The doorbell

Sarah's story

Doorbell 5 (tea for four)

Lucy—her parents had named her Lucinda but she tried to tell everyone that her name was Lucy—was pleased.  More than pleased, she was what we might call overjoyed.  The paint was dry, all the bright colours that she had chosen and planned out with care, were on the wooden piece, shaped roundly so as to fit a hand nicely, and were now perfectly dry, so that a hand would not get stained by folding round it.  It now needed only a hand.
She went to the front of the house and hooked the piece onto the bell-rope, and stood back to admire the enticing colours.  No-one could resist, she told herself.  She reached out a hand and seized the piece herself and pulled.  A-ding-a-ling!  What a cheery sound!  She tugged again.   A-ding-a-ling, a-ding-a-ling!
She looked up and down the dustless road, along the house-fronts with their dreary brick fronts, their drab-coloured windowless doorways, their gleaming window-panes which reflected the houses opposite but through which never a face was seen, and sighed.  She had rung the bells at those houses many a time, and no-one had ever answered.  She had once put a little hand-printed invitation to tea, a sort of open-house, in each of the mail-slots, and no-one had come.    She was not by nature given to peering out her window for hours on end, but she did glance out from time to time and had on occasion seen people walking up or down the street, and even turning into or coming out of one or another of the houses.  Otherwise she might have had the impression that she lived in a mysteriously uninhabited street.
She had moved here when she lost her parents and consequently her home, because the lease was in their name and the flats were reserved for those on a waiting list, and after that lost her job because she had taken too much time off trying to resolve the many questions and problems related to all that.  She had not known why this particular house was so cheap, but it was the only one she could afford with the meagre inheritence that had come down to her, and though she had not found the neighbourhood particularly attactive she had bought the house without hesitation.  After all, she did need somewhere to live.
It would be an exaggeration to say that she had left all her friends behind on coming here.  She had not really had friends, only colleagues.  There had been too much to do looking after Mum and Dad, who were old when they had her and older still as she grew up and frankly aged by the time she got out of school and got her first job.  First and last job, it should be said.  She had worked there for fifteen years when they gave her the sack.  As for the colleagues, she had never been to their homes and did not know their addresses, and they had never asked for hers.  There had been no going-away party on her leaving, only a note from the management that she need not come in again.
And so the doorbell.  She stood on the stoop in the sunshine and waited a bit, but no-one turned into the street, or came out of a house, and after a while she went in again.  She made a pot of tea and set out some cups and saucers, now should it be two?  Or three?  She settled on four.  She set out some cakes.  Then she sat down.
The clock ticked and tocked, and still she sat there.  The teapot glowed in the afternoon light, which picked out the soft reds, the warm yellows and the delicate  blues of its border pattern.  The tea, however, was going cold.  So she poured herself a cup, put in the milk and still hesitated before taking a cake.  But she was thirsty, so she drank the tea, and to accompany it she ate the cake.  Then she sat some more.  The sunlight slid across the table.  Now the teapot was no longer lit up, the rays touched the second cup.  So she filled it, put in the milk and set it down.  The saucer invited another cake and so she picked one up.  Automatically, she drank the tea and ate the cake, and still the clock ticked.  The sunlight slid to the third cup, and she stared at it dreamily.  Just as the light was about to leave it she hastily filled it, put in the milk and lifted it to her lips.  She took another cake.  When she put the cup down, the last slice of sunlight had left the room, the table and its contents were clothed in grey.  Shivering, she poured the rest of the tea into the fourth cup, and put in the milk.  She shuddered at the thought of another cake, they were too sweet really, but as she put the cup to her lips she thought that there was only one cake left and it would be wasted if she left it there.  She had been taught not to waste.  So she drank the tea and ate the cake.
The whole room was now bathed in gloom.  And she sat there still, comforted and yet chilled by the persistant ticking of the clock.  She sat on therefore for what seemed a very long time, and suddenly she started.  Had she heard it, really and truly?  She sat very still again and listened.  Ding-a-ling-a-ling, ding-a-ling-a-ling!  It was her bell!  It was her bell.
 

