passed, then did a quick bit of mental maths to
estimate which door was the one I was supposed to be knocking on. Shit , I thought, it is the one with the corpse on the
porch. I prayed that my counting skills had failed me and it
was actually the one next-door, but of course they didn’t, and it
wasn’t.
The three of
us stood awkwardly with the sleeping teenager at our feet,
wondering what to do. At least the boy was definitely sleeping,
rather than dead. His snoring gave him away. One of his arms was
shoved through the letterbox, all the way past the elbow.
‘Should I
knock?’ I asked my dad. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the
innate ridiculousness of it all. It was certainly an interesting
choice of welcome party. My dad seemed torn as well; he just
shrugged in response, half of a smile and half of a grimace on his
face. My mum, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to throw me
over her shoulder and go sprinting back to the car.
Our collective
indecision was made irrelevant when the thing on the doormat began
to stir.
‘ ARGGH!!’ he yelped, all of a sudden, causing me and my
parents to jump backward in surprise, and maybe even a hint of
fear. The guy at our feet wheeled his neck around, squinting in the
sunlight. ‘Whass’gwan?!’ he asked. Dad and I looked at each other
for a second.
‘Erm…you tell
me,’ I replied, eventually, as what it appeared was my new
housemate attempted to tug his arm free of the letterbox. Soon,
though, he accepted failure and turned back to look at me. After
several minutes of staring, the fug of confusion lifted from his
features.
‘Oh, wait!’ he
exclaimed. ‘You must be, er…erm…the new guy , right?’
‘Yeah,’ I
said. ‘Do you, er, live here?’
‘Nah; I was
just doing a bit of breaking and entering, and it hasn’t gone
particularly well,’ he told us, nonchalantly.
‘Oh. Er…’
He laughed a
manic, barking laugh. ‘I’m only joking, man. I’m Charlie, by the
way. Nice to meet you.’
He offered his
free hand to me, my mum and my dad in turn. My mum allowed as
little of her fingertips as possible to come into contact with
him.
‘Now the
pleasantries are over, would one of you mind knocking on the door
for me?’ he asked, seemingly unashamed of his situation. ‘The ol’
digits are feeling a bit numb.’
My mum and I
just stood there, too dumbfounded to respond, so my dad leaned over
Charlie and rapped thrice upon the door. While we waited for a
response, Charlie explained how he’d got himself into such a
predicament. The breaking and entering comment was technically
true; he’d left his keys in his room by accident and, because the
other two members of the household were out for the count by the
time he’d got home, he’d hoped that he would be able to unlock the
latch from the inside by reaching through the letterbox. Apparently
the people who design doors were smarter than Charlie had given
them credit for.
A groaning
noise came wafting through the open letterbox, followed by slow,
thumping footsteps. What in God’s name has Liz signed me up
for? I wondered.
‘Johnny! Did
Charlie not make it back last night, or are we being robbed by the
world’s stupidest burglar?’ the voice inside hollered. There wasn’t
any answer forthcoming, so the voice that wasn’t Johnny muttered to
itself and the footsteps came a little closer.
Skrunch…Skrunch…Click!
The door
suddenly swung backwards and Charlie - after the briefest flash of
horrified realisation shot across his face - went with it,
clattering his shins against the doorframe and shouting, ‘Oi! Easy!
Easy! I’ve had a rough night, here!’ The tall, wide,
zombified-looking doorman shook his head in disdain, and then
looked up at me.
‘You Johnny’s
mate?’
I nodded
uncertainly. He went to offer his hand, then realised that he
couldn’t reach mine with Charlie huddled in between us. He paused
for a second, then concluded:
‘Can we do the
introductions later? I’m
estimate which door was the one I was supposed to be knocking on. Shit , I thought, it is the one with the corpse on the
porch. I prayed that my counting skills had failed me and it
was actually the one next-door, but of course they didn’t, and it
wasn’t.
The three of
us stood awkwardly with the sleeping teenager at our feet,
wondering what to do. At least the boy was definitely sleeping,
rather than dead. His snoring gave him away. One of his arms was
shoved through the letterbox, all the way past the elbow.
‘Should I
knock?’ I asked my dad. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the
innate ridiculousness of it all. It was certainly an interesting
choice of welcome party. My dad seemed torn as well; he just
shrugged in response, half of a smile and half of a grimace on his
face. My mum, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to throw me
over her shoulder and go sprinting back to the car.
Our collective
indecision was made irrelevant when the thing on the doormat began
to stir.
‘ ARGGH!!’ he yelped, all of a sudden, causing me and my
parents to jump backward in surprise, and maybe even a hint of
fear. The guy at our feet wheeled his neck around, squinting in the
sunlight. ‘Whass’gwan?!’ he asked. Dad and I looked at each other
for a second.
‘Erm…you tell
me,’ I replied, eventually, as what it appeared was my new
housemate attempted to tug his arm free of the letterbox. Soon,
though, he accepted failure and turned back to look at me. After
several minutes of staring, the fug of confusion lifted from his
features.
‘Oh, wait!’ he
exclaimed. ‘You must be, er…erm…the new guy , right?’
‘Yeah,’ I
said. ‘Do you, er, live here?’
‘Nah; I was
just doing a bit of breaking and entering, and it hasn’t gone
particularly well,’ he told us, nonchalantly.
‘Oh. Er…’
He laughed a
manic, barking laugh. ‘I’m only joking, man. I’m Charlie, by the
way. Nice to meet you.’
He offered his
free hand to me, my mum and my dad in turn. My mum allowed as
little of her fingertips as possible to come into contact with
him.
‘Now the
pleasantries are over, would one of you mind knocking on the door
for me?’ he asked, seemingly unashamed of his situation. ‘The ol’
digits are feeling a bit numb.’
My mum and I
just stood there, too dumbfounded to respond, so my dad leaned over
Charlie and rapped thrice upon the door. While we waited for a
response, Charlie explained how he’d got himself into such a
predicament. The breaking and entering comment was technically
true; he’d left his keys in his room by accident and, because the
other two members of the household were out for the count by the
time he’d got home, he’d hoped that he would be able to unlock the
latch from the inside by reaching through the letterbox. Apparently
the people who design doors were smarter than Charlie had given
them credit for.
A groaning
noise came wafting through the open letterbox, followed by slow,
thumping footsteps. What in God’s name has Liz signed me up
for? I wondered.
‘Johnny! Did
Charlie not make it back last night, or are we being robbed by the
world’s stupidest burglar?’ the voice inside hollered. There wasn’t
any answer forthcoming, so the voice that wasn’t Johnny muttered to
itself and the footsteps came a little closer.
Skrunch…Skrunch…Click!
The door
suddenly swung backwards and Charlie - after the briefest flash of
horrified realisation shot across his face - went with it,
clattering his shins against the doorframe and shouting, ‘Oi! Easy!
Easy! I’ve had a rough night, here!’ The tall, wide,
zombified-looking doorman shook his head in disdain, and then
looked up at me.
‘You Johnny’s
mate?’
I nodded
uncertainly. He went to offer his hand, then realised that he
couldn’t reach mine with Charlie huddled in between us. He paused
for a second, then concluded:
‘Can we do the
introductions later? I’m
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