Day 54: Birthday

It's my birthday.  Todays sucks.  Couldn't get anything out.  You have those days occasionally, huh?

            The red robed man’s head peeked over the stairs.  He reached into a leather duffel bag and removed a long spy glass, extending it in his hand and peering up into it like a chimney.  Charles hustled and dove behind a fence, peering between the slats.  The red robed man seemed satisfied, tucked the spyglass away back into his bag, threw the bag over his shoulder and walked over to the swings.  He set the bag next to the reinforced beam holding the swing up and began swinging, gradually building up momentum.   He paid no heed to his bag, daring Charles to come steal it and see what could be contained within.  There was atleast a pretty cool spyglass.  He swung with pronounced nonchalance, like Mary Poppin’s floating with her umbrella.

             Charles scurried in an army crawl back to the brick laden path and past the church, pulling himself back to his feet when the buildings blocked his view of the swings.  He knew when he looked back over the red robed man would have disappeared, set loose like a snake in the grass. 

Charles opened the gate in front of the building, lifting it and dragging it aside.  It’s thick wooden frame splintered as he pulled it back, the rusted metal holding it onto its hinges crackling in the summer air.  The door to the travelers lodge sat ajar, like Hansel and Gretels cabin.

            The sun grew a few sizes bigger, like the lense at an optomotrist appointment.  Charles felt a sudden weasiness, a vertigo that made his head spin, and he had to clutch at his legs to keep them moving.  The building was drawing him in.  He looked behind him, but as he turned his head he wanted to throw up, and leaned forward with his hands on his eyes to steady himself.

            The lights came streaming in, attacking like a viewfinder.  The first slide showed the grand canyon, a man holding a small boys hand standing in front of the gorge.  The picture was yellowing, clipped around the edges with a serated scissors.  He pried his hands off of his eyes, the yellow burst of sun combining with the force of wind to drive him forward.  He moved like he was on a conveyor belt, even when he turned and tried to walk the opposite direction he was still driven forward.

            He was met at the door by an overweight man who was furiously trying to untangle his moustache from itself.  He wore white slippers, a bathrobe, and his arms were heavy with dormant muscle mass.

            The man put a robust paw over Charles shoulder and let him to a kitchen table. 

            “You want coffee?  I have to have some coffee.  I am dying over here.”  The man grumbled and grinded a black sludge out of a metal box with a crank on top.  He caught the grindings in a measuring cup and pewter mug.  He perched his hand on the kitchen counter and leaned forward, in thought, then tossed two sugar cubes in each concoction.

“S’all I got left, drink it or leave it.”  He slammed with measuring cup down in front of Charles.  The man rummaged through drawers methodically, removing utensils in rows on the counter.  When he finally settled in at the chair across from Charles, a banging started on the door and he rose abruptly. 

“He’s here, kid.  Don’t’ ask me how I know who you are, I won’t tell you.  What matters is that he’s here.  He’s chased you into your dreams.”  The old man snatched a key off the counter and pressed it into Charles hands.  “You have to get going, he’ll be here in a minute and this whole place is going to fall apart.”

The old man gathered a handfull of nails from the counter, looked for a receptacle to place them in but when he didn’t immediately find one put the bunch into the front pocket of his bathrobe.  He ran to the front door, booming as he made his path, and foolhardily started placing beams across the threshhold.  The floorboards creeked over head, feet could be heard ascending the stairs.

Charles grabbed the key and ran through the loose screen door on the side of the house.  It led to a fire escape that traversed the side of the building, the narrow stairs dropping constantly.  He carefully gripped the handrial and stepped three times for each time he had to replace his hand.  A pack of cards sat on the bottom of the enclosure, set at a table next to a door leading into an obfuscated structure.  There was yet another layer to this unending dream.

Unfolding his map, Charles came to realize this portion of land didn’t exist.  A sign posted on the door of the building forbid trespassing at the expense of being shot, and a chain wrapped and locked around the handle reinforced this sentiment.  He tried the key, and while the lock popped open easily the chain had been wrapped through it in a way that prevented its removal. Charles yanked at it strenuously, and it didn’t give any way.  He needed a forceps to twist one of the braided pieces of metal free.

Slumping down to a knee, Charles gripped the black security suspension bridge preventing him from plumeting down to a different plane.  He peered over the landing, endless clouds underneath forming a blanket of white.  The windows of the house above rattled with durress, a few loud bangs resounded from inside.

He stepped back up the fire escape with sudden resolve, taking the flight by leaps and using his hands when his feet faltered.  He got to the top of the flight, pushed the door open and noticed nothing going on in the inside.

The halls were empty, the coffee was gone, the utensils were put away.  The stairs leading up over the carpet onto the second floor had settled in with dirt, their cramped dark colored floral patterns sitting heavily with dust and mites.