-------------------- 

Paula's story

She lived a quiet life, in a stone cottage in a small village in the French countryside.  She lived alone, but she wasn’t lonely. Her days were full: gardening, canning fruit from the trees in her small orchard, reading, listening to music, visiting with neighbors, trying new recipes in her small but well-equipped kitchen.

 

I guess one could say that she didn’t really live alone. She had three dogs, Labrador retrievers all. They were littermates, born to her sweet companion Rosie, who had died of complications after the birth of her pups. In her grief, she found she couldn’t give up Rosie’s babies, so she kept them all. She named them in alphabetical order of their birth. Albert was the oldest, followed by Belle, and finally, the smallest, with the finest name: Cesar.

 

One evening in winter, with the sun setting behind the hills across the valley, she had just settled in front of the fire with her book and a cup of tea when there was a knock at the door. She was startled; she wasn’t expecting anyone; amid the winter’s nighttime chill, villagers tended to stay indoors by their own fires. The dogs lying on the rug at her feet were startled as well, and began a great cacophony of sound. Above their yips and yelps, she could barely hear the knocking, which continued, persistent and powerful.

 

She sighed.

 

“Albert!” she cried. “Stop that infernal barking!”

“Lie down, Cesar. Lie down, now! I won’t tell you again.”

 

She set down her book, threw her blanket aside, and stood, gazing down at the third dog, a veritable clone of her mother, Rosie. She sighed again.

 

“Let’s go see who’s at the door, Belle.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Tina's story 

THE DOOR BELL.At long last, Steve has gone to football, and the kids have gone to the mall, so it’s my time now, time to take it easy, I have run a beautiful bath with lots of bubbles, lit my candles, and as an extra treat, I bought myself my favourite chocolates. Oh how I have waited for this, so here goes, hanging my old dressing gown next to my husband’s eyes only negligee, I slowly lower myself in, oh how wonderful, and am I going to enjoy this.So I am laying there, popping a chocolate now and again, relaxing beautiful, then, what happens, the door bell rings, what the, no, no, I am not getting out of my bath, so I go back to relaxing.It didn’t seem any time that had gone by, then, yes, it was that B door bell again, now I am getting annoyed, but I keep saying to myself, no I am not getting out, just go away.So here I go again, but this time I was just dropping off, when, I don’t think I have to tell you what happened, that’s it I say shouting, if it’s the blasted kids from up the road, I will not be held responsible for what I might do.I stepped out, well nearly jumping out of my bath, grabbed my dressing gown, and stormed down the stairs, shouting, ok, ok, I am coming for gods sake.I got to the door swinging open saying what do you want?Looking straight ahead, to my horror, there stood our local priest, he then with a screeching voice and the paper that was in his hand, now covering his face, and moving backwards down the pathway, saying, oh Mrs Oliver, I will call again, hopefully at a better time, I am so very sorry, for disturbing you, ah ah, good day to you, turned, then started to run down the road. Well, what was that all about I said to myself, I have never know the like, and I got out off my lovely bath for that? what the heck. Shutting the door, and taking out the batteries from the door bell, I turned around and started back to my, probably not so warm bath, muttering, all I wanted was time to myself, no kids, and no husband, asking for this, and asking where is my? and what’s for dinner mum?, I know, I know, it’s was a big ask, really ?As I am walking along the landing, I glanced at the big mirror on the wall, then coming to a stop, I took a couple of steps back to look properly, oh no, oh no, I didn’t, did I, oh yes you did, and there facing me was the horror that might give me nightmares for life, yes I did, you know what I did don’t you, not funny, but yes I did, instead of putting on my old dressing gown, I had grabbed my for my husband’s eyes only,negligee. The poor Priest I don’t think that I will be able to go to church ever again, but not only that, I would have to explain to my husband why, panic set in, and my head started spinning with what I could say.Needless to say I never got back to my bath, I dried myself off, got dressed, went downstairs, into the kitchen, and poured my self a very large glass of wine, then just sat in the front room, waiting for doomsday, when I would have to tell all.So ladies, if you are going to take a bath, two things you should check on, one make sure there is somebody else is in the house so they can answer the B door bell, two,if you are in the house on your own, take the batteries out of the door bell. And never say you were not warned, hahaha.Oh yes, before I go, I will tell you what happened when I told hubby, and at church.As I was telling hubby what happened, he had his back to me, and his shoulders started to shake, oh darling, I am so sorry, please don’t cry, I said, it won’t happen again, I will be more careful, please, please, stop crying, I love you. And as he turned around, me shaking, I saw that he was not crying, he was B laughing, and he laughed and laughed, and we ended up on the setteelaughing and crying together, oh what a great husband I have.The day came to go to church, I knew that I would have to go, but I was absolutely terrified, but all went well, the priest, smiled at my husband, who winked at him and smiled back, me, we just grinned and let out a little chuckle.All was well, and life moves on. Don’t forget now ladies, you have been warned,Take care.

