The House that Flowed Through to the World -- An Excerpt

by Tina Jens

There once was a house lived in by Mr. Him and his son and Mr. Hum and his son, and this house flowed through to the world. Mr. Him and his son and Mr. Hum and his son didn't actually live all in the same house; they had two houses side by side, but where there might have been solid walls there were instead odd-shaped doorways that would just fit a man and his son.

And these doorways flowed from house to house, from building to business, from banker to blacksmith, school to sweet shop, carport to club (men's club, of course). They flowed through to the world.

These doorways were quite a work of art, perfected over centuries. They were cut from oak, carved in intricate designs, the edges carefully beveled and all polished to a deep rich glow. They radiated manliness, as only oak can. And each was shaped to fit a man and his son. You could see the size and shape of the man's work boots, the square corners of man and boy's shoulder. Even the cowlick atop the boy's head that boys can never quite comb down, was cut exactingly into this frame.

This is ridiculous, you might say. Boys grow taller! Men grow wider! A carpenter could work his whole life away and not keep all those doors in proper shape! And besides, neither Mr. Him nor Mr. Hum or either of their two sons had ever picked up a hammer in his life... (well actually there was this one time, when Mr. Hum tried to hang a picture of his son. And oh, what was done to Mr. Hum's thumb! Finally, he hit the nail so hard it flew through the wall and out the other side. It missed Mr. Him's head by a whisker of an inch. This caused much consternation, as you can well imagine, and they decided no more pictures from then on. When they wished to remember them, they'd look at their boys.)

So who built these doorways, and changed them so often as sons grew taller and fathers grew wider? It can't just happen by magic, you say. You say! It was magic of sorts, but not the sort of glitter dust in the air and poof! sort. It was elves. Who else? The carpenters of the world. And they didn't just work at night when everyone else was asleep. How could they with all the doors that flowed through to the world to maintain? No, they buzzed among the men's feet all through the day, and well into the night, tape measures out, now crouched on a shoulder, now riding through the air hitched to a man or boy's belt buckle, taking measurements, marking patterns, sawing and hammering and filing the wood. And so skilled and quick were the elves, that no matter how far and wide and fast Mr. Him and Mr. Hum took their two sons exploring the vast breadth of the world, the men and their sons could always walk through the doorways, head high, shoulders back -- a perfect fit. There was no place they could not go.

It seemed a near-perfect world... except for the blankness on the walls.

Then one day, something happened (it always does), to shatter the serenity, that sense of happily ever after that all fairytales have at the end, which has to be shattered before a new fairytale can begin.

This time it was not a big bad wolf, or a king dressed in a poor man's clothes, or even an evil witch with a wart on her nose and a poison apple hidden in the pocket of her cloak. It was a Girl....

If you'd like to read the rest of the story, you can order the book Daughter of Dangerous Dames or Sort-of Scary Stories from Twilight Tales.

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