Beyond the Knock Knock Door

by Scott Monk

  ‘As for you, Mister, stay out of her things.’

  ‘Me? I’m innocent.’

  ‘Like the boy who keeps ringing the elevator phone and telling people they’re overweight?’

  ‘Heart disease is a leading cause of death in this country.’

  ‘So are angry mothers who have smart-mouthed sons.’

  Luke buttoned it, but with a wry smile. Rarely did he outfox her. Instead, he replugged the game console into the power socket.

  ‘I hope you’re not planning on sitting in front of the TV all day,’ she called from the kitchen.

  ‘There’s nothing else to do.’

  ‘You could clean up your bedroom for a start. Some of the fleas in there need dog collars of their own.’

  He howled.

  ‘Now c’mon. Turn that off and get into the shower. I’m taking these controllers to work with me –’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘– to make sure you and your brother don’t waste a perfectly good Saturday. You’ve got to find a costume for tonight’s party anyway.’

  He dragged his feet along the hallway and thumped their bedroom door. ‘Giraffe!’

  ‘Dog breath!’ Samantha yelled back.

  Their mother grabbed clothes off the sagging couch, threw them after him and buckled up her backpack.

  ‘Save a life, Mum,’ Michael said, hiding the phone behind him.

  ‘No one dies on my shift, kiddo,’ she answered with a kiss. ‘I’ll be home at six to take you to your party, okay? Here. Take this money. There should be enough to hire some costumes.’

  ‘Do I have to go? The party invitation only said Samantha –’

  ‘I rang Mrs Sudhakar. She said everyone in your class is invited, including you and Luke.’

  ‘But I don’t feel too well.’

  ‘Sorry, but you look fine.’

  ‘Then I don’t want to go. The other kids hate me.’

  She checked her watch. Her partner would be waiting downstairs in the ambulance. ‘Mikey, remember our talk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I know moving here has been tough on you – it’s been tough on all of us. But this is our life now. That means making new friends, okay? This party will be good for you.’

  She hugged him then caught the door shutting on herself. ‘Love you. Oh, and try to keep your brother and sister from killing each other. We can’t keep putting aside two spare beds at the emergency ward.’

  Ten minutes later, the hostilities resumed. Freshly washed, Luke again saved the universe using the spare controller that he secretly kept stashed under his trading cards, and Samantha returned to share her sulking. She deliberately stood in front of the TV as she ate muesli mixed with yoghurt and bananas.

  ‘Get out of the way!’

  Having trouble listening, Michael pressed the phone harder against his ear. ‘I just want to go back to the farm. I hate living in this city.’

  ‘I know,’ his dad answered, his voice mixed with frustration and helplessness. ‘But you’ve got to stay there for now. Your mother and I agreed it’s best we keep you and your brother and sister together until the divorce is over. That way you can look out for each other.’

  Michael trembled.

  ‘Son, it’s going to be all right. I’ll drive down in a fortnight to see you. And I want you back home for the holidays, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Love you.’

  Michael hung up.

  Samantha yelped when Luke pushed her out of the way but retaliated by blocking his view of the TV again.

  ‘Michael, did Mum leave any money for the costumes?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered.

  ‘Thanks!’ Luke said, throwing away the controller. ‘Are you happy now? You made me crash into that starship.’

  ‘She couldn’t have forgotten,’ she added, searching the kitchen. ‘She knows it’s a fancy dress party. We can’t go looking like this.’

  ‘Cover yourself with some dirt,’ Luke said. ‘Everyone knows you’re a weed.’

  A pillow biffed him in the face.

  Luke got his revenge downstairs when they were dragged outside to search for a costume shop. Samantha was marching ahead under her own umbrella when he raced forward and stomped on a dropped carton of strawberry milk. The splash was as big as her scream. She chased him three blocks before nabbing him.

  ‘That’s it!’ she said, pinning him against the window of an Egyptian restaurant. ‘Push me one more time today – just once – and I’m going to tell the principal it was you who put jelly crystals in the teachers’ toilets.’

  ‘But that wasn’t me!’

  ‘She doesn’t know that, does she?’

  Shrugging off his crazy sister, Luke snatched the other umbrella from Michael and barged ahead.

  ‘Pity we can’t divorce him, hey?’ she said.