 

 

Annemarie's story 

Doorbells

Well, my first house  didn’t have a doorbell. I inherited from my parents an ancient  Tudor house with an elderly but  venerable oak door. The oak is silver-grey with age and in times past it had been  lime-waxed as was the tradition to protect wood from inclement, or clement, weather and wood-boring insects. An antique Italian bronze knocker guards the grizzled oak entrance, a knocker of majestic size which my parents bought on a whim at the Porta Petesa flea market during their Roman holiday, ooh, it must be at least seventy odd years ago. I always found it quite frightening as a child - the green man, I think they call the design. Huge, thick eyebrows tilted upwards, frowning in anger; below his moustache (which as a child I always thought resembled two blobs of snot from his nose) he holds, between bared bronze teeth, a huge bronze ring as big as his face. No ears or hair but instead leaves sprout in all directions from around his face.

Now when I arrive home I love his familiar face, almost black in the crevices and burnished golden ochre on the bumpy bits. 

  In the back garden, however, it was impossible to hear the knocker so my greenman knocker had a second-in-command in the form of a bell with a Westminster chime. I live on busy road at the bottom of the hill and I cannot tell you how often that doorbell chimed it’s dings and dongs and I hurried to the front door, trowel in hand, treading mud into the carpet and scattering weeds over the floor, only to find door salesmen with kitchen products, any number of people collecting for this, that and the other or someone wanting a few minutes to chat about God. 'Trick or treat' night the chimes rang out non-stop (oh! the bells, the bells, Esmeralda!). It was so much easier for the hawkers etc. to target our road than walk up the steep uphill roads.

   After a brief flirtation with a doorbell that burst into ebullient birdsong and sent my three cats scattering in excited expectation around the house, I decided to have the latest vision, no, I  think they are called video, doorbells installed. I was recommended an electrician who has recently moved into the same road, a little further down from me and, coincidentally, was who busy updating the neighbourhood with these new vision, I mean video, doorbells.

  Jeff, the electrician, has been here this afternoon poking out the old defunct bell, drilling careful holes in the doorframe, sticking wires through and fitting my new doorbell. I meantime  have whiled away the time in the kitchen doing some baking, listening to the local radio station; I do like local radio; being on my own I like the mix of chat, music and news - it's as if there is someone with you and I sing along with old favourites.

  It's getting dark and Jeff has finished fitting my new video doorbell. He explains the workings of the bell, how I can get a signal on my mobile phone, even if I am out somewhere, in the garden or out shopping and I can see  who exactly  is lurking outside my home. Now, he says, I  can lock myself and feel safe and stop treading soil all through the the house

Afterwards I  sit companionably at the kitchen table getting to know Jeff, my newest neighbour, over a cup of tea and slice of home-baked Victoria  sponge, radio playing in the background when the music is interrupted with a newsflash.

