Beyond the Knock Knock Door

by Scott Monk

  When the mob arrived, April stopped outside the metal door. She twisted the handle unsuccessfully then shoulder-charged it with the help of a couple of kids. Thud. Thud. Thud. It held fast.

  ‘I know you’re in there, Lowmen! Get out here now or you’ll suffer at school on Monday.’

  ‘And apologise for ruining my party!’

  ‘Rajan Sudhakar!’ a man shouted from the top of the hill. ‘Get up here this instant! Your party’s over. You and your friends are all going home.’

  ‘But Dad –’

  ‘Now!’

  After one more thud, the footsteps shuffled away, while inside the door – cramped amid the cold and mildew – the triplets’ sighs were lost among the groaning pipes and rushing water. They kept silent until they were doubly sure everyone had left.

  ‘If they didn’t hate us before, they sure do now,’ Samantha said in the darkness.

  ‘I’m never going back to that school,’ Michael said. ‘I don’t care what Mum says.’

  ‘Well, you might get your wish,’ Luke said with a nervous laugh.

  ‘Why?’

  Attached to the shoulder of his star ranger costume was a small flashlight. He shone it at the lock, in which the bottom half of the rusty key was stuck. In his haste to barricade them inside, the top half had broken off. There was no way they could now unlock the door.

  ‘We’re trapped?’

  ‘It was the only way to keep April from getting in –’

  ‘And us getting out!’

  Samantha shook the handle before Luke took a turn. They tried screaming for help but the mob had left.

  ‘You’ve really messed up this time!’

  ‘Me?’ Luke said. ‘You told us to run this way!’

  ‘Well, who destroyed Rajan’s party?’

  ‘Whose fault is it that we went to such a dumb party in the first place? I hope he was a good kisser!’

  ‘You annoying little –’

  Brother and sister grabbed each other and wrestled in the darkness. The flashlight shone around the small entry room like a berserk strobe until Michael threw down his helmet and screamed, ‘STOP IT!’

  Stunned, Luke and Samantha blinked at him. His face was red and his neck cords stretched.

  ‘Enough!’ he finished. ‘We’re worse than the Thornleighs! At least they like each other. All we seem to do is fight. We can’t even get through a party without an argument. And I’m sick of it. Do you hear me? Sick of it! Yes, I know we’re trapped, and, yes, I know no one’s around to help us, but let’s figure a way out of here – together – okay?’

  Snatching back his helmet, he tugged it on his head and waited for his siblings to move, until, annoyed, he ordered Luke, ‘Point your flashlight there. Show us what’s making all this noise.’

  Obediently, Luke did so, but with a glance to his sister, who matched his bewilderment. Neither could remember the last time Michael had raised his voice.

  ‘It’s an old pumphouse,’ Luke said, as they followed the beam over the pipes, gauges and flow meters. That explained the steady throbbing like a washing machine. Millions of litres of deluge churned below them. ‘Over here,’ he added a few minutes later, lifting up a rotting mat. ‘A trapdoor.’

  A rung ladder descended underground. ‘I’m not going down there,’ she said.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugged as Michael followed him into the darkness.

  She watched as their only source of light disappeared, then waited. A minute turned into two, and two into three before she called out, ‘Michael? Luke?’

  The only reply was her echo.

  ‘Speak to me!’

  More angry than frightened, she moved the cutlass to the back of her sash then groped for the top rung of the ladder. She climbed down thirty metres into the darkness before bumping into a cold, concrete floor. Pipes throbbed, the roof dripped and the stormwater raged louder. There was no sign of her brothers.

  ‘You better not be trying to scare me, or I’ll cut out the heads from your comic books again!’

  ‘Awww,’ Luke whined, turning on his flashlight. ‘You’re no fun.’

  ‘Scared her though,’ Michael said beside him.

  ‘Did not,’ she said. ‘Now stop mucking around. Find us a way out of here. I’m tired of standing around in these wet clothes.’

