Door Challenge Weirdness

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

Another variation on a theme (with a few extra doors thrown in for good measure), this one apparently set after - and vaguely related to - my entries in the Telephone Challenge and the Movie Challenge.


Small World
by Beth H
(c) October 2003

When the kitchen cabinet doors were slammed shut for the fifth time, Fraser got up from the couch and went into the kitchen.

"Ray, you're going to have to calm down."

Ray spun around and shook his head. "No, Fraser, you do not get to tell me to calm down. And do you know why you don't get to tell me to calm down? You do not get to tell me to calm down because it's my parents we're going to see. If we were going to see your family, then you'd get to freak out. That's how it works."

Fraser leaned back against the counter top and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes, well, in that case, it would appear that I'm no longer going to be allowed any opportunity to . . . 'freak out,' am I?"

Before the words were even out of his mouth, he regretted them. Of course Ray had nothing to do with the sudden departure of his family, and it was unfair of him to give Ray any cause to believe he should assume even a small part of the responsibility for their disappearance. "Ray, I didn't . . . ."

"Sorry, Fraser." Ray draped his arm over Fraser's shoulder and pulled him to his side. "You know I didn't mean it that way, right?"

"Ray, I didn't mean to suggest it's your fault that . . . " He glanced over at the closet door. ". . . that my . . . that they . . . ."

Ray tightened his hold on Fraser. "Hey, you can't be sure they're gone for good, right? Maybe they'll . . . ."

"I'm sure," Fraser said, shaking his head. "I should just be grateful that I was given a second chance to . . . .well . . . ."

"Look, Fraser, I know it's not my fault that . . . I'm just sorry, okay? Sorry they're gone and sorry I've been acting like such an ass today. Just a little on edge, you know?"

"I understand, Ray." Then Fraser frowned. "Although I'm a bit unclear about what has you so anxious today. It's not as if we haven't shared a number of meals with your parents over the course of the past two months, and since they already know we're . . . ."

"Yeah, yeah . . . I know all that, okay? But tonight's different. I know them, Fraser. I know the way they do things. Special occasion. That's what both of them have been saying. Special occasion. They're up to something. I know it. The last time they . . . ."

"Ray."

"What?"

"We're going to be late."

Ray sighed. "Yeah. Time to go."

~*~*~*~

As trailer homes went, the one the Kowalskis bought after they moved back to the midwest was pretty hard to beat. It wasn't new. Even with the money they got for their trade-in, Barbara and Damian couldn't quite manage to swing that. But it was only a year old and had less than a thousand miles on it, thanks to its original owner, a recently retired fireman who'd bought it in Iowa with the intention of visiting every state in the union, but who'd only got as far as Door County, Wisconsin, where he met a waitress by the name of Lorraine who got carsick whenever she spent more than twenty minutes on the road.

The trailer was over thirty feet long. Spacious. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and came complete with custom-made awnings for all the windows and doors. No basement or attic, of course, but the Kowalskis had put most of their things into storage before making the trip back to Illinois, and they didn't look to be in any rush to fill the trailer with new clutter.

Ray paused before he knocked, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the brass wolf's head knocker that had been attached to the door since the last time he'd been to visit. He looked down at Dief, then glanced over his shoulder at Fraser.

"Redecorating."

"So it would appear."

"Coincidence?"

Fraser smiled and shook his head. "Unlikely, Ray."

"Yeah." Ray grinned, bending down to ruffle Diefenbaker's fur. "I didn't think so."

He stood up and pulled the brass ring back, tapping out "Shave and a haircut . . . " but before he reached " . . . two bits," the door was pulled open by his father, who was wearing a herringbone sports jacket and carrying a shopping bag.

Ray stared at him for a second, then tilted his head to one side. "Um . . . we get the wrong day or something? You look like you're on your way out."

Damian stepped aside to let the two men and one wolf into the trailer. "Don't ask me what's going on; I'm not in charge of the social plans around here. You know that."

Fraser shut the door behind him just as Barbara came out from the back bedroom.

"Oh thank heavens you're all here. I'd feel so bad if we arrived late, although in the circumstances, I don't suppose it would . . . ."

"What do you mean 'late,' Mom? Aren't we eating here?"

Barbara patted her son's arm. "We've all been invited over to . . . well, you know them, of course." She adjusted a blue silk scarf around her neck, then looked at Ray, who'd just re-opened the front door. "Stanley, you're letting leaves blow into the living room."

