisfied?” He grinned. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” I didn’t answer; I just stared at him. He opened the folder. “Why do you suppose you’ve lived so long, Mister Kline, and kept your youthful appearance?” “Good genes?” He sniggered. “The most good genes could do for you would be to let you live a long old age. Would you care to guess again?” “I’m an immortal?” This time he laughed outright while I stood, confused by his reaction. After all the countless years it was what I had come to believe, after all. When he composed himself, he said, “In a sense that is right, Mister Kline. But it’s more like a happy accident. Do you remember something that happened to you when you were thirty-two?” “How could I forget. There was an earthquake, and the hillside above our small village let go, wiping us off the map. I was the only survivor.” “And how did you get out. Did someone rescue you?” “I don’t remember much of it. It was a long time ago. All I remember is waking up several days later, and pulling myself out of the drying mud.” He looked at the file and said, “We estimate it was twenty-one days based on other records. That’s how long you were trapped.” “Twenty-one? That can’t be right. I should have died.” He raised a finger and pointed at me. “Yes, you should have. That’s exactly right.” “Excuse me?” He sighed. “Mister Kline, you should have died that day. My predecessor was perhaps a bit careless in his last thousand years in this job, and misplaced your file. Normally we come to retrieve you in such cases, and your mortal body dies. As best as we can tell, your folder was misfiled and you were never retrieved. When I took over a few hundred years ago, we began auditing all the old files. As you might imagine, there were a lot of files to review. Mister Kline, your file was recently found in with the Pees.” I took a moment to process the information. “So, it’s finally my turn? You’ve come to collect my soul?” “Something like that.” The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up. “Yes sir? Yes, he’s standing right here. I’ll have him processed in a few minutes.” He listened, and a frown crossed his face. “That’s highly irregular, sir. This needs a quick… No sir, I’m not telling you how to do your job.” He looked up at me as he said, “Yes, of course sir, I’ll take care of it,” and hung up. “Was that Him?” I asked with a tremor in my voice. He stared at me and shook his head. “I’ve never had this happen before, Mr. Kline. Frankly, I’m baffled. My instructions are to re-file your folder without action.” He stared at me for a long moment before continuing, “in the Pees.”

•••••The End •••••