  For triplets, the Bowman children were remarkably different. Samantha was the first-born, by far the tallest and hence the natural leader. She had green eyes, long black hair, a silver hoop earring in each lobe and a ‘cute’ nose her grandpa was fond of ringing like a Christmas bell. She’d been practising kendo for two years after seeing a documentary on TV about world sports and previously discovering the hard way how uncoordinated she was at playing basketball. She loved music, burritos, roller-coasters, peppermint, watching football with her dad and dancing in the bedroom when no one was around. And despite what her brain-dead brother might say, she was under no circumstances in love with Rajan Sudhakar. Boys – vomit!

  Blond-haired Luke disagreed, of course. His sister’s diary was full of hearts, smileys, lovey-dovey dreams and all that other mushy stuff that reminded him of soap operas. If that’s how girls lived, then it was yet another reason he was glad to be a boy. Born second, he wasn’t the oldest, the bossiest or the baby. However, what he lacked in attention, he made up for in noise. He was the class clown and terror of the teachers – the one most likely to be ordered to stand outside – and that was why he enjoyed school, even if he was bad at it. He loved TV comedies, science fiction movies, computer games, comic books and eating chocolate ice-cream for breakfast when everyone was still asleep. His only goal was to command an intergalactic battle cruiser. Oh, and to make his sister’s life miserable.

  That left the youngest, Michael. Born on the day after his siblings, a few ticks past midnight, he wasn’t brave or strong like Samantha. He wasn’t even funny or popular like Luke. He couldn’t catch a football without it first hitting him in the face, and he couldn’t play a musical instrument without it sounding like a strangled duck. He was so plain he wondered why his parents hadn’t named him Vanilla. He had stick-brown hair, blue eyes and several scars from skateboarding that should’ve made him look tough but only highlighted his clumsiness. His single goal in life was to leave this horrible city.

  ‘Why are we looking for a costume shop anyway?’ Michael asked. ‘Mum didn’t leave us any money.’

  She pulled an envelope of cash from her jacket. ‘Nice try, Squirt. I found it hidden under the lounge.’

  Despondent again, he was repeatedly told to catch up as they worked their way through a list of costume shops. However, each store presented the same problem: the outfits were too expensive.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ Luke said. ‘My feet hurt.’

  ‘Then walk on your hands,’ Samantha said. ‘This is the biggest party of the year and we’re all going – no arguments. If you don’t want to pick a costume – fine. We can always go to a baby store and buy you a couple of nappies.’

  But even she felt exasperated when they found the last shop on their list. A CLOSED sign hung in the door.

  ‘Pull out the old bedspreads,’ Luke said. ‘We’re going as ghosts.’

  ‘I’m not wearing pink,’ Michael said.

  ‘Or Sam’s old horsey quilt!’

  The boys neighed and laughed, while their sister soldiered through the rain, the umbrella dark over her eyes.

 
Michael perked up, knowing another ten minutes of pestering would wear her down. She’d snap and announce that she was going to the party – alone. But a sideways look down an alleyway turned disastrous. Under a sign engraved with looping lettering was a dull bay window with a sparse and miserable collection of costumes. The door said OPEN. He strolled by, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Finally.’

  She did.

  ‘Mr Deed’s Curious Curios,’ Luke read. ‘I’ve never seen this here before.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen this alleyway before,’ Michael added.

  The lane ended abruptly. Apart from the bay window, the only other notable feature was a cluster of black garbage bags that spread out like a fat man’s belly. It was strange that a shop would be in such a deserted spot.

  Samantha entered first. From the outside, Mr Deed’s Curious Curios appeared no wider than a cereal box, but inside, it was enormous – eleven-storeys tall with circular walls and a domed roof. From its middle towered an enormous fig tree, trickling with a waterfall and sheltering a dozen exotic birds, including toucans, macaws, kingfishers, motmots and birds of paradise. Moss dangled from its branches, and a marble staircase spiralled around its thick trunk. Intermittingly, the steps levelled at ornately carved bridges, which led to the different floors that were racked, stacked and packed with thousands of costumes from all nations and timelines. Statues of Chinese terracotta warriors guarded each row. At the base of the fig tree were two arcing display cabinets. They showcased the normal array of face paint, beards and fake blood, but they also held other treasures. There was a petrified dog from Pompeii, painted Aboriginal emu eggs from Australia, napkins from the Titanic, Russian belly scratchers, a poster of the Fiji Mermaid, moon rocks and a pharaoh’s golden death mask. Above them dangled a canoe from Irian Jaya and a strange wooden flying machine straight out of a Leonardo da Vinci sketchbook.

