The Door to Lost Pages (16 page)

Story for Jasper. Book for Savory. Novella for Kasturi.

Today, I notice something weird. But it’s too freaky. I’ll look at the pictures again tomorrow. Probably too tired. Seeing things.

Halpern on the phone. Wants a new Lost Pages story for a Di Filippo tribute anthology.

I ask about the money.

Print on demand, he says. No money up front, but higher royalties. Royalties. Yeah, right.

I tell him I’ll think about it.

In bed. Trying to sleep. Girlfriend snoring. It’s kinda cute. Makes me smile. But restless anyway.

Didn’t use the camera today. Dog walks only. Didn’t write anything.

Didn’t look at the pictures.

Don’t want to deal with it. Too weird.

Can’t get to sleep. Get up. Go look at the pictures.

I look at the pictures. Of the row of houses across the street from our house. I spread them on my desk. Compare them. And there it is. I can’t deny it.

I look out the window of my office. Across the street. To that house.

And there it is.

Fuck.

Should I wake her up? Fuck. That makes her grumpy. She’d bite my head off.

I’m gonna wait till morning.

Go back to bed.

Try to sleep.

Can’t sleep. I have to tell someone. Show someone.

I whisper girlfriend’s name. Touch her shoulder.

She mumbles. Doesn’t really wake up.

I try harder. Say her name. Once. Twice. Little shake.

She mumbles again and turns away from me.

I shake her harder. Say her name and, You have to wake up. I need to talk to you.

She turns toward me. Opens her eyes. She’s not happy.

She gets up. Reluctantly. Puts on a T-shirt.

Dog lifts his head to see what’s going on, but then he moves around and settles on my pillow.

I drag the girlfriend into my office.

She is annoyed, but not biting my head off.

Good.

She can tell that I’m really upset. Takes it seriously. Takes me seriously.

I show her.

Look, I say. Look. Look.

I point to that house, on a whole bunch of different photos.

She doesn’t get it.

She says, It’s that house across the street. So what?

I say, Don’t you notice something weird?

She doesn’t get it.

I drag her to the window. I point to the house across the street.

Look. Look!

I hold a picture of that row of houses in each hand. Pictures from two different days.

Look at these. Then look outside. That house. There! Don’t you see?

No, she doesn’t.

Fuck.

Why the fuck did you wake me up, she says. Is this another of your stupid jokes, she says.

No.

We fight.

It gets ugly.

She gets dressed and storms out of the house.

I shouldn’t have woken her up.

Okay. Calm down.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Stupid house.

Fuck you, stupid fucking house across the street.

Girlfriend always says I don’t notice anything.

But now she’s the one not noticing.

Not seeing. But why not?

Fuck. This is too weird. Plus, she’s mad at me.

I hate it when we fight.

This is all Jasper’s fault. Stupid fucking anthology.

Okay. Calmer now.

I look at the pictures again.

Then I look at the house.

Fuck.

Every day, it’s a different house.

Every day, that house changes.

It’s not the same house from one day to the next.

Okay. Stop reiterating. No matter how I say it, it still sounds crazy.

One day, it’s a well-kept red-brick duplex.

The next, it’s a triplex, with one of those famous Montreal outdoor staircases.

And then, it becomes an ugly 1970s apartment building, with half the windows boarded up.

And then, a gorgeous old-fashioned place with big, grey stonework.

Then, a yuppy townhouse.

Then, a croissanterie.

A travel agency.

A condo development.

A pet shop.

An empty lot.

A small park with nice big trees and a couple of benches.

A narrow renovated house with a driveway on the side, in the same style as ours.

I look out the window again.

Right now, it’s a barber shop.

Can’t sleep.

Get dressed. Go for a nighttime walk with the dog.

He growls at me when I get him out of bed. By the time we’re outside he’s happy enough. Wagging. Running. Sniffing.

I do not look at the house across the street.

Breakfast. I make pancakes. Sausages. With maple syrup. Girlfriend is back. Not talking to me. But sits with me while we eat. So things not too bad.

Tea for her. Orange juice for me.

I don’t mention the house.

I don’t say anything.

We eat.

She has to go to work.

She almost gives me a hug.

Stops herself.

Then hugs me anyway.

Okay. Things are good.

I decide to never mention that house again.

When I sit at my desk, I can see that house through the window.

Today, it’s a teepee.

Maybe I should move my office around. So I don’t see outside while I work.

I stare out the window all the time. I try to see the house change. To witness that moment of transformation.

Fuck.

I always miss it.

I go to the bathroom. I yawn and blink for a second too long. Whatever.

I always miss it.

Changes getting weirder. Bizarre architectures. Foreign. Or something.

