Charlie

Part One- The Door

It was a beautiful door. It was made of black walnut with a matted finish. The age was undeterminable except for some unique qualities. The door was smaller than a typical entry way door. The top of it was peaked like the eaves of a house with no windows.
The door had eight hinges that did not match each other. Some were brass, some were plated nickel. Each had a distinct design but seemed to be added as necessary.
Perhaps the most unusual feature of the door was that it was leaning into the doorway of its intended location, disconnected.
The little Tudor shop where the door leaned was bright inside. One couldn’t really see in the doorway due to the big, wooden blockage but it appeared to be a china ware shop.
Nestled within the row buildings on the main street of the little german town, the china shop was frequently passed by shoppers and families out doing their daily chores and commutes.
It would have been impossible not to notice the unique door leaning against the wall in front of the building. Yet days and weeks and months went by as the entrance to the shop remained ajar.

Part Two- The Family

The man and woman led their two daughters down the rainy main street of the little German town. It was not cold, but raining in such a way that one would soak through if stationary for long.
The eldest daughter was very hungry and had been expressing this desire for the entire length of the walk down the busy street. Her father assured her that the direction they were heading would have many shops to choose delicacies in and she should begin deciding what sounded good as they walked.
Her little sister was quiet. Her gaze was fixed on the windows of each shop as they walked. She would periodically stop and take in the wares of the interiors, musing to herself what lie inside.
The mother was doing much of the same as the little sister, but with a purpose in her head. The family was shopping for Christmas presents, and she had specific things in mind.
As they scurried down the cobblestone walkway of the little main street, the father stopped at the leaning wooden door. This must have been a normal, acceptable practice for the family, as the rest dutifully stopped and tucked themselves under the eaves of the buildings to keep dry.
The father was looking at the door’s hinges. As he reached out to touch the door, the shop keeper pushed it aside.
“Hello.”, chimed the happy keeper. “My name is Charlie, do come in.”

Part Three- The Shop

The shop was more like the den of a living room. A light colored, soft arm chair sat to the right of the doorway with a matching ottoman foot rest and side table. The side table held a brightly lit lamp and several books.
The girls were looking around the room at the tea cups that sat on high shelves and the nicknacks that filled in any empty spaces. Shelves adorned most walls, all with tea cups and saucers or unique other findings.
One shelf sat much lower, almost like a ledge, against the back wall and met at the corner to curl around and end beside the little side table and chair.
There was a large, oval, braided rug on the floor. It seemed to be about the same color as the chair and ottoman, an odd pale pink. The color was difficult to describe as the bright lights around the room gave off such an angelic hue. It made the entire room feel warm and happy.
However, due to the doorless entry, the shop was quite cold.
The father was still looking over the door. While Charlie showed the girls around the room explaining where he can come to find each tea cup and the stories behind them, the father interrupted.
“Charlie, let me afix this door for you. It is far too lovely to stay leaning against the opening and in this weather, it may get ruined without proper install.”
Charlie’s delight was obvious. He bounced around gathering tools for the man all the while thanking him and venting his appreciation.
As the father began to fit the door against the door jam, attempting to line the eight hinges up with holes that were already drilled, the door snapped into place. It was perfectly positioned, seemingly having been installed before.
At that moment, Charlie walked to corner where the low hanging shelf was. On the edge, was what looked like an antique globe lamp. Light pink with flowers painted around the base, it seemed to have a light within in it. Charlie reached around the base of the lamp and turned a switch. All at once, bubbles started to churn out of the top of the lamp chimney.
“Do you like my bubbles?”, he exclaimed.
The little girls shrieked with delight, and the mother looked on with interest. The bubbles just seemed to annoy the father. He was trying to fix the door.
Not all the screws were present for each hinge, so the father opened the door a crack to look for some that may have gone astray. When he turned to speak to Charlie about it, he suddenly found himself unable to speak.
His face went numb. His hands felt paralyzed and useless. His tongue felt swollen and stuck to the roof of his mouth. His wife screamed. The girls ran out the door. As the father melted to the floor, knees giving way, the mother began to display the same physical maladies.
She tried to speak, to ask Charlie for help. He was smiling.
Outside the doorway, in the rain, on the cold cobblestone lie both little girls. Each was on her side, formed into a ball. Their small hands curled in, in a post distal seizure-like disfigurement.
Charlie leisurely stepped over the convulsing body of the mother, shoved his hands under the arms of the father, and drug him from the doorway. He did the same with the mother, before walking out onto the sidewalk to retrieve each little form.
Charlie gently laid the family on the braided rug. He walked to the unique, pointed door and latched it. From a drawer in the side table he collected a large brass hinge. Setting it on the floor by the door, he turned to the powerless, fearful creatures on the rug and said,
“Do you like my bubbles?”