Amie's Doctor

Blue Box

Amie pulled the bowstring back to her ear, carefully aligned the sight with her target, inhaled, and released. Her arrow shot past the upper edge of the target and disappeared in the grass.

"Rude," Amie muttered. I really need to adjust the sight on this thing. But it hardly seems worth the effort. She rarely used the bow, and wouldn't have been practicing today but the power was out so there wasn't anything to do inside. The power had been blipping on and off a lot lately.

Amie picked up another arrow and laid it on the bow. She was drawing back the string when she heard it – a muffled whoosh coming from the direction of her house. She stood still, listening. The noise sounded like a giant fan, or wind echoing in a pipe. Whoo-woo, whoo-woo.

Amie lowered the bow and walked over to the corner of the house. Her dad stood in the driveway, hitching his cotton candy trailer to his pickup.

"Were you just – did you just have the cotton candy machine on?" Not that I've ever heard it sound like that.

Her dad glanced up from the hitch. "No, why?"

"Oh, no reason."

He straightened and grinned at Amie. "You're hoping I've got some cotton candy to leave with you. It's not too late for you to come with me this weekend."

"Oh, geez, well, if I didn't have all this school work to do..."

"Yeah, yeah. You're only here for the food."

"And the bed. And the TV – when it works."

"I'll call the city office again this afternoon. The amount I pay in taxes they ought to get off their lazy asses and get our power fixed."

"You tell 'em that," Amie said.

"Oh I will." Her dad climbed into the truck and started the motor. He stuck his head out the window. "Stay outta trouble while I'm gone."

"Okay. I'll put off murdering Joe until you're back."

He laughed. "I'd like to see you try."

Amie watched her dad pull away before walking inside. She dropped her bow in the entry, next to the baby grand and a life-sized statue of a chef. Her dad was always picking up odd things at auctions. She ambled into the kitchen, grabbed a drink from the fridge, and leaned against the counter. The house was spookily quiet, the only sound was the harsh ticking of a battery clock on the wall.

A loud clatter came from the front rooms. Amie jumped, choking on a mouthful of soda.

"JB?" she spluttered between coughs. "Is that you?"

The ticking clock was her only answer. Amie listened, trying to recover her breath. No, there was another sound now – a low, almost imperceptible hum.

Amie moved slowly toward the entryway, trying to locate the source of the humming. The doorway between the entry and living room was covered by a blanket, hung there to keep out drafts. Amie pushed aside the blanket, ducked under it, and collided head-on with a hard surface.

"What the...?" She jerked back and stood staring at the object in amazement. A large wooden box, painted dark blue, filled the doorway and almost touched the ceiling. A yellow light perched on it's top, glowing faintly. The hum she'd heard earlier was louder now. It seemed to be coming from inside the box.

Amie dropped the curtain and backed away. What is in my living room? How did it get there?

She stared at the blanket, swaying gently from her touch. It looked perfectly normal, just like every other day. She looked around her. Piano, pictures on the mantle, books stacked on the floor, a collection of ratty boxes, the rack of coats, the creepy chef ­– everything was exactly as it should be. Well, not exactly as it should be. I really need to clean up sometime.

Amie eyed the blanket suspiciously. Had there really been something behind it? The bump on her forehead indicated yes. She stepped forward and flung up the blanket. The box was still there, still faintly humming. Amie reached out slowly and lightly touched it, then jerked her hand away as if the box might zap her. Nothing happened. She reached out again, this time running her palm over the rough wood. She squinted up at the lettering along the top.

"Police box? What's a police box?"

Unable to get through the doorway, Amie dropped the curtain and ran around through the kitchen, pantry, and office to get at the living room from the other side. She stopped at the office's sliding doors, staring at the object that had so mysteriously appeared.

The box filled the space between the couch and TV, while the coffee table appeared to have been shoved aside to make room for it. The room's heavy curtains only allowed a hazy light to penetrate. The dim sunshine made the box appear somber and mysterious. This side of the box looked almost identical to the side she'd run into, but a white plaque hung on one of the panels, and there was a door.

Amie found herself moving into the room, drawn irresistibly toward that door. This has got to be a dream. There's no way this thing is really in my living room. But dreams don't feel like this.

She reached out to touch the handle. Just as her fingers brushed it the door opened inward and a man poked his head out.

"Why, hallo. Is this Chiswick?"