  Swinging the flashlight side to side, they discovered a maze of control rooms, maintenance areas, workshops, tunnels and even a nook with hammocks. Forgotten instructions were written in chalk next to metal turn wheels, and razor-sharp flakes of rust threatened to slice their skin. The pumphouse must have been the central station for the area before being abandoned. Plenty of clues hinted that it hadn’t been operational for decades. A stained calendar opened at February 1939 hung from a nail; a newspaper inked with mould reported a story about somebody called King George VI; and no pump gauge was computerised. When Michael found an old soda pop bottle half-filled with sticky cola on a card table, everything started to get really weird.

  ‘Why are the pumps running?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Hello? It’s a pumphouse,’ she said, rubbing her hands together to keep warm.

  ‘How, when no one’s been down here since World War II.’

  His observation lingered like a ghost. It didn’t help that the dripping water echoing along the tunnels sounded like people talking.

  ‘Let’s keep moving,’ she said. ‘This place creeps me out.’

  Last to leave, Michael forgot about the plastic sword on his hip and twisted too close to the card table. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered.

  ‘Careful!’

  ‘Wait! Check it out.’

  Instead of little puddles on the flat concrete floor, the cola droplets regathered then leapt into the air and turned the corner as a single stream – as if being pulled by a greater force. The triplets followed it further along the tunnel to a large cavity. Decades before, it had been plugged with plaster but erosion had since eaten away its base. They stared in amazement as more jets of rainwater zipped about them and hurtled through the hole.

  ‘It’s got to be a trick,’ she said, catching a stream in her hand. It drilled into her palm then reformed around her fingers as smaller rivulets that shot into the cavity.

  ‘I think I can see steps,’ Luke said, stooping on hands and knees for a closer look. ‘Going down into some sort of cave.’

  ‘A cave?’ Michael repeated. ‘Under the city?’

  When Luke stood again, his flashlight spelt out the warning painted next to the plaster: Authorised access only. Trespassers face imprisonment.

  ‘Stop playing around,’ she said. ‘Keep the light steady.’

  ‘I’m not playing. The battery’s dying.’

  She grabbed his flashlight, watched the bulb dim and shook it. It powered up again but weakly. ‘We better get back upstairs. I don’t want to be trapped down here in the dark.’

  The moment she said that, the battery died. The tunnels collapsed into darkness, cutting off their last chance of retreat. ‘Great. Just great.’

  Fear lurked until a flash forced them to cover their eyes and step backwards. Brightness shone through the hole in the plaster.

  ‘What’s causing it?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Who cares,’ she said, kicking the plaster. ‘It’s our way out of here.’

  Her brothers helped break away the plaster until they created a crawlspace to squeeze through on their bellies. Soaked, they stretched to their full height on the other side and stood at the top of the stone steps, which curved into a chilly cave that clearly wasn’t natural. It had a wide chequerboard floor crafted from marble tiles, and a ring of round glass globes hanging from the ceiling glowed with an unknown energy source. Water seeped from the roof but didn’t collect in a pool. Instead, just like the sewers, it defied gravity, flew through the air and wormed around the edges of the most overpowering presence in the room – a gigantic double door.

  6

  Doors this size just didn’t e
xist. Larger than even those belonging to the most majestic of cathedrals, it was red, wrought from steel and impenetrable. Gold-painted ironwork spread across its surface like ivy and featured an array of cogs, pistons, bells, chains, whistles and cuckoo birds. Near the bottom, a pair of eagles clenched large round knockers. And barring its middle was an enormous metal beam, presumably to lock people out – or to keep something in.

  ‘What is this place?’ Luke asked, pausing next to the door to watch the water being sucked into its jamb. ‘And who would build a door this big?’

  ‘Or build one under a sewer?’ Michael said, running his hand over the gold ironwork until he noticed a section where the cobwebs had been cleaned away.

  ‘It’s just a door,’ Samantha said. ‘And like all doors, they open.’ She lifted a round knocker and pulled with all her strength. ‘It won’t budge.’

  Luke snorted. ‘Maybe because there’s that giant beam across its middle.’

  ‘Okay, Smarty Pants, then how do we get up there to remove it?’

  She dropped the knocker, which boomed twice.

  The echo thundered long and deep. Dust fell from the cave roof and the flow of the gravity-defying water sped up. Even the strange lights seemed to glow brighter. They each stepped away from the door when, without warning, the gold ironwork started to tick-tick-tick and ding-ding-ding.