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s some sort of strange museum,’ Michael said.

  He inspected a red wooden wagon topped by a glass tank. It was a vending machine similar to a claw crane, but decades older. Instead of plush toys, it contained hundreds of round plastic capsules, half-clear and half-orange. In the clear half was candy and in the bottom half a hidden gift. Scratched gold lettering trumpeted it as a Now-Or-Never Wagon.

  ‘Cool!’ Luke said, rushing upstairs after spotting a star ranger uniform. Its stiff, cracked, green leather jacket and pants came with frayed, yellow trimmings and badges; a jetpack fit across his shoulders; a crash helmet was too big for his head; and a laser blaster hung from a utility belt of pouches. ‘Zap! Zap! Zap!’

  ‘Where’s the owner then?’

  ‘Yes, where is he?’ a voice with a thick Belgian accent asked behind them.

  A light globe popped and, doubly startled, the children jumped. In the doorway stood a gentleman who looked like he’d just stepped out of the 1920s. He had short brown hair, hazel eyes, round glasses and a handsome face. He wore a blue pinstripe suit with matching gloves and a derby hat, from which he flicked off – not rain – but sand? He sported a crisp white shirt, yellow tie and a pair of immaculately polished pointed black shoes. Strangely, he also carried a rosewood walking stick topped with a ram’s horn.

  ‘Oh, waitaminute. That owner would be me!’ the gentleman said, shaking hands as he swept past them. ‘Hello! Visitors! And visiting me. What a wonderful pleasure. I hope I haven’t caught you on your way out, because that would make you leavers and not visitors, am I right? Hmmm?’

  Samantha and Michael raised their eyebrows at each other. ‘Er, hi,’ she said.

  ‘Manners. I’ve forgotten my manners. Oh, and yes, my name. Mr Deed – Mr Goode Deed – at your service, young sir and miss.’

  He shook their hands with extra enthusiasm then half-bowed, fingers clasped.

  ‘We’re here to hire some costumes,’ she added, her voice rising like a question.

  ‘Splendid!’ he said, throwing his derby hat on the tip of a Zulu spear. ‘You’ve come to the right shop. We’ve got smugglers, jugglers, mobsters, lobsters, Spartans, tartans, slaves, knaves, teachers, creatures, pigs, wigs, musketeers and buccaneers.’

  ‘We don’t –’

  ‘Nose bones, trombones, milk maids, mermaids, zoot suits, big brutes, holy knights and Batman’s tights. Ugly norsemen and headless horsemen? Why of course, man!’

  ‘We were after –’

  ‘Leprechauns, unicorns, Argonauts, astronauts, rappers, flappers, Wild West trappers, singers, bellringers and gunslingers. Step away from those trees and bumble bees, if you please.’

  ‘Look, can you just listen –’

  ‘Why we’ve even got a scary rhinoceros that snorts and a President’s smelly pair of boxer sh –’

  ‘Enough!’

  The man jumped, his fingers jittery against his chest. ‘Sorry, young miss. I do get carried away sometimes, don’t I? Please accept Mr Goode Deed’s humblest of humblest apologies.’

  He bowed again.

  ‘Is that your real name?’ Luke asked, circling down the fig tree with the star ranger costume.

  ‘Only when I’m good,’ he winked.

  ‘What’s that on your face?’ Michael asked.

  The incredible pair of round spectacles resting on Mr Deed’s nose had a see-through clock ticking inside the glass.

  ‘Look! I can see the time all the time rather than watch a watch. Wonderful contraption, is it not? I think the King of Whatsanamia gave it to me. Or was it the Queen?’

  ‘I think we should leave,’ Michael said.

  ‘Agreed,’ she answered.

  ‘Please, don’t go. You’re the first customers I’ve had all day. The rain makes a dull companion – unless you’re a fish.’

  ‘Well, I’m taking this,’ Luke said, slinging the tatty uniform on the display cabinet. He’d found a battered red visor attached to an intercom earpiece and a wrist computer as well.

