*It should be noted, if not obvious, that all of the following writings are by me and are the exclusive property of Chris Cook-Sussan and the 10 Doors Creative group.
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This is a recent short story I wrote. Short stories are new to me so I hope you all enjoy the offering here and please feel free to comment on it.
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Bad Day
William Earl was a heavy man, not quite obese but definitely on track for that. He loved a few beers at night before bed, sometimes more than a few and he loved to sleep.
What he did not love was his alarm going off every morning at six forty five and thereby informing him it was time to wake up, get dressed and head off to work. That was another thing he did not like; Work. The worst four letter word he could think of.
“..Six forty-five in the AM, another glorious day in Seattle. Recapping our top headlines, gas prices have jumped another three cents in our region, placing us at the top of highest gas prices around the country-Hey, at least we are number one in something, right Janet?
“Right you are Tom and speaking of number one, we see that the Huskies were defeated again in Saturday’s game, beaten by number one champions, USC. That is the fifth straight defeat for the Huskies and the fourth time they have been beaten by USC in the past two seasons.
“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt, right?
“You bet it does Tom. In other news…
William Earl did not care to hear about “other news”, especially if it was as depressing as what he had heard so far. He slammed his hand down on the snooze button and slowly creaked up to a sitting position. He tossed the blankets aside and shifted to put his feet on the floor. As he did so, he felt a cool, soft squish between the toes of his right foot. Looking down at his feet, he could see the large brown pile his dog, Boondoc” had left for him.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Then he recalled that last night he had had a few more than three beers and did not take Boondoc out for his nightly walk.
“Shit.”
He cursed himself for keeping the dog in all night. Then, as carefully as he could, he began the trek to the bathroom, on one foot so that he did not leave a trail across the entire carpet. He grunted and wheezed as he tried hopping on one foot, using his bed or a nearby dresser for balance. He was about two-thirds of the way, his forehead already covered in sweat and his belly jiggling uncomfortably with every hop, when his hand, sliding along the dresser for balance came, unexpectedly to the end of the dresser. Unfortunately he was in mid hop as this occurred and he lurched forward, shouting out several four letter words before sprawling face first on his bedroom floor. His knee struck the dressers edge as he went down leaving a definite bruise where it was struck.
William Earl lay on the floor for a moment just cursing at the world in general. His dog Boondoc heard the commotion and trotted in to investigate. Seeing his master on the ground, he quickly went up to him and licked his face several times in greeting. William Earl started and shoved him away as best he could from his prone position.
“Get out of here you stupid dog” he shouted at Boondoc.
“Go on, get!”
The large gray Labrador pulled back a little, wondering what he had done to displease his master so. William Earl shoved him back another few steps and shouted at him again; “Bad dog, get out…Now!”
Boondoc was confused by his master’s behavior but he was, most often, obedient so turned and trotted into the living room.
Now he could try to get up and not have to worry about tripping over that damned dog. It was all his fault anyway. He pushed himself up to his knees and the straightened up. He looked carefully to make certain he grabbed the edge of the dresser and using it for leverage he finally stood.
Now awake, cranky and bruised, he stalked across the carpet and into the bathroom, forgetting to keep his one foot up. Several brown footprints followed behind him.
Once into the bathroom, he flicked the light on. There was a flash and a ‘pop’ as the bulb burned out in his overhead light. He stood there for a moment and then muttering under his breath, he walked back into the bedroom and turned on the light. There was enough light spilling from his bedroom to dimly light the bathroom. Then he went back in to shave and shower, leaving a trail of several more brown footprints behind.
While shaving at his sink, in the dimness of the room, he missed a single stripe of stubble, leaving him what looked like the start of a Mohawk on his chin.
In the shower, a loss of hot water for a moment covered him with sharp cold water. He shouted in surprise and tried to reach for the faucet, however leaning forward and hopping backwards are a bad combination at anytime but especially in the shower. With a loud curse and a crash his feet slid out from under him and he crashed into the bottom of his shower. He tried to twist as he fell so as not to land on his face and at least partly succeeded as he managed to land on his left hip. He groaned and put one hand on the soap dish on the wall to leverage himself up.
