Cinder and the Gateway

May 2021 - the start of an uncompleted book. Paranormal horror.

Chapter One

Nigel Planter knew they were coming for him.

He could sense their presence in the air around him; catch glimpses of them between buildings. The sun would be setting soon, leaving him alone in its terrible absence. Oh, how he loved the sun. It was his guardian angel, an indefatigable source of  light that never left his side.

Except during the night.

He stepped into the grocery store and chose a cart. The cart had a squeaky wheel. Sometimes Nigel felt like a squeaky wheel. He liked the cart.

Into his cart went the groceries: milk, eggs, fruit, batteries. All locally sourced. As he compared prices, he knew they were still out there. He preferred not to think about it.

The teenage associate at the counter greeted him indifferently.

"Greetings, Miss Michaels", said Nigel in reply.

The young woman scanned his purchases. "No need to be so formal. Call me Trish."

"Did you do well on your Spanish test?" Nigel asked pleasantly.

"Huh?" said the woman.

"I have been waiting to hear the results of your test", continued Nigel. "You seemed anxious. Did you do well?"

"That was, like, six months ago", said the young woman. "I don't remember. Probably. I mean, I passed the class."

"Good!" said Nigel with a smile.

"Do you need a bag?" Trish asked.

Nigel reached into his pocket and pulled out some carefully folded plastic bags. He loaded the groceries in.

"Reduce, reuse, recycle", he hummed.

Trish told him his total. Nigel took out his wallet and gave her exact change.

"Farewell, Ms Michaels", he said with a wave as he left.

"Call me Trish!" she shouted as the sliding doors closed.

Nigel checked his watch once he was outside. They were still coming for him, closer now. He frowned and sped up his pace.

At the intersection, he bounced on his heels, grocery bags crinkling. He stared at the red man. The red man didn't seem to notice him. He checked his watch again.

The red man dissapeared, his place taken by the green man. Nigel sped across the street, making it to the other side just as the green man disapeared as well, replaced by the white blinking hand. He jumped and high fived it before continuing on.

Two blocks later he realized he'd taken a wrong turn. He went back. Two more blocks later he realized he hadn't made a wrong turn after all. He went back. He checked his watch and frowned.

The sun was getting ready for bed. He could tell because it was painting the sky. First it cast pink and orange strokes over the blue canvas. Then it covered the world in black.

Nigel shuddered.

He saw his house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was a quaint white cottage nestled amongst other identical quaint white cottages. Well, not exactly identical. Nigel's house was the messiest.

He sprinted past the unmowed lawn. He pulled out his keys with jittering fingers. He flung open the front door and closed it firmly.

He took a deep breath and slumped onto the floor. They couldn't get him here. He was safe. Every one of his beautiful lights was shining, and that was really saying something because he had lights everywhere.

Lamps hung from the walls. Lamps hung from the ceiling. There were desk lamps on every shelf, strung with christmas lights, next to lava lamps decked with fairy lights. There were white lights, and blacklights, and bulbs of every color.

After admiring his victory over the enemy for a moment, Nigel took off his shoes and rubbed his socks against the carpet as he made his way to the kitchen.

🙘 𐫱 🙚  

Exavier van Rudgard stroked his long goatee. His hair was a shiny copper color, smooth like silk. He wore a white labcoat with old red stains. It was impossible to tell whether the stains were ketchup or spaghetti sauce.

He adjusted one of his monocles and checked the address written on a napkin in his hand. He looked out the window of his limousine at the quaint white cottage in front of him. Was this really the home of the greatest housekeeper in the world?

With a huff, he stuffed the napkin in his pocket. He stepped out of the limousine and into the uncertain twilight. It was that time of year when the evening air was still deciding whether to be cold or hot.

Exavier walked to the door and knocked. There was no answer. Both windows shone brightly. He knocked again.

The doorknob rattled. Exavier stepped back, but the door did not swing open.

"Hello?" came a small, meek voice.

The door had opened by such a small amount that Exavier had not even noticed.

