by Dave Norris
The dark clouds above let loose their content like the squeezing of a soaked sponge so heavy was the downpour. With umbrella outstretched, Mr Jasper Featherstone perused the copy of the Gloucester Gazette he bought from a street seller at the corner of the Cheadle Street Workhouse. He was now nearly home after catching the city tram and noticed from the paper that it was Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee, although, her reclusion would undoubtedly mean it would be celebrated in absentia. Nothing could distract the Empress from her mourning.
He had reached his house. Climbing the few steps to his blue front door, he presented his key, turned it and entered. Whilst the outside of the house was plain, the inside was surprisingly spacious and inviting with green foliaged plants and brightly coloured decor. Paintings adorned the walls which were light with many depicting happy scenes of sailing boats, presumably one of Mr Featherstone’s passions. Other memorabilia, perhaps souvenirs from his many journeys and expeditions abroad were on display, for example, statues of elephants and lion-fur rugs which clung to the floor outstretched. The high ceilings were bejewelled in chandeliers and fireplaces with coals and logs were readied to be lit.
He looked at his watch carefully to ensure he wasn’t late returning for his guest.
A moment later there was a ring of the doorbell and Mr Featherstone went promptly to receive the guest and slowly opened the door. Greeting him was a young lady wearing a long green dress and bonnet which was plainly designed. He beckoned her inside.
“Miss Fisher, I presume?”
Mr Featherstone asked, and she responded with a nod and a small curtsy. It was clear to Mr Featherstone that he would not expect a verbal reply. You see, people came to Mr Featherstone with a range of ailments. It was plain when she communicated with him that she was, in fact, profoundly deaf.
“We’ll waste no time Miss Fisher,” he mouthed, “Let me take you to the room.”
With that, they went through the hallway to the back of the house where a small, dimly lit corridor to the right, led to a door. It was a plain small door of puce but it had a large brass knob on which was engraved in large letters, it seemed, the word “BELIEVE”.
She grasped the doorknob and immediately it glowed brightly but remained cool to the touch. She slowly turned it, pushed the door and entered the room. After she had entered, the door slammed behind her as if a gust of wind had blown it shut.
Mr Featherstone went back out towards the kitchen and prepared tea, knowing that in a few moments the young lady, now alone in the strange room, would need refreshment. He wondered how long it would take her to find her way out. He need not have worried as he could hear the distant door slam for a second time and footsteps increasing in volume.
A moment later, Miss Fisher appeared at the door to the kitchen looking dishevelled but radiant.
“Hello, Miss Fisher,” said Mr Featherstone, “Back so quickly! How was your experience?”
With that question, for the first time in a decade she did something which was quite unexpected.
“I… can… hear… now!”
She muttered slowly and crisply but with some hesitation. Mr Featherstone brought a tray containing a teapot and flowery, porcelain crockery to the table and started to arrange them for tea.
“Perhaps you can describe your experience to me, Miss Fisher,” asked Mr Featherstone with a smile beaming upon his face.
With that request she proceeded to explain her experience of the room in which the miracle had happened. “As I entered the room, it was dark and then when the door slammed shut, the colours appeared. All sorts of colours were shining with hues of red, yellow and blue. It felt as if I was in the room for an age – at least an hour – but that can’t be so, could it, as you said I was only in there for a few moments. That is a queer thing. But in any case, I walked throughout the room filled with these lights and suddenly, I felt a warm sensation upon my head and then I gradually heard music, the most beautiful music I had ever heard. It was as if an orchestra were playing in the room just for me. Such a vivid composition but I wasn’t sure if I was playing it in my mind or was it real. It wasn’t until I saw the door again revealed and I decided to walk through it, that I realised that my hearing had indeed been restored. I opened the door and was back in the corridor from which we parted and ventured here. That is my recollection.”
Mr Featherstone smiled and took a sip of tea.
“Yes, my dear. That is the recollection of many who follow the path into the room. Many miracles have been performed including the one elderly gentleman who had lost his sight and wanted for one last time to see the flowers, and the sun, and a picture of his departed wife. You see we are the last resort for some, but it only works if you ‘believe’ that you will be cured. And you did my dear. You did.”
He continued, “I hope you will maintain a long and prosperous life without the disadvantage that you previously suffered.”
Miss Fisher stood up ready to leave. She turned with slight confusion upon her face, “But what is the advantage for you. Surely you expect payment?”
Mr Featherstone grinned then smiled politely, then said, “My payment has been made my dear. You see, I am rewarded every time I introduce a client to the room.”
Miss Fisher enquired, “What is this house?”
“This house is a special house, that is all you need to know.”
He said this politely, and with that, Miss Fisher shook the hand of Mr Featherstone and made her way out.
“Thank you,” she said at the blue front door. “You have changed my life and I will never forget you.”
“Perhaps it is the house that you should remember, not me, I am just the caretaker but remember – please reveal this to no-one.”
With that, Mr Featherstone closed the door. He went to the kitchen to clear the cups and saucers and once this was done, he ventured to the room in which the miracle had happened.
The puce door was in front of him. He placed his hand on the brass knob – but this time it didn’t glow – it remained the same; however, he turned the handle and entered.
The room this time was like any other. No lights, no other door, no music – just a plain room with wooden floorboards and a window with decaying curtains of green. But in the centre of the room, was a full-length oval mirror. He approached the mirror and as he gazed into it, saw his reflection. It was of an old decrepit man with sunken eyes and pale withered skin. A wispy beard of white extended from his thin chin.
Immediately he glanced away, not wanting to see the truth any further.
He didn’t notice at first but as the years passed, he realised his reward. People may have considered him a thirty-year-old man; but, in fact, that was not so, he was over 140 years of age and was still going strong. Indeed, the house, of which he was the caretaker, needed him too. So, in return for this ‘eternal youth’, he has looked after the miraculous house.