The Other Side
of the Door
I wonder where all the birds are, Paether asked himself in thought as he flapped through the light blue sky, pleasantly adorned with but a few clouds. It looked like the kind of sky you only see in children's storybooks. He was carrying a big black tote bag in one of his little bat claws, careful to never go too fast as to not let anything fall out of it.
He was flying far above a vast, grassy field, stretching nearly endlessly in all directions, the only notable feature being a singular hill, although with how high he was flying, it was difficult to gauge quite how big it was. There was curiously a small patch atop the hill, lacking grass to reveal the dirt beneath— or was that perhaps a bit of rock? Regardless, while the place lacked any other sort of flora, or trees, it still seemed a proper nice realm. Perhaps he'd have swooped down to transform back and relax for a while, but alas, he was worn out from the partying and just wanted to get home now, and back in his element.
Paether was on his way home from the annual vampire convention— The Fang Bang, a gathering for celebrating the shadowy folk, which this year, had been hosted quite a few worlds away. Upon thinking this aloud in his head, he realized just how dumb it sounded.
You know, it was fascinating how much humans actually knew about vampires, really; Despite being believed fiction by general society, the stories got most of the details right regarding them. Well, actually, there were a few differences, in that they had very few of the flaws and weaknesses from the myths. Any vampire could sit out in the daylight just fine, although tans weren't much fashionable in the community. And they were not allergic to garlic, or silver, or religion, or what have you. A wooden stake to the heart might hurt, but granted, that went for humans too. If needed, a vampire could even survive without consuming blood, and just get by on common foods, although they were hardly delicious to most.
And as for strengths, most of them were what you'd expect. A bat form, some superstrength, longer life... he racked his brain for other abilities, but they didn't really stand out as special to him at all. Oh, neatly enough, they also happened to be one of the few beings who could travel beyond the fabric of reality, and hop from one world to another.
There were many universes, like threads of a massive spiderweb running alongside each other. Some were nearly identical, differentiated by a single different brush stroke in a painting, while others were vastly unrecognizable, foreign and backwards unlike anything else. And long, long ago, vampires had all originated from just one universe out there. It was uncertain if they'd evolved there, or if they were artificially created— or maybe they were created with the very start of that universe, and it was just a question of when it had started.
But regardless of that, once they did exist, they scattered like wildfire. Now, granted, you couldn't just hop from one world to another, no. First, you had to find a wormhole. There were a few hidden in each world, like Easter eggs in a forest, and they acted essentially like doors to adjacent universes. It wasn't long until they'd discovered hundreds, and vampires began setting up their own homes in each of them, as if they were neighbourhoods. Although sadly, it also wasn't much longer until it got to the point that it had been forgotten which universe, precisely, they'd come from. And that knowledge remained lost to this day. And if there were any who still, genuinely remembered, they had little concrete evidence to prove their claims, and without that, you'd hardly be able to convince folk. Throw in some people who had misremembered something, or somehow fabricated some memories, and it wasn't much of a surprise that nobody could agree on these things anymore. So all they had were guesses. And hey, at least humans didn't bug them. Sure, vampires weren't advised to go around announcing their secret to random people on the street, but it was hardly a tragedy if anybody found out about their existence,
He laughed to himself. Paether often thought about these things, musing on how he would go about explaining the lifestyle, or the history, or the culture, to a human. He'd never had to, and he likely never would, but sometimes, it was fun to think that you've got a special little secret, that somebody wants to hear about. And you could let them into your world, and you could show them, and this thing that is banal to you is whimsical to them. It kind of made it feel a bit more whimsical to you, too, even if for a moment.
He let out a sigh. That's how life goes, he supposed. All this knowledge, and no-one who would ever listen.
Ah, there it was, the next wormhole, just floating there in the sky. It looked out of place, like a hole torn into a piece of paper, and on the other side of it, a void full of spirals of colours upon colours, and stars shining weird lights. On the outside, it actually looked like kind of an unpleasant place to go into, but Paether closed his eyes, as white flashed within the confines of his eyelids, and before he knew it, he was flying through a different, grayer and cloudier sky, above a different land. A quiet little suburb in London, not too far from the little cave he called his place. He tried to recall what he still had in his kitchen, his stomach was killing h—
Thwap!