That worked till he was just about standing, then the porcelain fixture snapped off. He managed to keep his balance this time but the broken off portion of the soap dish struck his toe as it landed in the tub. There was no real damage but it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
As he was drying off a few minutes later he thought he heard voices coming from his room. He wrapped his towel around his waist and carefully walked into his bedroom looking about nervously.
“…is reporting that talks between china and the U.S. have broken down and the President is leaving Beijing a day earlier, declaring a complete stall in any new talks.
In local news, a three car accident on the I-90 interchange has traffic backed up for at least a mile on I-5 south. If you can, an alternate route is strongly recommended.”
William Earl slapped his hand down on the clock radio shutting it off again, however the news had already done its job; His route to work was I-5 and I-90.
“There goes any chance for a quick Denny’s stop. Damn it! Why can’t I get good news for a change?”
He dress finished toweling off and dressed in silence. He looked at his ties and chose the red ‘power tie’. Upon looking at it though he saw a grape jelly stain in the middle of it that had set. He sighed morosely, chose another tie, reasonably stainless and went out of his bedroom towards the kitchen.
He walked over to the fridge and looked inside for milk. There was about a quarter of a jug left but when he picked it up, it sloshed thickly, lumps sticking to the side of it.
“Just can’t win today.” He groaned.
Throwing the jug of curdled milk across the room and into the sink he went to his small kitchen table and sat down. No milk meant no coffee or cereal so he just sat silently for a few minutes, pouting. Finally he muttered to himself: “Well, at least there will be coffee at the office.”
He was about to get up when he saw the stack of yesterday’s mail sitting, unopened on the table. Seems he forgot about more than just taking the dog out. He picked it up and shuffled through the five or six letters, immediately discarding the catalogs and advertisements.
“Let’s see…bills, bills, bullshit offer, another bill…hey, what have we here?”
On the bottom of the stack of mail was a large business sized envelope. It wasn’t terribly thick and it was addressed to “Mr. William Earl Suggs. The return address was stamped on.
Department of the Lottery,
PO Box 1766
Olympia, WA. 98603
He looked at the envelope curiously for a moment trying to think why the Lottery would be writing him. Then he recalled that a month ago he had purchased a ten dollar ticket and hadn’t won anything. Typical. But it did have an address where to send the card in for a second chance.
With a little hesitation, he cautiously slid his finger under the seal and tore the flap open. Inside were two pieces of paper. One folded, one not. He pulled out the folded one and opened it. It read:
Dear Mr. William Earl Suggs.
We are pleased to tell you that the second chance ticket you sent in to us has been drawn. The cash prize is Ten Thousand dollars. We have enclosed the check. Congratulations and thank you for supporting the lottery.
Sincerely,
David H. Sparrow,
Commissioner of the Washington State Lottery
William Earl stood, staring at the letter for a full minute. Then he slowly set the paper down on the table and looked inside the envelope where one more piece of paper remained. His hand trembled a bit as he pulled the check out. He looked around nervously as if he expected someone to leap out any moment and tell him he’d been Punked. No one leapt out.
Finally, he dropped the envelope and looked down at the check he held in his hand. It was for Ten Thousand Dollars and it was made out to him.
“Ten. Thousand. Dollars.”
He could not believe his good fortune. He was rich, well at least comfortable. He could pay off his debts and maybe have enough for a new car. A new ‘used’ car in any case.
He pulled out his wallet and put the check inside. He started to put the wallet back and then quickly opened it again just to make sure the check was there. It was. His smile grew even larger and he put the wallet back.
I think I’ll go to Denny’s after all. Hell, maybe I’ll splurge and go to the IHOP.”
He walked to his front door, grabbed his coat from the little hall closet, ruffled the fur on Boondocks head and opening the door walked out into the overcast morning.
As he walked towards his car, he did something entirely out of character. He whistled a happy tune. As he climbed into his primer painted and rust spotted nick and dent Chevy Malibu, he even laughed. The engine, often quite persnickety, started right up. He smiled broadly.
“Hell, maybe today isn’t such a bad day after all.”
He released the parking brake and shifted the car into Drive and turned into the street, headed for a wonderful breakfast and a good day at work.