"Sorry." Ray closed the door again. "I thought you said we . . . "

"Not that door, dear."

Ray turned to Fraser and whispered, "The place only has one door. I think my mom's losin' it, Fraser."

"Damian, do you have the dessert?"

"Right here," he said, lifting the shopping bag.

Barbara smiled at her husband. "Thank you, dear. Let me get the door."

Ray frowned as his mom reached for the door handle of the linen closet, but the moment she opened the door, Diefenbaker dashed across the living room and ran straight into the closet.

"Dief! Get out of there!"

Barbara just smiled. "He must know dinner's almost ready. It smells wonderful, doesn't it?"

And with that, Ray's mother followed Dief through the door of the linen closet and disappeared from view.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Damian shrugged and adjusted his hold on the shopping bag. "Don't ask me. I just do what your mother tells me to do." He chuckled, and then he, too, disappeared into the linen closet.

Ray stared at Fraser. "Do you . . . ?"

Fraser shook his head. "I don't . . . I suppose we should . . . ."

"Come along, Son." Fraser spun around and stared at the closet, where his father stood, holding the door open. "It's not like you to dawdle."

Unable to think of anything to say, the two men followed Bob Fraser through the door and found themselves in . . . utter chaos. People were everywhere, although most of them seemed to have been drafted into helping set the table. Diefenbaker, who was less than useful with table setting at the best of times, was running through the house, being chased by a brown and white terrier.

"Oh man," Ray said. " . . . .Sparky?"

At the sound of the name, the terrier left its pursuit and dashed over to Ray, jumping up on him and barking. Ray knelt down beside the dog and let it lick his face over and over again.

Ray took the dog in his arms and stood up. "Fraser," he said a little unsteadily, "meet Sparky. Sparky, this is Fraser."

"Your . . . old dog, Ray?"

Ray nodded.

Damian came into the dining room with a platter of rare roast beef. "We heard some scratching inside the bedroom closet door the other day, and when I opened the door . . . well, there was Sparky."

"And you didn't think this was weird enough to mention, Dad?"

"To tell the truth, it just slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?"

"What with Bob and Caroline moving in and all."

Fraser stared at his father. "You've moved in . . . with the Kowalskis?"

"Well, not exactly with them, Son. But they said they had plenty of room here, and your mother said there was nothing more annoying than interfering in-laws when a couple is just starting out, and . . . "

"Hmmph. Don't think I don't know what she really meant," Martha Fraser muttered from the sofa.

Bob sighed. "Mother, for the last time, Caroline wasn't talking about you and Dad. Didn't she invite you to live . . .well, to come stay with us?"

"You don't have to convince me of anything, Son. I'm just an old woman. It's not important what I think."

"Oh, for the love of . . . . We'll talk later, Mother." Bob turned to his son. "Anyway, there was more room over here, and your mother thought a change of scene might be nice, so . . . "

"You didn't think I might want to know you weren't gone for good?"

Bob frowned. "Didn't we say we were just moving? I could have sworn . . . Caroline!" he yelled. "Come on out here!"

Ray turned to Fraser. "You getting the impression that our folks have a hell of a lot more in common than we thought?"

"What is it, Bob? Oh, Benton. You're here!" She embraced her son, then stepped back to look at him. "I swear, you get more handsome every day. As do you, Stanley."

Ray groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

"He goes by 'Ray,' Mom."

Caroline frowned. "But I was sure Barbara said . . . . "

"Ray," Fraser said firmly.

A few minutes later, all the food had been brought out from the kitchen and everyone was seated at the table when a door buzzer sounded.

Caroline stood up. "Everybody should just get started with dinner. I won't be a minute."

Fraser looked after his mother as she went into the kitchen.

"She'll be back in a minute. It'll just be one of the neighbors."

"You have neighbors?"

"Well, of course we do, Son. We're dead; we're not hermits."

Caroline returned to the table, shaking her head. "Bob, do you remember that rather unpleasant man who lived near us before we moved? Apparently he's living right next door now!"

"Good Lord. What did he want?"

"He was complaining about all the noise he's been hearing for the past week right outside his front door. Blamed us for it, if you can imagine. That Mr. Vecchio said no one in his family would have anything to do with a bowling alley."

"Stanley . . . I mean, Ray? Are you all right, dear? Benton, get Ray some water! Oh dear."

~*~*~*~

(1721 words)