“What's Boris up to now?” sighs Jeff

“ We interrupt this broadcast with new information regarding the attacks on elderly women in the region. They all lived alone and had recently all had new video doorbells fitted…

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

THE DOOR BELL

 

 by Geraldine

They  all felt so cosy sitting around the fire place that Christmas Eve !

They had come back from church and Eileen had prepared sausage rolls and mince pies that they had eaten together.  Michaël, the father had congratulated his son James and his daughter Jane for having decorated the house so beautifully and for having done so well at school during the first term.

-       Thank you Daddy.  Do you think Santa Claus will appreciate and be generous, asked James ?

-       And do you think he’ll bring me the animal farm I’ve been wanting so long added Jane ?

-       I don’t know said Eileen, but you sure are nice kids and have done everything the right way this year !  So, He should take this into account !

The two children had made paper bows with red and green crepe paper and their Mum had helped them hang them to the ceiling.  They had then placed silver Christmas balls all along the tinsel. It was magical !

Then, they had put up the crib on the mantelpiece.  An old shoe box had been painted green, then covered with fir branches and Jane had drawn , cut-out and painted gold a 5 branch star to put at the top of the crib’s roof : this would guide the Three Kings with their presents to the new born baby.  A  bit of straw had been placed in the middle of the crib and they had layed Jesus on it : behind, the ox and the donkey were set close enough so as their breathing would keep the baby warm.  On each side, stood Mum and Dad, Joseph and Mary, exhausted but happy that, beware, the circumstances, their child would live and grow. 

Michaël and Eileen had bought a rather imposing Christmas tree, and there, again, the children had decorated it with glittering tree lights and tinsel from top to bottom.  On top, of course, they had put another star, made by James this time.  Then, the Christmas balls were hung up as well as silver painted fir cones.  It was superb !

-       Well, children, after this lovely evening it’s time for bed now.  Let’s just sing another Carroll and get sleeping fast : it’s almost midnight, time for someone’s visit soon.

-        

« Jingle bells, Jingle bells, jingle all the way

O what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh,

 Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way

O what fun it is to ride….. »

Dring, dring, the door bell rang…..

They all jumped,  wondering who that could  be, in the middle of the night. 

Eileen told Michaël : «  don’t open without making sure who it is ! »

Michaël got up briskly, and started  walking slowly towards the main door.  Then he looked through the keyhole.  All he could see was and old shaby raincoat, but he couldn’t really make up who this could be.  He turned towards the family and said : « I don’t know who it is ! Maybe someone got lost ! »

«  O !  maybe it’s dangerous to open to a stranger ! What do you think ? »

« I think it’s snowy and cold out there and if somebody needs help we should give a shelter and listen to what he wants »

At that moment, the door bell rang again, not as loudly as the first time, as if the person on the other side was hesitant.

Michaël quickly made up his mind : No evil on Christmas Eve.  This must be serious.  And he opened the door.

There, in the snow, stood  an old lady, shivering, dressed in a warn out raincoat, with torn light shoes.  Her face was long and sad and her white hair looked yellowish in contrast to the snowy landscape.

« Can I help you ? »  You look very cold and tired.  Come in for a little rest and comfort »

-       Children, time for bed.  Up you go now !   James and Jane looked bewildered at the old Lady, kissed their Mum and Dad and ran upstairs.

Then Michaël and Eileen made some tea which they offered the old lady with a few mince pies.

« How come you are out and lost at this time !  Where are you from ? What’s your name ?

Oh !  this is a long story ! Just call me Maam !  But I’m feeling warmer and better now.  And what a lovely Christmas atmosphere here in your house !  It reminds me of the old days when I used to help him through the night.

« Help who ?  What did you do at night ? And why are you alone now ?

Maam had tears in her eyes and  looked so terribly sad.  Michaël and Eileen really didn’t know what to do. 