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Inside the house he had just left, William Earl’s clock radio suddenly came to life, its snooze duration ended.
“We repeat, China has launched a surprise attack on the U.S. The government confirms that nuclear missiles are headed towards several military targets in Alabama, California, Delaware, Washington DC, Georgia, Hawaii and Seattle. We have been informed that we have some small window of opportunity to shoot some of them down but it is almost a certainty that some will get through to their targets. The authorities have told us we have approximately fifteen minutes before California, Hawaii and Seattle are hit. The other targets should be struck a few minutes after that. We encourage that anyone in the vicinity of any military base take cover the nearest shelter immediately. This is your best chance at survival. God bless and be with us at this, our darkest hour"
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The following story is both old and new, It is based on some of my earliest years in D&D gaming. It also explains the "10 Doors" name of my website and gaming society. That's the old part. The new is the story, written in the last year or so . It is not an actual scene from any specific game but the setting and characters come directly from my gaming. Enjoy.
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The Story of the 10 Doors
The common room of The Boar’s Head Inn was smoky and reeked of a wild mixture of exotic scents: Roasted meats too heavily spiced with garlic; A mélange of various liquors spilt or thrown, pooling on the floor; A pungent mix of road sweat and perfume with a healthy dose of horse, and other animals thrown in. All in all a pretty normal affair for an evening’s gathering.
There were two halflings at the bar trying to convince Joe the bartender that their credit was good (their oft-torn and well patched garments and lack of anything resembling a backpack, pouch or wallet did nothing to reinforce their plea’s). An overly muscled barbarian sat with two Dwarves at a table against the far wall arguing loudly over the contents of a still locked and well battered chest that was placed clearly equidistant from each of them on the table. Men from various venues about town were trying, with a varying degree of success, to fondle, grope or pinch the harried barmaids as they made their rounds.
In a far corner of the room however three figures sat huddled together seemingly untouched by the barely controlled chaos of a night at the Boar’s Head. The first man would have looked right at home in any group of soldiers that had ever walked a patrol. He was six-foot nothing and tipped the scales at two-hundred and twenty stones. His armor, though well used, was kept clean, well oiled and cinched tight, buckled in all the right spots. The stained leather-wrapped hilt of a large sword was jutting up over his left shoulder with- in easy reach should he need it. His unruly brown hair was reluctantly woven into a warrior’s braid that hung down to his mid back. His eyes were a simple blue-grey but keen as the edge of his sword and just as un-nerving if you happened to be caught by them.
The second man radiated a sense of calm while at the same time giving off the impression that he had never in his life possessed a sense of humor. His head was devoid of almost any hair, including eyebrows: The singular exception to this was an exceptionally well manicured and oiled ‘fu-manchu’ style mustache that hung down to just below his chin. The fact that the man seemed as Caucasian as anyone ever had and that the color of the mustache matched his emerald green eyes only accentuated his unusual coiffure.
As opposed to the warrior beside him, this man chose to wear a fine suit of the lightest linked chainmail, covered by a white satin robe. An emerald-green avocado with golden leaves could be seen stitched in fine embroidery on the left breast. The only weapon near his person was a six-foot plus golden-brown staff, topped incongruously with, what to all appearances, was a golden avocado.
The third member of this triumvirate was a small woman, perhaps topping five feet by no more than an inch or two. Whatever else she chose to wear was hidden beneath the voluminous folds of her black robes and cloak. A raised hood allowed only the telltale ends of her raven-colored hair to be seen and not much else. The few people who had ever seen her black on black eyes or her blood-tinted ruby lips wished they had not.
The conversation these three were engaged in would have sounded odd to most of the assembled in the bar that night but to a chosen, select few, they would have been understood with admirable clarity.
"We've been over this before Raxton", the warrior said to his male companion.
"We can't go through Door number Ten. It's just not done."
"Since we have all traveled through doors numbering One through Nine many times, why now insist that we are left with only one choice?"
The woman’s voice was not the loudest in the room but her words carried to the two men with no trouble.
"And I'm telling you it does not matter which doors we have or have not been through. The passages change randomly..."