One night, I recognize it. From one of my stories. Not a house that time. But a vast, dark, deep hole in the ground, surrounded by a moat of water sparkling with green, blue, and brown light. Giant black tendrils erupt savagely from the hole in the ground, kept in check by the godly waters.

Too weird.

Not sleeping. Not writing.

Fuck.

Midnight. Can’t sleep. Girlfriend and dog curled up together, sleeping. They’re beautiful.

Get up.

The house looks kind of futuristic tonight.

I’m so fucking tired.

Peculiar architecture. All curves and unusual angles. Don’t recognize the building material. Some kind of stone, but different. Weird.

Window slides open. Woman appears.

Naked. At least the part of her I can see.

Dark wavy hair to her shoulders. Light brown skin. Big eyes. Full lips. Svelte with soft curves. Full, firm, round breasts. Looks about twenty.

She notices me looking. Staring.

She laughs.

I love it when girls laugh.

She turns away for a second and gestures with her hand.

A second woman joins her.

They look exactly the same. Twins?

They laugh.

I love it when they laugh.

They touch each other’s breasts, looking at me.

I’m so hard I feel like a teenager.

They gesture for me to come join them.

On my way out I see the dog and my girlfriend on the bed. Sleeping.

I should stay here. I love her. She loves me.

I go outside.

The women are still at the window.

They’re the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. They look at me. Gesture for me come to them.

Fuck, I’m almost creaming just thinking about them.

I walk to the house. To the door. Strange futuristic door. Have no idea how to open it.

While I try to figure it out, it dissolves. And I see inside.

And the girls are there, on the floor. Naked. Looking at me with their mouths open just so.

Fuck, they’re gorgeous.

And then I think: What happens if the house changes while I’m in there? Will I vanish along with it? To another place?

With these girls.

But I love my girlfriend. And she loves me.

I hear the girls moan.

I’m trembling. My cock is almost ripping through my pants.

I look at them. They’re a fantasy.

I run back home.

Wake up girlfriend. Dog growls and jumps out of bed.

Take my clothes off. Kiss girlfriend. Have sex. I cum right away. But then I make her cum once, twice, three times. I love her.

I sleep for fifteen hours.

Lying in bed, waking up. I feel so good.

Then, phone call from Jasper. How’s the story coming along?

I lie.

Phone rings again. Kasturi. Where’s that Lost Pages novella I promised her?

I lie.

Phone rings again. Savory needs to know when I’ll hand in the manuscript. Book’s listed in the new catalogue, he reminds me.

The phone. Again. Halpern. Still wants a new Lost Pages story for that Di Filippo book.

Fuck.

I haven’t written anything for months. Way behind.

I don’t feel so good anymore.

Step out the door, walking dog.

It’s not a house across the street today.

It’s a lush garden, with a giant apple tree in the middle. With a naked man and a naked woman. They kind of look Jewish, except that the guy isn’t circumcised.

They’re contemplating the apple tree.

There’s a snake slithering around. A luminous, seductive snake.

This is too weird.

Girlfriend says she’s worried about me. I seem troubled, distracted. Asks about my writing.

We fight. It gets real ugly. She storms out.

I know it’s my fault.

Fuck.

Today, the house is a bookshop.

Not just any bookshop.

Lost Pages. The bookshop from my stories.

The stuff my dreams are made of. Cliché, but true.

I walk up to it. I peer through the window.

Inside, a man and a girl in her teens. Lucas and Aydee. My characters. Me.

I haven’t written anything for months.

I hear barking.

I look back toward my house. My dog is looking at me through my office window. Barking at me. Telling me to come back.

I think about my girlfriend. I love her.

She loves me.

I haven’t written anything for months.

I open the door to Lost Pages and step inside.

Portions of
The Door to Lost Pages
have previously appeared, in different form, in
Interzone
#178 (April 2002);
OtherDimension.com
(July 2002);
Interzone
#186 (February 2003);
Intracities
(Unwrecked Press 2003), edited by Michael Jasper;
SDO Fantasy
(April 2004); and
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4
(Robinson 2005), edited by Maxim Jakubowski.

Claude Lalumière (lostmyths.net/claude) is the author of the story collection
Objects of Worship
(ChiZine Publications 2009) and the chapbook
The World’s Forgotten Boy and the Scorpions from Hell
(Kelp Queen Press 2008). He has edited eight anthologies, including the Aurora Award nominee
Tesseracts Twelve: New Novellas of Canadian Fantastic Fiction
(Edge 2008), and he writes the Fantastic Fiction column for
The Montreal Gazette
. With Rupert Bottenberg, Claude is the co-creator of Lost Myths, which is both a live show and an online archive updated weekly at lostmyths.net.