« Would you like to sleep here for the night ?  We have an extra bedroom down here, the Blue room,  behind the kitchen.  You could recover from the cold and  you would certainly feel better tomorrow morning.

« Oh ! no, I can’t accept such an offer.  I’ll be bothering you tomorrow morning when the children will get up all excited and wanting to see their presents ! »

« If that’s you’re only reason not to accept, don’t worry.  Our children will be happy whatever happens !  So, Eileen, are there any sheets on the bed ?  Yes, Michaël, the bed is always ready, just in case ! »

So they showed Maam to her room and the bathroom, made sure she was all right and delicately went upstairs to their own room for the night.

The next morning, the children woke up very early and all excited when they saw the smaller and bigger boxes under the tree.  They were already playing with the little yoyo and ball they had found in their stocking.

When Eileen and Michaël got up, they went straight to the kitchen hoping Maam had slept well and there, on the table, they found this little note written in a febrile handwriting :

 

« THANK YOU FOR YOUR WARMTH AND HOSPITALITY « I’LL BE OK NOW !

« When HE found me here, he decided to take me back (after a 20 year separation he wanted to divorce, I didn’t)  and I’ll be delivering the toys with HIM to all the good children. »

They saw a signature, difficult to decipher at first, but looking at it closer  they read : Mrs Santa Claus.

 

---------------------------------------------------

Jackie

The doorbell

I could feel his hot breath on my neck.     For sure he was gaining on me.   His feet pounding the road behind were kicking up gravelly bits,  stones and sand that stung my legs and whizzed past my ears .       From the corner of my eye I could see his emerald green coat – he seemed to have a large head with gold eyes flecked with orange and the flamingo pink flames coming out of his mouth warmed me up a little as it was cold. The dragon was larger than life and chasing me down my own street.  

I was running as fast as I could,  just like a chicken about to be beheaded in fact,  but I managed to check on his progress from time to time – trying at the same time to manoeuver big cracks in the pavement and avoid a grossly overweight black bear with a trilby hat who appeared from time to time at a crossroads.   I think it was a Grisly bear as it seemed to have grey hair coming out of a large nose and runny eyes – probably of a certain age.   He looked a little like my grandma.

  The bear was reading a book, I could just read the title that had my name written on the front – oh I thought I’m famous,  my novel has been published at last.  

My shoes felt several sizes too big, seemed heavy and full of water as I was almost floating in them – if I bent down I could perhaps learn to swim.   But then, I didn’t have my swimsuit with me.

 I could of kicked off my shoes but the stones or the chewing gum on the pavement (that people seem to spit out with no regard for other peoples bare feet or shoed feet for that matter )– would stick and prevent me from running away from this monster with wings and incredible crimson claws.    A dragon who painted his nails?

I was running but something was slowing me down – the effort of moving my legs didn’t seem to bring any results – I wasn’t able to move, my muscles were tied together in knots and it was such a feat to get them to unfold.

  We came to a black hole and I started to fall –clutching branches and grasses in vain as it seemed a long way down.     This would stump the dragon I thought as I was tumbling several feet downwards,  he’ll give up the chase now.    There was a strong smell of the sea – the iodine and seaweed smell from past summer holidays.    

Perhaps I’d find a forgotten bucket and spade on the seashore and make a big enormous sandcastle that the dragon and I could live happily ever after in.    I’m going to see the sea I sang but joy soon ended as I realized it was cliff rocks I was falling onto and sharp ones at that.    The grisly fell first then the dragon and being heavier was broken into a thousand pieces on the rocks  – purple blood stained foam gushed in and out with the tide causing the fish to dive straight to the bottom of the seabed frightened out of their fishy wits.     

One of the larger fish opened his mouth and as I tried to detach a hook from his fin attached to an annoying bell that kept on ringing he tried to swallow me whole like in the movie Jaws and as I was travelling down the tunnel of his throat …

the doorbell rang and I woke up.