  ‘Splendid! A fine choice, young sir. A star for the stars.’

  ‘How come this place is so big on the inside but small on the outside?’ Michael asked.

  ‘It’s like eating dinner. When you’re full, you can always fit in dessert, yes?’

  ‘That doesn’t explain anything.’

  ‘It explains why you get indigestion.’

  Michael screwed up his face, thoroughly confused.

  ‘Zap! Zap! Zap!’ Luke sang again, firing the toy laser. When he aimed it at his sister, the ram’s horn walking stick pushed his arm back down. ‘Hey!’

  Mr Deed waggled a gloved finger. ‘Guns are not for playing with. They are dreadful things. I’ll just put this in a safe place, shall I? Not even for a rainy day, hey?’

  ‘But I’ll look like a wimp without them.’

  ‘My boy, heroes don’t need guns. They need courage, smarts and an occasional change of underpants.’

  Luke stared at the man with a you’ve-gotta-be-kidding face. Grumbling, he retreated to a display of cowry shell masks from Zaire.

  That sorted, Mr Deed turned to Samantha and asked, ‘How about you, miss? What would you like to be? A maiden in distress? Or a pretty princess?’

  She glared at him. ‘Do I look like a princess?’

  ‘Why, yes!’

  ‘A princess?’

  ‘Young miss?’

  ‘Stop calling me that! I feel like I’m in a beauty pageant.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend. I just want to help.’

  ‘Then help my brothers. I’ll find my own costume, thank you very much.’

  ‘But I have this pretty royal gown from London Town that –’

  ‘I’m not a Barbie doll!’

  She stomped upstairs around the fig tree.

  ‘Oh dear. I seem to have offended everyone, except myself of course. But give me a few minutes more and I won’t be speaking to me either.’

  ‘Sorry about my brother and sister,’ Michael said, hovering above a collection of Native American hand
drums, mummified bats and an ancient Indian chess set with elephant playing pieces. ‘They take a long time to get used to.’

  ‘And how long would that be?’

  ‘After twelve years, I still don’t know.’

  As Mr Deed found a ladder to fix the broken light globe, Michael walked among the costumes on the ground floor – most of which were mouldy or soiled. Among them he found the same giant baby chicken outfit he’d seen outside that department store. It was still damp. And oddly, only a few coathangers away, was the uniform worn by that lurking security guard.

  ‘Have you found anything fitting yet, young sir? A sheriff perhaps? A hat that claps?’

  Michael moved along with growing uneasiness. ‘Me? Nothing. I’m – I’m just looking.’

  ‘Nonsense. Come.’ Mr Deed stepped down from the ladder and called out, ‘Ring-a-ding-ding! Mrs Hoyos! Customer!’

  Something small and furry scurried down the branches of the fig tree, flustering the tropical birds. Brown, grey, sporting a long tail and a crest of white hair, it was a strange creature – possibly a monkey? Running on all fours, it jumped and easily landed on Mr Deed’s right shoulder. The gremlin face reflected Michael’s own curiosity before biting down on a red berry with its needle teeth.

  ‘That’s a tamarin! A cottontop. But I thought they only lived in Colombia.’

  ‘Except this one,’ Mr Deed said, readjusting his glasses. ‘She stowed away in my travelling bag during a trip to Magdalena River and offered to work for me.’

  ‘Work for you?’

  ‘Why, yes. She takes care of my curious curios when I’m away on my adventures. Watch.’ Mr Deed walked over to the main counter and pulled out a plastic tag numbered 0001. He showed it to her. ‘Mrs Hoyos, we need a costume for this fine young gentleman.’

  She leapt from his shoulder and climbed to the top of the fig tree. Luke, who had been harassing Samantha with a pair of wolfman’s claws, suddenly shouted, ‘Monkey!’

  He raced upstairs and found Mrs Hoyos jumping along the coathangers. When he tried grabbing her, that same ram’s horn walking stick rapped his knuckles. ‘Ow!’

  Luke appealed to his brother to do something, but Michael stood transfixed beside a broom closet, which stood ajar and revealed a secret. Stashed inside was a damp olive coat, chequered hat, a balding orange wig, false nose and, significantly, an aluminium crutch.