THE SECRET DOOR

7 Sep

Terry Whatsisname (the surname was what his neighbour called him, though his real name was Smith) was in the middle of a truly affectionate burst of physical lust with his dear friend Amelia Amplebutt (her real surname and the … excuse me, butt … of many a joke as it had gone from a long forgotten distant ancestor down the generations to reach her), when he paused mid-thrust and made her squeal.
“You can do that again, Terry,” she squeaked, licking his face.
But he was frowning and shaking his head and started muttering to himself in the way that those making love rarely do. He’d clearly either seen or thought something that alarmed him.
“I could swear …” he muttered, “I know it sounds daft but I could swear that I just saw that miserable git from next door, Bernard Glumface or something like that, walking through our bedroom and perving at us, and he was being led by … by someone horrible!”
“What? Old misery-guts?” asked Amelia, trying to keep the physical rhythm going and not quite succeeding.
“Walking through our room like one of those ghosts that they put in horror films,” confirmed Terry. “And as real as that wardrobe over there, or I’m a Dutchman!”
“Oo … er,” squeaked Amelia wanting to get back to the business in hand before he lost all interest in it like men sometimes seem to.
“And it was like he was going right through a door that isn’t there, over in that wall!” pointed Terry. “He opened the door as if it was real, or rather that spooky gent who was leading him did! And he wasn’t real either, no sir he wasn’t! What with that gigantic cutlass he was carrying and the way his hood covered his face as though he didn’t have one…”
“There’s no door over there,” agreed Amelia, “and if there was it would lead straight into the ginnel between your house and mine! He’d fall splat on his grumpy head, that’s what he’d do! Even you must be able to work that one out.”
“I must’ve been seeing things,” sighed Terry. “Maybe it’s the hypnotic effect your glorious bottom has on my imagination!”
“You like my bum don’t you, Terry?” squealed Amelia, “you don’t think it’s too big, do you?”
“Never in a million years, I’d say that would be impossible, you saucy wench!…” replied Terry, still frowning. “I say, what’s that?” he added, pointing.
“I can’t see anything…”
He climbed out of bed and strode to the wall through which he imagined he’d seen his neighbour leaving, and bent down and picked something up.
“It’s a chain, with a cross on it,” said Amelia, frowning over his shoulder.
“Is it yours?” asked Terry, puzzled.
“I’ve never seen it before,” said Amelia, “come on, get back in bed before we both get bored. I was enjoying things!”
He turned and shook his head slowly. “I don’t like it,” he muttered, “first I see someone who shouldn’t be here and then I find this piece of jewellery in my own bedroom, and I’ve never seen it before.”
“One of your lady friends might have dropped it,” teased Amelia, pulling him by his genitals back towards the bed.
“You’re the only lady who comes anywhere near my bedroom!” he told her firmly, “and you know that, wench – and that hurts!”
“Anyway, come on!” she urged him.
“Just a minute…” He pulled her back, wincing, and she let go. “When he seemed to go through a door that isn’t there he must have dropped this cross, and at the same time I saw something the other side of the door… it wasn’t the sort of thing that a love-crazed old fool like me would expect to see through a door that isn’t there…”
“Now you’re imagining things…”
“No. I swear it. I saw, clear as I can see your glorious bottom, another land on the other side of the wall. And it was strange, unearthly, like some of the pictures you see in children’s bible books.”
“Oooh, you mean there’s another world, like Narnia, and it’s only a couple of yards away!” grinned Amelia.
“If there is I don’t like it…” Terry shook his head. “I don’t like it at all…” he shivered.
“Why not?”
“Because old Bernard lived the life of a saint,” said Terry. “As far as I know he never had a woman, no girl friend, no wife, nothing like that, never swore or cursed or even had a bad word to say about anyone.”
“You mean he was gay? Well, that okay these days. I’ve nothing against men who are gay,” said Amelia. “Some of my best friends have been gay.”
Terry shook his head. “No, I don’t think he was gay, though I suppose it’s possible. No, whenever I spoke to him I got the impression that he was one of those religious freaks who believe there’s something really evil about sex. He wanted to have nothing to do with it and I’m pretty sure that’s how he lived his life. If he had any girlfriends I don’t know where he kept them … and I’ll bet he wouldn’t know what to do with them if they fell for him!”
“And you just saw him being led into a wonderful land through your wall? You mean, that wall is some kind of doorway into Heaven?”
“Would that were the case, but no,” sighed Terry. “I said the land on the other side of a door that isn’t there is like a picture from a children’s bible, and that’s what it looked like.
“It looked very, very much like a red and fiery and really scary image of Hell!”
© Peter Rogerson 07.09.16

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