A middle grade fantasy adventure
Excerpt
A rainbow of patchwork squares and rectangles line the strange classroom. Wooden doors with geometric patterns, red doors with white frames like a barn, sliding doors, swinging saloon doors and hatch-like basement doors make choosing difficult. I even see the rubber flap of a doggy door at the bottom of another door. But which door leads to food or a bathroom? A pair of white doors with curling brass handles get my attention and I decide they look promising.
Sitting on the counter, Milo crunches contentedly on his carrots. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other which door I choose, so I reach for the brass handles. A burst of excitement courses through me when they turn easily. I pull them open, revealing a busy restaurant kitchen.
The welcoming aroma of fresh-baked bread and savory spices send my mouth flooding with saliva. Men and women in tall white chef’s hats buzz back and forth, balancing pots and plates and calling orders over the clatter of kitchenware.
Directly in front of me, an older man slicked with sweat artfully tosses something in a skillet over lashing flames. Amid a cloud of steam, he spots me and blinks, “Lunch isn’t ready yet,” he says with a dismissing wave of his hand. “Come back in twenty-four minutes.”
I glance to Milo who nods. So Milo can see the kitchen too. That’s good. It means I’m not imagining it.
Again, the impatient chef waves, “Twenty-four minutes,” he says. “Go on now.”
Quickly I close the doors, hanging on the handles, a little unsure of what I’ve just seen.
“I’ll set the time,” Milo offers, hopping down from his perch.
“I thought you didn’t have a watch.”
“I don’t,” says Milo. “I have a stopwatch. The higher-ups were ridin’ me, sayin’ I was workin’ too slow. So I bought this stopwatch to time myself.” Pulling a digital stopwatch from his cart, buttons bleep as he pushes them. “Takes me twelve minutes to clean a classroom. That ain’t slow. If they want someone faster, they should hire a cheetah. There,” he states, propping the stopwatch on his cart. “Twenty-four minutes and counting.”
“Twenty-four minutes is pretty exact, don’t you think? Not ‘twenty-five minutes’ or ‘come back in a few.’”
“Guess the man knows his cookin’,” Milo says returning to his carrots and his seat on the counter. “Looks like you gots twenty-three minutes to find yourself a bathroom.”
Yeah, and I really need to go too! So I scan the doors for something that looks bathroom appropriate. On the far side of the room near the vault door, I spy a narrow door made of weathered boards with a crescent moon shape carved out of the top. I’ve seen one of those before on an old-fashioned outhouse and I run to it with all the hope in the world.
Up close, the door is even more weathered than I thought. The boards are warped and splintering, “ready for the trash heap” my dad would say. When I reach for a door knob, there isn’t one. There’s only a quarter-sized hole where the knob should be. So I hook my finger in the hole and pull open the creaky door. I’m expecting to see a stinky, fly-covered toilet. Instead, I’m looking at a tropical white sand beach with a single palm tree swaying in a warm breeze. “What the hell? This ain’t no bathroom!” I shout.
“It surely ain’t.” Milo adds from across the room. “How’d that get there?”
I shake my head gaping at the sight of everyone’s dream vacation spot. There’s only a few feet of beach before it gives way to lazy waves and clear blue waters. Floating just offshore, I spot a raft loaded to the brim with a banquet of food.
“Look at that!” I gasp. “That’s enough food to feed the whole school! What’s it doing floating in the ocean?”
“Who cares?” Milo replies. “There’s your lunch. Go get some.”
Smiling big, I take one step inside, but I stop right away.
“What’s wrong?” Milo calls over.
“I can’t go out there,” I say. “Look.”
All around the floating table, several shark fins circle. I count six sharks as hungry as I am.
“Well don’t that beat all?” Milo says. “You can kiss that idea goodbye. It ain’t worth dyin’ over. But at least you found yourself a bathroom.”
“Whataya’ mean?”
He points with his carrot stick. “The tree. It’s as good’a place as any.” When I hesitate, he says, “Well, go on. I ain’t watchin’.”
Milo makes a point to look away, so I venture further onto the beach, keeping a wary eye on the fins circling just offshore. The sand beneath my combat boots feels real; soft and yet crunchy somehow. The whoosh of the waves and the humid breeze on my face feels real too. Looking at the tempting feast on the raft, I can see steam rising up from the food as if it were fresh from the oven. I can even smell the savory tang of some kind of meat; maybe honey-baked ham. But how? How is all of this possible? Small, unexplainable things can be mistaken for magic, but this? A room of doors leading to strange lands? If this isn’t a dream, then how is it happening?