  Little bells chimed by the dozen and dormant cogs slowly rolled on their teeth as chains stretched taunt. From the middle of the ironworks, a cuckoo bird sprang forward and flapped its wings.

  ‘Look!’ Michael said. ‘Paper’s printing from its beak.’

  Being the tallest, Samantha snatched the long, thin stream of tickertape. ‘“Who’s there?”’ she read, slightly baffled. ‘Hello? Is anyone inside?’

  The ironwork tick-tick-ticked and ding-ding-dinged.

  Hello is anyone inside who? the cuckoo bird asked with a new message.

  ‘Hey! Open up! We’re trapped down here.’

  Stillness settled over the ironwork again, as if it hadn’t moved at all. After a few impatient moments, she grabbed and rattled it. ‘We’re only kids, you know. We’ll die down here if you don’t let us out!’

  Again, no cogs turned, no bells rang. The ironwork refused to budge.

  ‘Why isn’t it responding?’ she demanded, after another shake.

  ‘What did you do last time to make it work?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I pulled on this round handle thingy until Smarty Pants here told me I was doing it wrong,’ she said, showing them. When still nothing happened, they all pulled against the door until their arms and necks hurt, forcing them to let go. The knocker again bounced twice with a resounding boom.

  Tick-tick-tick. Ding-ding-ding.

  Who’s there? the cuckoo bird repeated, springing forth.

  ‘Us!’

  Us who?

  ‘Samantha, Michael and Luke, that’s who, you idiot! Now let us out of here or we’ll bring back the cops and tell them you kidnapped us!’

  The ironwork shut down. The bells stopped ringing and the cogs froze. The cuckoo bird flapped back into its nest of twisted metal. It proved too much for Samantha. She kicked and thumped the ironwork before shouting, ‘Stop playing games! Let us out!’

  Amid her screaming, Michael stepped forward, heaved up the round knocker and dropped it against the door, triggering the ironwork into action.

  Knock. Knock.

  Who’s there?

  ‘Sadie,’ he answered.

  ‘What?’ Luke laughed.

  Sadie who?

  ‘Sadie magic word and I’ll tell you who.’

  For a moment – no response. Then the cuckoo flapped its wings and chirped before whipping backwards. Samantha threw her arms up in dismay until a shudder silenced her. Deep within the red double door, the sound of even bigger cogs clicked and ticked, followed by an enormous rush of water. Suddenly, before their eyes, all the steam whistles blew and the metal beam barring their exit jolted sideways.

  ‘How’d you know to do that?’ Luke asked.

  Michael shrugged. ‘It kept asking questions like knock-knock jokes.’

  ‘Well, the joke’s on us,’ she said, pushing against the ironwork. ‘These doors still won’t budge – they’re too heavy.’

  Just as her brothers added their strength, another cuckoo bird sprang out.

  Do you like riddles? it asked with more tickertape.

  ‘No, I don’t!’ she said. ‘I like being outside!’

  ‘Shhh,’ Luke said.

  Do you like riddles? a third bird asked, popping out next to the second.

  ‘Yes,’ Michael answered. ‘Yes, I do.’

  A fourth scissored forward. Unlock the answer and I’ll open for you.

  More cogs tick-tick-ticked until a series of cuckoo birds printed a riddle, line by line.

  Come out, it’s time to find me:

  I’m one of five orphans

  That you cannot find in summer,

  Winter, autumn or spring.

  Yet if you look hard enough,

  You’ll see me close to the start of every morning

  And near the end of every afternoon

  What am I?

  ‘A door, stupid.’

  ‘Samantha – shut up,’ Michael hissed.

  ‘Well, it is.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Luke said, squatting and arranging the tickertape across the chequerboard tiles. ‘Five orphans? Is it a kid’s name?’

  Michael pointed at the key words. ‘No, it’s not a person. Look, here. It’s a clue. It’s asking “what am I”, not “who am I”.’

  ‘Like I said: a door!’ she huffed.

  ‘You’re not helping,’ Luke said.

  ‘And you are?’