“Coo, coo!” the pigeon cried, as it quickly regained its sense of direction and continued on its path, while Paether continued to tumble through the air for a second, until he stabilized. He would've shouted a polite excuse at the bird, but all his vocal cords allowed in this form was a little shriek. He lightly chuckled on the inside, and continued on—
His bag! He looked down and went into a total dive towards his bag, which was hurtling towards the ground, along with his money, his ID, his phone, his favorite book that he'd gotten signed by the author at the convention, his keys— He had a lot of stuff in there. He flapped his little wings in an effort to propel himself downward, as fast as he could, as the houses below got nearer, and he was so close to grabbing it, but ultimately he couldn't reach it before it fell right into—
Into the chimney.
He screeched to a halt. Now, it was true that he perhaps could have very easily gone down through the chimney, grabbed his stuff and got out. It was ironic that he'd just been thinking about most of the believed weaknesses of vampires weren't real, but one of these supposed drawbacks was being unable to enter someone's house without permission, and that was one of the few that turned out to be correct.
Well, maybe that wasn't quite accurate; There wasn't anything literally preventing him from going in without permission, there was nothing physically drawing him back. Rather, it was simply not a very polite thing to do, was it? They were vampires, not jerks. So much so that it was even prohibited by vampiric civil law. He'd read that in college when he was working towards being a lawyer, what, two thousand-ish years ago? He ended up giving up on that, though; it seemed to be a rather boring profession.
Regardless, he was left with a bit of a problem. At least there was no smoke coming out, so that was probably a good sign. He flitted down to the sidewalk in front of the bleak white house, and there was thankfully no-one around to peep as he transformed back into human form, a bit of mist fading in and turning into his clean cottony white vest and black trousers, and a worn leather jacket. His arms hung at his sides, tired from the hours of flapping, now that he could let that fatigue sink in.
The exterior walls were rather dirty, likely from years of uncleaned rains, especially around the windows, which had dark yellowish curtains drawn on the inside. The place generally looked warm, but in a sickly, bad sense. At least the grassy yard around it was pleasant enough, although not necessarily cared for. Just grown by mother nature. He walked up to it, and gently thumped on the door twice. No direct response came, and it took him a minute to realize there was a doorbell. He ringed it, and again, no direct response came, although he could hear movement, and faint rustling inside, slowly coming closer, until eventually someone opened the door. Without even unlocking it. It had just been left unlocked.
A man, bald and with a thick brown beard, his eyes shadowed by similarly thick eyebrows. He wasn't extremely chubby, although enough so that his white tank top was taut. He was a fair bit taller, although that probably wasn't saying much. Paether hated to admit it, but more often than not, he did have to look up just a tiny bit to see directly into someone's eyes.
“Hello, so sorry if I'm bothering you, Mister...”
“Maryl,” the man said curtly, in a deep, gruff voice, barely shy of a mumbler. Paether briefly turned it over in his head. Not a common name for humans, at all. If anything, it was in vogue with shapeshifters. Paether felt a little bad for all the times the man must have had to spell it out.
“I— Okay, umm, so I know it sounds kind of crazy, but basically, I was flying above this area, in a helicopter—” he'd found it to be statistically the most plausible lie in these kinds of situations— “and I accidentally dropped a bag containing my wallet, and all my stuff, down into your chimney, and I was hoping to ask if you could check your fi—”
“Mmmhhdon'tcare,” he slurred, closing the door in Paether's face. But before the gentleman could even get over his stunned silence, the door opened back up. “Can I see the helicopter?”
“Uhh, well it's— I don't have it her—”
“Every time,” he off-handedly cursed as he slammed the door back shut.
Well. That had gone worse than he'd been hoping.
He walked off to the edge of the lonely sidewalk and sat down on the curb, jaw in his hands, and brainstormed for another solution to get in. It was times like these that made him wish he was a little less soft in the head, and just gone down the chimney and got it over with. There wasn't anyone around to see him in the act.
But he was soft. And this was gonna be tricky, indeed.
***
“‘Ow. Okay, the top of the waterslide makes me hit my head. Apparently I'm too tall.’” Maryl spoke in perfect sync with the character on the screen. He knew it all by rote. He'd seen this episode so, so many times. He'd seen this entire show so many times. It was his favourite show, in fact. And it was a good episode, one of his favourites. He watched it unblinkingly.