A rainbow of patchwork squares and rectangles line the strange classroom. Wooden doors with geometric patterns, red doors with white frames like a barn, sliding doors, swinging saloon doors and hatch-like basement doors make choosing difficult. I even see the rubber flap of a doggy door at the bottom of another door. But which door leads to food or a bathroom? A pair of white doors with curling brass handles get my attention and I decide they look promising.
Sitting on the counter, Milo crunches contentedly on his carrots. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other which door I choose, so I reach for the brass handles. A burst of excitement courses through me when they turn easily. I pull them open, revealing a busy restaurant kitchen.
The welcoming aroma of fresh-baked bread and savory spices send my mouth flooding with saliva. Men and women in tall white chef’s hats buzz back and forth, balancing pots and plates and calling orders over the clatter of kitchenware.
Directly in front of me, an older man slicked with sweat artfully tosses something in a skillet over lashing flames. Amid a cloud of steam, he spots me and blinks, “Lunch isn’t ready yet,” he says with a dismissing wave of his hand. “Come back in twenty-four minutes.”
I glance to Milo who nods. So Milo can see the kitchen too. That’s good. It means I’m not imagining it.
Again, the impatient chef waves, “Twenty-four minutes,” he says. “Go on now.”
Quickly I close the doors, hanging on the handles, a little unsure of what I’ve just seen.
“I’ll set the time,” Milo offers, hopping down from his perch.
“I thought you didn’t have a watch.”
“I don’t,” says Milo. “I have a stopwatch. The higher-ups were ridin’ me, sayin’ I was workin’ too slow. So I bought this stopwatch to time myself.” Pulling a digital stopwatch from his cart, buttons bleep as he pushes them. “Takes me twelve minutes to clean a classroom. That ain’t slow. If they want someone faster, they should hire a cheetah. There,” he states, propping the stopwatch on his cart. “Twenty-four minutes and counting.”
“Twenty-four minutes is pretty exact, don’t you think? Not ‘twenty-five minutes’ or ‘come back in a few.’”
“Guess the man knows his cookin’,” Milo says returning to his carrots and his seat on the counter. “Looks like you gots twenty-three minutes to find yourself a bathroom.”
Yeah, and I really need to go too! So I scan the doors for something that looks bathroom appropriate. On the far side of the room near the vault door, I spy a narrow door made of weathered boards with a crescent moon shape carved out of the top. I’ve seen one of those before on an old-fashioned outhouse and I run to it with all the hope in the world.
Up close, the door is even more weathered than I thought. The boards are warped and splintering, “ready for the trash heap” my dad would say. When I reach for a door knob, there isn’t one. There’s only a quarter-sized hole where the knob should be. So I hook my finger in the hole and pull open the creaky door. I’m expecting to see a stinky, fly-covered toilet. Instead, I’m looking at a tropical white sand beach with a single palm tree swaying in a warm breeze. “What the hell? This ain’t no bathroom!” I shout.
“It surely ain’t.” Milo adds from across the room. “How’d that get there?”
I shake my head gaping at the sight of everyone’s dream vacation spot. There’s only a few feet of beach before it gives way to lazy waves and clear blue waters. Floating just offshore, I spot a raft loaded to the brim with a banquet of food.
“Look at that!” I gasp. “That’s enough food to feed the whole school! What’s it doing floating in the ocean?”
“Who cares?” Milo replies. “There’s your lunch. Go get some.”
Smiling big, I take one step inside, but I stop right away.
“What’s wrong?” Milo calls over.
“I can’t go out there,” I say. “Look.”
All around the floating table, several shark fins circle. I count six sharks as hungry as I am.
“Well don’t that beat all?” Milo says. “You can kiss that idea goodbye. It ain’t worth dyin’ over. But at least you found yourself a bathroom.”
“Whataya’ mean?”
He points with his carrot stick. “The tree. It’s as good’a place as any.” When I hesitate, he says, “Well, go on. I ain’t watchin’.”
Milo makes a point to look away, so I venture further onto the beach, keeping a wary eye on the fins circling just offshore. The sand beneath my combat boots feels real; soft and yet crunchy somehow. The whoosh of the waves and the humid breeze on my face feels real too. Looking at the tempting feast on the raft, I can see steam rising up from the food as if it were fresh from the oven. I can even smell the savory tang of some kind of meat; maybe honey-baked ham. But how? How is all of this possible? Small, unexplainable things can be mistaken for magic, but this? A room of doors leading to strange lands? If this isn’t a dream, then how is it happening?
Content copyright (c) Jennifer B. Fields 2010-2014. Doorknocker image courtesy of Google Images.