  Michael ignored them both. ‘Most riddles are about common stuff we can see or eat or use. They’re so anybody from any country can solve them.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ she scoffed.

  ‘Dad taught me. When we’re out on the tractor, he passes time by telling jokes and asking puzzles.’

  Her tone changed. ‘He never does that with me.’

  Luke pressed on. ‘Okay, so five is another clue, right? How about fingers?’

  Michael shrugged. ‘Ask it.’

  ‘Door, is the answer “fingers”?’

  It remained steadfast.

  ‘A hand?’

  Again, no answer.

  ‘Weekdays? Minutes? Dollars?’

  ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘How about your IQ?’

  ‘I don’t hear you doing any better.’

  ‘Why are we standing here talking to this dopey door anyway? Let’s turn round, go upstairs and find a wrench to bash open the door that doesn’t speak.’

  ‘And what are you going to use for light? Your radiant personality?’

  Scowling, she marched towards the eerie glass globes, only to foolishly realise that she’d need a fire truck’s ladder to reach them. Annoyed even more, she snapped her pirate coat around herself and sat on the steps to fume.

  The boys stayed put. Their guesses grew more desperate until boredom set in. Luke searched the cavern for more clues while his sister nagged him about why he didn’t bring a spare battery for his shoulder flashlight. Half an hour later, a bang echoed from the sewers above. Their excitement faded when no one answered their calls for help.

  ‘Give up, Squirt,’ she said, ‘or we’re going to freeze down here.’

  But Michael refused to walk away. He knew he was close. Like all riddles, the answer was simple. It was just a matter of deduction. Five orphans. Not found in summer, winter, autumn or spring. Near the start of every morning. Near the end of every afternoon.

  What was missing from summer, winter, autumn or spring?

  What was near the start of morning?

  What was near the end of afternoon?

  Mo –

  Afterno –

  And then he saw them. The five orphans: a, e, i, o and u. Vowels. Of course! Quick,
which one was missing from summer, winter, autumn and spring?

  ‘Door, it’s the letter “o”!’ Michael jumped up and rejoiced as the whistles shrilled, more cogs rolled and the double door shuddered open. One last cuckoo bird printed a final message: See you on the other side.

  Just as he finished reading it, the metallic cuckoo bird launched into the air and flew out through the plaster crawlspace. They didn’t see it again.

  ‘Other side of what?’ he whispered to himself.

  Luke stood next to him, staring silently at the now open door. Beyond it, and, unlike anything they’d ever seen, a long tunnel formed from spinning stormwater. ‘Wait!’ Samantha yelled as they walked inside.

  Michael combed his fingers along the spinning tunnel’s wall, letting its icy sharpness drag his arm upwards. He plunged his whole fist in but quickly withdrew it when he was almost pulled off his feet. Luke also touched it. He skidded his palm on its coarse wetness and sprayed the water everywhere. But rather than being hit in the face, the beads hovered and merged into a giant glob. Finally, when it grew large enough, the wall slurped it back in, and the brothers glanced at each other. They kept to the middle of the tunnel, sensing something way too powerful to be built by human engineers.

  At the far end was a huge black sphere. It measured one hundred metres across and was engulfed within more churning stormwater, like a bubble. They didn’t need any more proof it wasn’t of this world. Bigger droplets suspended in midair formed an enormous star map of planets, suns, moons, asteroid belts and dust clouds, which drifted past their faces. They recognised Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars and the rest of the solar system. But as for the thousands of other worlds, everything was alien. Michael followed two comets spiralling around each other, while Luke watched a supernova. Wow! Were these actually real?

  Michael reached out to touch an ice planet when he lost balance and tumbled into the mini-universe. Rather than fall, he floated. He was flying! He was actually flying!

  ‘No way!’ Luke shouted. He took a running start and launched into the star map, spraying planets and suns everywhere. The droplets returned to the walls, while new ones leaked from the roof and reformed into galaxies. ‘Incredible!’ he laughed as they swam through the air.

  ‘Get back here now!’ Samantha ordered, standing on the lip of the tunnel. She was wobbly on her feet, frightened she’d be swallowed by the swirling stormwater.