Goldfish crackers. He became acutely aware that he had goldfish crackers. He had some bags of them on a table beside him. A strong urge dawned on him again. He needed them, he needed Goldfish Crackers now. His fingers had begun trembling horribly, and his limbs were shaky as he twisted in his seat to reach over and grab them, and pull them closer. For a few seconds, his jittery fingers were too weak to even open the packet, and it kept falling out of his grasp and onto his lap, and he'd pick it back up and claw at it again, until with a stroke of luck, he tore it open. The familiar smell poured out, and relief washed upon him. He rummaged his fingers around in there for a bit, feeling the little crackers, and their little sesame seeds, before he began taking them out and eating them. One by one. His breathing returned to its calm, steady rate, and his body was loose and still again. They only tasted alright, but they reminded him of the times when he was younger, and he'd hunker down in his room with a bag of the stuff, and he'd put on a good episode of this show, an—
Driiing. The doorbell rang out, again. Why again? Maryl closed his eyes and hoped the reverberating echo of the ring would go away, and it did, but not whoever was waiting at the door. As much as he hated it, he knew this to be true. Without pausing the show, he left the bag of crackers on his chair, got up, and lumbered back to the door, his socks crunching against the things strewn about on the floor of the dim room.
He opened it to a gentleman with a little beard in a white, cottony vest, that was a little disheveled, as if he'd hastily taken off other clothes that were on top. His entire appearance was a little disheveled. His dark hair was ruffled and parted off to one side unnaturally.
“Good evening. I am a member of the chimney inspection committee, and I have come here as I would very much like to please inspect your chimney.”
Maryl simply stared at the inspector without saying a single word.
“I— I do have a warrant for this home's chimney inspection, I can enter into here without your permission, but I'd very much like to get your approval, first, sir—”
Slam.
He shambled back to his armchair, grabbed his little bag of crackers, and resumed his show. Ooh, this is a good joke coming up.
“‘Did Steve tell you that?—’ ‘Oh my god! I don't know anyone named Steve.’”
***
“Great. Now I've lost my bag, and my hair is a mess,” Paether gently remarked to nobody but himself, as he rocked back and forth on the curb. He'd gone ahead and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting that bag back, so he'd been sitting here racking his brain for a few minutes at this point, trying to recall where he could get ID cards— both earthly and vampiric— issued, but try as he might, he couldn't. He wasn't getting his phone back, and without maps, he was a sitting duck. God, if he ever came across that pigeon again, he would have a very stern talk with it about being careful to not bump into others.
“Well, someone's cheerful.”
Paether looked up and around over his shoulder with a bit of a startle, at a man in a light gray business suit, staring down at him with a devious, yet amicable little grin. A bit skinny, with vibrant brown hair that reached down to around the shoulders.
“Oh,” Paether said, “no, I'm fine. Please do excuse my reaction. What is your name, sir?”
“Well,” the man said, said sitting down beside him, “I suppose I go by a lot of different names. You can just call me… Hmm… You can call me Davey, not many people call me that one anymore. You would happen to be?...”
“Paether.”
“... Really? That's one I've never heard before. So, what are you moping about, here?”
“It's, a long story.”
“And what makes your long story any less interesting than mine?” Davey asked.
“Fair point. So, you see that house, behind us?” Paether said, gesturing towards it with his head, to which Davey nodded. “Well, basically, I was flying over the area when I dropped a bag with my wallet, and my keys, and all my junk into that house's chimney, and the man who lives there won't let me in to retrieve it.”
“Aha. Flying?”
“... In a helicopter.”
“Huh. Can I see it?”
“It's— I don't—” Paether's words gave out into a sigh. “Look, can I just level with you, for a second?”
“I'm all ears,” said Davey as Paether leaned in and whispered it. “Oh... Oh, my. I'd say I can't look at you the same way knowing this, except it seems that I still can; my eyes aren't quite rolling in their sockets. What came next?”
“What did come next,” Paether said, barely stifling a laugh. “You see, I've tried all I can for getting his permission to just pop in and fetch it, so now I'm trying to figure out how to go on about my day without it.”
“Ah, giving up so easily? Come on, let me have a go at him,” Davey said, getting up to his feet, Paether doing the same. A small part of him reveled in the observation that Davey wasn't much taller him, and that for once, he was at eye level with someone. “You stay back here, a non-threatening distance away, while I go loosen him up.”
He watched as Davey went up and rang the doorbell, without knocking, and waiting for a bit until the door opened, again, the same man still standing there.
“Hi. I was wondering if you w—”
“Oh, what do you people want from me?!” Maryl cried out, gutturally, falling down into a weak heap on the ground outside by Davey.
Paether, more than a bit shook, ran up to the situation, taking it in with some guilt and regret. The man was shaking— more like spasming, really, mumbling incoherently in a pained voice, noticeably higher than how he'd spoken before. Davey stared down at him. “Well, I think he's out of the way now...” He turned to look at Paether's slack-jawed face. “Ooh, nice fangs,” he said, as he reached out a finger and ran it across the biting ends of Paeth's shiny white chompers.
