Yawning, Roger Harpell climbed the trellis to his twenty second floor apartment for the third time that morning. He tossed the mail on the end table and went to the kitchen sink. A splash of cold water cleared his eyes and thoughts. In a precarious state of consciousness, he poured a cup of coffee and picked up the mail. Phone, lights, rent. If he joined now, he could take a cruise in the south Pacific for only five hundred dollars. Eaton’s was selling negligees at half price.
A staid envelope from Hooke, Klien & Sinclair, Barristers and Solicitors. Roger examined the back before opening it. "Dear Mr. Harpell. We regret to inform you that your Uncle Stùrmgosse Smith..."
Uncle who?
"... has passed on. You have been bequeathed his home, Ravensgate. When you are ready to take possession of the property, please contact Term Night Realtors at..."
Roger looked over his shoulder, certain a talk-show host was standing by, waiting for his reaction. No cameras, although Aunt Becky wore her customary puzzled grin. "I just inherited a house," he told the picture. Becky looked confused; situation normal.
Turning back to the letter, Roger took note of the phone number: 878-2537. Something about the number raised his hackles; Roger had these reactions from time to time, and was now beyond caring. He stuffed the letter back into the envelope and dialled the number. It was picked up part way through the first ring.
"Term Night, can I help you?" The voice had the sound of an under-powered processor on speed; Roger guessed a cheap bleach job and four cups of coffee.
"Yes, my name's Roger Harpell, I'm calling about..."
"The Smith place, yes, it's a wonderful building, lotsa sunlight, can you come today? The view is incredible, we have a small mortgage on it, five bathrooms (or was that six?), and..."
"Uh, yeah, I'd like to see it," Roger interrupted; this one sounded like she could babble until Armageddon. "Would some time this afternoon be alright?"
"Of course, around one okay? I know you'll just love the place..."
"Yeah, I'll see you then." Roger hung up before getting dragged on a Californian trip through the architecture.
His stomach growled. Roger pulled his jacket off the peg and slid down the fire pole to the street to catch a bus. He figured he had enough time to grab coffee and a doughnut before his ten o'clock class.
* * * * *
"Hi, I'm Roger..."
"Hi, how are you? Excited to see the house? I'm Amber. We can leave now. The furniture's still covered up. You'll love the sky-light. There's a fabulous view from the back porch..."
Roger's telephone impressions were fulfilled in his first glimpse of her. She chattered the entire trip to Ravensgate, which made thinking easier; white noise blocks out all other distractions. His thoughts rolled like gutter-balls. The house sounded like an architectural nightmare. Amber looked like she'd lose her tongue if she wasn't using it all the time. Either this place was in the middle of nowhere or Amber was lost. Who the heck named his uncle "Stùrmgosse", anyway?
The house was as picturesque as the Taj Mahal painted fluorescent pink. The east wing extended half a country block; the west disappeared around a hill. Roger recognized three schools of architecture, and saw elements of two more. At the front door, Amber fumbled with a multitude of keys, talking about the gorgeous guy who tarred the roof last week. Roger grunted noncommittally and followed her inside.
"Oh my God!"
"Nice, isn't it? Almost feels like outside."
"You could fit outside in here!" The entry hall was Gothic; Gothic cathedral. The ceiling was done in stained glass, depicting satyrs chasing nymphs, satyrs getting drunk, satyrs chasing satyrs; Roger understood why he had never been told about uncle Stùrmgosse.
Below the sky-light were three tiers of balconies, each with a series of shadowy doors. Myriad archways led off in various directions from where he stood. Roger had not expected the architecture to be worse inside, although he guessed it was inevitable.
"Let's go through here, I want to see more of the house, the kitchen's supposed to be nice..."
"Amber, I inherited the place; I don't need the sales pitch." Roger went on through one of the arches, hoping Amber would continue to experiment with the echo in the hall.
The hall was short, with a door on either side. At the end was another archway leading into a dark room. Roger spent some time finding a light switch. Flicking the switch, he was overwhelmed when the whole ceiling lit up. Once Roger's eyes adjusted, he saw the black and white checkered floor. In one corner was a long rectangular table, with chairs at opposite ends. The table had an arborite surface, and each chair was a brilliantly carved stump of oak still rooted into the ground. In front of what looked like a window hung fuchsia curtains, barely hiding bricks.
Amber entered behind him. Roger turned around. "Nice kitchen alright; sit on tree stumps and look at a wonderful view of post modern brick laying. Least it's got all the appliances."
"Well, still, look at..."
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find a john."
Amber sniffed. "Second arch on the left in the cathedral."
Wandering back to the cathedral, Roger was curious about the two doors just past the kitchen. Ignoring his aching bladder, he followed his questionable intuition to the one on his right, facing the front of the house (he hoped).
The door was pushed open from behind. Roger barely kept his balance as a man burst out and ran through the cathedral. Roger followed; the man was gone.
"Who was that?"
"Who was what?" issued from the kitchen.
"Some guy just ran through here."
"Might've been Klaus, the Grounds Keeper, he's always..."
"Awful well dressed Grounds Keeper. Anyway, it doesn't matter." It bothered him, but his bladder screamed for relief. Retracing the man's path, Roger fumbled for a light switch and closed the door behind him. Ahead was another short hall leading to two doors. One, partially open, revealed a darkened stairwell; on opening the other, Roger found the bathroom.
It was a dingy room, large enough to spread two sheets of news paper on the floor if the toilet had not been in the way. The yellowed light hung on a wire, casting mobile shadows about the cubicle.
Roger unzipped. When he was finished, he turned around to wash his hands.
The drain meowed.
Leaning over the sink, Roger wondered if his post-graduate studies were starting to melt his brain cells or maybe it was from watching meatloaf in the microwave. The meow echoed again. Realizing it had been too long since his last belt of Jack Daniels, Roger said, "Here, kitty kitty kit..."
A pillar of fur erupted from the drain and grasped Roger's face. It yanked him forward. Grabbing the edges of the sink, he held on for dear life. Raising one hand, he pulled the cat off his face.
"MEOW!!"
"Getcher own kitty litter!" Roger retorted. He glanced down; the cabinet doors had not budged. He grabbed the handle and pulled. The door whipped open. Two green eyes stared hungrily. Roger jumped back onto the toilet.
Scrambling, Roger tried to get out of the room before Felix swatted him. The floor creaked. He barely had his feet down before the commode crashed through the floor.
Roger landed in a pool of water. He floundered to his feet, coated in slime. Trying to get his bearings, he looked back up to see the doorway and a sink dangling from the wall above.
"Great, termites." Roger looked for another way out. A hole in the opposite wall attracted his attention. He started that way.
Something was scratching in the hole.
"Now what?"
A mouse crawled out of the hole. Roger would have been relieved, had it been under three feet long. As it was, the rat stood staring at him with convicting eyes.
"Hey, look, I didn't mean anything personal by those traps..."
Fifteen of the rodent's buddies emerged from the hole. They started towards him.
"Oh SHIT!" Roger turned and ran.
Roger stopped as Felix confronted him from the opposite direction.
"Nice kitty. Want a mouse?"
"RAAARRRRRRRR!" Felix jumped. Roger dropped. Felix flew overhead, landed on the rats, and rolled into the wall. The flurry knocked a beam down. Roger climbed the beam while Felix got lunch, or became lunch. Roger didn't think to check. Back up in the bathroom, he reached for the door and climbed out.
"What happened to you?" Amber stood at the end of the hall.
Roger surveyed himself; he looked like he'd just swum through New York Harbour. "I found the washroom."
