The Black Door, part 2

Several bits of news about my fiction story thing. I've decided to give it the title "The Black Door" for now, mostly because "The Story That Has No Name" is a pain to type out. Also because I'm not good with titles. It's really just a placemarker, much like large bits of the rest of the story. Well, the names anyway. For example, "Dr. North" is kind of a pathetic name for that particular character. Plus I'm using it in another story where it fits better and I want to free it up. Also, this'll probably be the last "Black Door" post until I get back to Moscow, where I left most of the bits of the story that I have written so far. Anyway, and without further ado, here's part two:


The Black Door, part 2

Without any warning, the cold, black door swung open. Silhouetted in the light coming from somewhere inside the house was a man, tall and thin by nature, peculiarly dressed in an impeccable way, and looking very much like a butler from Edwardian England. The man paused, eyeing James with the air of a French man in a fast food restaurant, and then spoke, in the sort of condescending tone that is almost guaranteed to disorient its recipient.

“May I help you, sir?”

James, taken somewhat aback by this curious turn of events, stood dumbfounded for a second, and then realized that standing there with his mouth hanging open wasn’t the best way to make a good impression. Finally, he heard himself replying:

“Uh, I’m here to see Dr. North.”

“Are you now. Well then, I’ll see what I can do.”

The butler (for that is what he was) spoke in a slightly less condescending tone this time, and there even seemed to be a little bit of curious respect in his voice. He silently turned on his heel and walked quickly down the hallway, the door closing with a quiet ‘click’ behind him. James was once again alone in the cold, dark night.

Of all the things he might have expected from what was inside the house, a British butler was not one of them. It boggled his imagination that there still were butlers in this modern world, let alone one at a house in a small town in Idaho, of all places. He didn’t have a very active imagination, so it was probably due for a good boggling, although he little suspected that by the end of this little adventure, this mild strangeness was going to seem as nothing.