Paether sighed, flinching away. “I still can't go in, I don't have his permission, which is what I truly need. For my conscience's sake...”
“Oh, and what, you're just gonna let me go in, and take all the guilt of breaking and entering for myself, while you sit here, in a metaphorical sunchair with a metaphorical cocktail? I bet it's probably even full of metaphorical blood...”
“I'm— I'm so sorry, but I really can't do thi—“
“You're on your own,” Davey said, as he simply walked off, and left Paether with the rumbling mess of a man.
“I...” Paether swallowed the rest of the words on his tongue, unsure of what exactly to do. He knelt down, and sat himself down on the doorstep. Maryl was crumpled face down, his right arm lying under that face to shield it from the dirt and grime on the doormat, the left arm lying limp at his side. For a bit, Paether watched the man shudder and cry. Now that he was closer, he could make out his mumblings better. A load of “Help me” and “Hate it” and “Want a simpler” and “What do you want” and “Every day” and “Go back” and “Lost my spark” and “Where'd the joy” and “Why me?”
“Shhh,” Paether lightly whispered, as he grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him closer to rest against Paeth's side, facing outward. Maryl seemed like he wanted to wriggle away, get away, but his movement was weak, and he couldn't pull himself away. Paether let his arm fall around the man's chest, which was burning to the touch, and pull him closer, into a soft hug, repeating mantras of “It's okay” and “I'm sorry.” They weren't completely lies; he didn't think it was okay, but he was sorry. The two of them stayed that way a while, and Paeth began to think there was no fixing it, until he felt Maryl's breathing slowly, slowly winding down, and his scared half-words began to trail off into a silence, as he simply let himself fall into the gentleman's hold.
“It's okay.”
“It's okay.”
For a bit, neither of them said anything else, the only movement, the slow rising and falling of their chests, and the only sensation, the still rapid thumping of what was on the inside.
“I'm scared,” Maryl said. In a different voice. Not one that was low, and rough, and bored. Not one that thundered, pushing everything away. Not one that was thin and weak. A voice that was just that. Scared.
“Why are you scared?”
“I'm scared that things aren't the way they were anymore. I'm scared of the parts of my life that used to have other people residing within them, and the times when I'd wake up and greet each of them every morning. I'm scared that they're gone and that there's only strangers who have taken their place. I'm scared of having people lean on me, for support, and expect me to be there when they need me. I'm scared of not being enough for the people that need me, and I'd rather be nothing for them at all. I'd rather comfortably win at failing than painfully fail to win.”
“... Did younger you ever look forward to the future?”
“He did. He did so dearly.”
“What would you tell him now?”
“I'd tell him not to come here.”
“But you see, he already bought his ticket.”
“Then tell him to tear it to shreds. I don't care.”
“And what does he say to that?”
“He... He says he's gonna come and have fun anyway.”
“Aha. And as for the ones you love most?”
“Yeah. What about them?”
“What would you say to them?”
Paether couldn't see Maryl's eyes from this position, but he felt as if he could almost see the faces in them. “I'd beg them to come back to me.”
“And what do they say to that?”
“They tell me to come find them.”
“Thank you,” Maryl said, although to whom, it was uncertain.
“It's the least I can do, I think.”
“Please, go, now, I don't want to waste any more of your time.”
“Oh, one more thing, before I go... may I please come in, for just a second?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Ah, thank you,” Paether said as he got up, while Maryl still sat on the doormat, looking, expectantly. “After you,” Paeth eventually said, at which Maryl scrambled up to his knees and lead the way.
The house was dim. Both of their steps created crunchy, rustling noises as they made their way through the hallway, Paether taking in the crinkled bags on the floor.
“... You really like these fishies, huh?”
“Mhm.”
Once they reached the living room, which was much of the same as the hall, with a messed up, slightly torn brown armchair, pointed at a tiny stand with a laptop on it, which showed a video of some men playing in a field of grass. Paether felt that, if you were sitting in the chair, the computer would be so small and far away, you'd have difficulty even seeing the images on screen.
He had to look around for a second to spot the fireplace, almost covered in shadow, at the far end of the room. He walked over, rustling more of the bags in the process, reached into the dark hole, and found his bag, his black tote bag, resting atop some dusty wooden logs, and got it out. He went back under the weak light bulb to rummage through it and see that all of his stuff was in there, and sure enough, everything was in there. He tried to brush any soot off the side of the bag, but found there to be none to brush. Maryl watched this all with a mask of confused disbelief on his face. Paether nodded his head, indicating that his business was done, so they walked back through the hall, their footsteps rustling but their mouths silent.