"Or not so randomly," Cynarra interjected.
Raxton glared at her, never happy with being interrupted. Of course, since he and Cynarra had been married at one time, she knew this and he, of course, knew that she did.
"Or..." he said frostily, "not so randomly. Regardless. I have sought the guidance of the God’s and their will is clear. What we seek is beyond Door number Ten, of that I am certain."
The warrior grimaced and chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that, while filled with humor, still managed to sound dangerous.
"And we know the god's are never wrong in these things".
The woman named Cynarra smiled at this. Her disdain for all the gods was well known by the other two men.
"Scoff all you want" Raxton continued with utmost seriousness," but you asked for my guidance and I have given it.”
Raxton paused a moment eyeing his companions carefully. Then, with precise intonation he added: ”It couldn't be that you two are...afraid"?
That did it. The two others could (and did) tolerate many things from the high priest but a comment on their courage was not one of them. The warrior Claxon growled menacingly. Cynarra hissed.
"Alright. Have it your way, door number Ten it is. But..."Claxon looked directly at his friend and held his gaze firmly.
"When - NOT IF - this blows up in our faces, It's your fault!"
“Or..." said Raxton steadily, "When we are ultimately successful, it will be due entirely to me".
The two stood looking at each other a moment longer but it was Raxton that ultimately broke off first.
"With a modest amount of help from my...friends" he added quietly.
This last did nothing to placate Cynarra who continued to stare icily at her ex. Claxon stared for a moment more and then broke into a hearty laugh, slapping Raxton on the back (perhaps just a little too hard).
"Well, whatever the case we'll never find our fortune arguing over this table. Let’s get moving!"
"That's the first sensible thing I've heard out of either of you two all evening".
With a shake of her head Cynarra pulled away from the table and headed towards the
The stairs to the upper floors of the Boars Head Inn were located against the back wall and rose up at a steep angle, turning at the fourteenth stair to rise another eight steps along the back wall of the inn. These led to a hall that crisscrossed the upper floor and led to the eight or so rooms that the inn had to offer. However, while the stairs were the trio's destination, the way up was not.
At the back of the stairs on this main floor was a small door, opening into what could only be a broom closet or similar storage area. The three companions (some might go so far as to say "friends") reached this unassuming door and quickly passed through. If anyone nearby was prone to paying particular attention, they might have heard a short muttered phrase that would have vanished from their minds almost as soon as they heard it.
Once through the small closet door, the three of them looked at the sight they had come to know so very well over their years of traveling together. It still staggered even their expansive imaginations every time, for once through the tiny door at the back of the stairs, the three found themselves standing in a large and roomy hallway, stretching out from them at least a hundred feet or more. The fact that the back wall of the inn was no more than a few feet from where they stood made this impossible reality all the more amazing. But the hall was only the package. The real magic of this room were the doors.
Approximately every ten feet, there stood a door. Each door identical, each completely normal in appearance. Plain wood, pale in color and stained with the oils and sweat of hundreds of hands that had at some time passed through them all. A simple bronze door knob adorned each door at exactly the same height as the previous door.
There were ten doors all together and in fact the only detail that differentiated them was a small bronze plaque in the center of each one with a number (1-10) upon it. Over the past several years these three (and several others) had traveled through every one of these doors at least once and often more than once. And each time the door led to a new landscape.
Sometimes an arctic land of ice and Yeti's. Other times, a volcanic mountain inhabited by Dragons or even just a city street in some far away land. There seemed no rhyme or reason save that when you found yourself in this hall and you had some method of determining which door you should travel through, you always got where you needed to be (and that was quite different than where you "wanted" to be).
Raxton, Claxon and Cynarra stared down the impossible hallway for a moment and then with a quick glance at each other, began walking down the length of the hall toward the only door unstained by human touch. The only door that they had never opened, nor had anyone else that the trio was aware of: Door number Ten.
Door number Ten did not open. Ever. No one knew why. No one knew where it might lead. The three walked the hallway of doors in silence. They had faced adversaries and adventures to shake the heavens and it had been a long time since any hint of what some might call ‘fear’ had been present within any of them.
But tonight…