"Yes, hello", said Exavier. "Is this the residence of Nigel Planter?"

"I am he", said the meek voice. "Please don't ask me to step outside. I don't want anything you're selling."

"Let's step inside", said Exavier, trying his best to sound friendly. He cleared his throat. "Have a cup of tea. Talk about business."

"The Agency must have sent you", said Nigel, opening the door wider.

Exavier stared at the balloon on top of Nigel's head, to which the man's frizzy blonde hair was attracted by static electricity.

"Tell me, Nigel", said Exavier as he stepped inside. Nigel closed the door quickly behind him, breathing a sigh of relief.

Exavier said, "Are you the greatest housekeeper in the world?"

"The Agency does describe me as such", said Nigel. "Mr..."

"Van Rudgard", said Exavier. "Exavier van Rudgard."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Rudgard."

"That's van Rudgard", corrected Exavier. He took a look around the house. First impressions were not good. Clutter was everywhere. Light bulbs seemed to fill the air. In the kitchen, groceries were strewn across the countertops.

"Why does the Agency describe you as the greatest housekeeper in the world?" asked Exavier, stepping gingerly around flickering fake candles littering the carpet. "No offensive, but this place is a dump."

"The appearance of cleanliness to others", said Nigel, "Is not as important as the potential demonstration potential."

Exavier put his hands on his hips. "You mean this is your version of 'clean'."

"Allow me to demonstrate", said Nigel. He led the red-bearded man into the living room. "Wait here. What type of tea would you like, Mr Rudgard?"

"That's van Rudgard", said Exavier. He settled back and waited. The man's house was shabby. Everything was in good repair, but it was just so messy.

Movies lay on the floor around the television set. Old candy wrappers mingled with the books stacked haphazardly on the shelves. In the bedroom across the hall, laundry and papers concealed the carpet. He noticed a giant glass chandelier lying behind the couch, plugged in to the wall and looking very out of place.

An episode of "Tidying up with Marie Kondo" played quietly on the television.

Exavier got up to leave, but then Nigel returned carring two cups of tea. "The state of my own house is not so important to me, Mr Rudgard. I keep my house in this state as a demonstration to customers."

Exavier had only glanced into the kitchen, but it looked remarkably different. The excessive lighting, once tacky, had been arranged into a stylish fashion reminiscient of Ikea displays. The strewn food was nowhere to be seen. Exavier opened the cupboard to check the organized plates, cups, and silverware.

"You did all this while the tea was brewing", said Exavier. He opened the refrigerator.

"You alphabetized your food", he noted, almost dropping a monocle.

"That is correct, Mr Rudgard", said Nigel, a smile like the Mona Lisa's on his face.

"What's your secret?" asked Exavier. "Don't answer that. Good secrets are hard to come by."

He was silent for a moment.

"I can see that you live up to your title", said Exavier, "As the greatest housekeeper in the world. I'll time you now. I'll give you one minute - no, I'll use the stop watch."

He pulled out a stop watch. "Do to the living room what you did here."

"Yes sir, Mr Rudgard."

"Van Rudgard. One, two, three, go!"

Exavier clicked the stopwatch. Nigel hurried into the other room. Exavier stood in the kitchen, admiring the way the hanging bulbs formed a different pattern when viewed from each side of the room. After a few minutes had passed, he wandered into the living room.

Both monocles fell out onto the floor. The living room looked like a page from a magazine. The movies, now on the shelf, were arranged by color, forming a color wheel. He checked the bookshelf - alphabetized.

The thing about Nigel's house was that it was messy without being dirty. Exavier had assumed, for instance, that the carpet was stained; but taking a closer look, it was indeed clean.

Gone were the old candy wrappers, straightened was the furniture, and worthy of display were the multitudinous light fixtures. Even the glass chandelier looked like a normal member of a living room now.

"That settles it", said Exavier, picking up and polishing off his monocles. "You're hired."

Chapter Two

Ella Wood punched a hole in the cheese.