When he was out the door, he turned around, and said, “Thank you for letting me into your world,” to which Maryl simply nodded, his face still confused, and once Paether got on his way back towards the sidewalk, he heard the door closing behind him. But still not the jangling of someone locking it. He wondered wh—
“Aw, that was adorable!” Davey's voice came from behind, and Paeth whipped around to see the guy sitting there on the grassy lawn, barely a dozen steps away from the house's door.
“You just sat there and watched all of that?”
“Why, of course! Why wouldn't I?”
Paether gave him a tired little smirk. “I think I'm gonna get going now.”
“Hold on,” Davey said, “Can we please exchange numbers real quick? You're gonna have to tell me more about... these secrets of yours. I dare not speak them out loud, in case anyone is listening.”
“I was literally about to turn into a bat right here and fly into the sky five seconds ago.”
“Well, forgive me for being considerate.”
“Anyway, yeah, for sure,” said Paether as he pulled out his phone. They quickly went through the ritual, of Davey reciting his number piece by piece, Paether dialing it in, calling to make sure he got it right, and the two of them saving each other's contacts with cute emojis in the name.
“Alright, thank you. I'll walk away now and pretend not to stare.”
“God, you're a fruitcake, you know that?”
“Eh, it's another name some have called me. Farewell.”
“Farewell, to you too!” As the fruitcake continued on his path, Paether put his bag on the ground, and transformed back into a little bat, his form receding to petiteness as his clothes evaporated away. He spread his wings and began flapping them anew, grabbing the handles of his bag as he took off, and within seconds, he'd reached back up high, quite a bit above rooftops, slowly nearing the clouds. The wind felt nice, bristling in his dark fur.
He tried to recall what he still had in his kitchen, his stomach was killing him.
***
What? Maryl didn't know.
He tried to think about what had just happened a mere minute or two or three ago, but struggled, every image in his mind foggy, thoughts slow and sticky. A gentleman holding him. As he spoke about something strange. Which one of them had said the strange? And then they'd, walked in, and he pulled a bag. Of what? Out of the fireplace. And left, with it. Where? Why?
What was even going on anymore? He didn't know, and he didn't like what he didn't know.
His chair. His chair was right there, so empty without him. He looked around, and tried to figure out what was wrong with the situation, except nothing was wrong with the situation. The computer was plugged in and running smooth, he had his snacks right there. It was all right there. Comfort was right there.
But a part of his soul whimpered at the thought of sitting down in it.
He turned to his laptop, and watched the characters running around. Oh, this scene. He knew this scene well, he'd seen it hundreds of times. And at the same time, watching it play out before him again, he did not know it in the slightest. Stunned, he did not quote along with it, and instead just listened to that one line.
“Go have fun. Go have fun with yourself.”
... Yeah.
Go have fun with yourself.
He paused the episode, and turned off the laptop. For the first time in how long? He didn't know. He didn't let himself think about it.
His thoughts began to stir a bit. He had a thought of a stroll. A stroll sounded nice. He walked back to the door, again. Although he still heard the crunching, with every single movement of his feet, it was weak now. Distant. He didn't look down at the floor anymore, that was for sure. When he opened the door and tried to step out, the outside now felt colder. So much colder than it was before. He stepped, back, a little physically repulsed by the sudden chill, although he rummaged around through the coat rack right beside and found a thick, dusty, faded brown bomber jacket. He hadn't worn it in a while. He pulled it off and slung it around himself. It felt snug on him, and he felt much better when he stepped back out.
He saw a bat, flying through the air, taking off to the brightly lit, yet cloudy skies. Weirdly, it was carrying a black tote bag, and he thought he could recognize it as the bag that the gentleman had taken, although Maryl wasn't quite sure how such a small thing could have stolen it, or even hold it up in the air. Poor thing probably had rabies. It was like that one scene in Episode 29, where they're watching a bat fluttering in the dayl—
No. This is not Episode 29.
He focused, and looked straight ahead, and a little down, at the sidewalk he was on. He could go either to the left or to the right.
Left. Or. Right. It was a hard choice. He thought about it for a few seconds. To the right, a thirty second walk away, there was a convenience store. With cigarettes. And strong whiskeys. And bags of cheap, tasteless goldfish crackers. And self-checkouts, that let you go through the store without talking to a single person in this world.
Maryl took a left, leaving the door behind wide open.