The House in the Cerulean Sea

by TJ Klune

  Calliope, a thing of evil, sat on the edge of his bed, black tail twitching as she watched him with bright green eyes. She started purring. In most cats, it would be a soothing sound. In Calliope, it indicated devious plotting involving nefarious deeds.

  “You aren’t supposed to be in the yard next door,” he scolded her as he slid out of his suit coat.

  She continued purring.

  He’d found her one day almost ten years back, a tiny kitten under his porch, screeching as if her tail were on fire. Thankfully, it wasn’t, but as soon as he’d crawled underneath the porch, she’d hissed at him, black hair on her back standing on end as she arched. Rather than waiting to get a face filled with kitten scratch fever, he’d backed quickly out and returned to his house, deciding that if he ignored her long enough, she’d move on.

  She hadn’t.

  Instead, she spent most of that night yowling. He’d tried to sleep. She was too loud. He pulled the pillow over his head. It didn’t help. Eventually, he grabbed a flashlight and a broom, bent on poking the cat until she left. She was waiting for him on the porch, sitting in front of the door. He was so surprised, he dropped the broom.

  She walked into his house as if she belonged.

  And she never left, no matter how many times Linus had threatened her.

  Six months later, he’d finally given up. By then, the house was filled with toys and a litter box and little dishes with CALLIOPE printed on the sides for her food and water. He couldn’t quite be sure how it’d happened, but there it was.

  “Mrs. Klapper will get you one day,” he told her as he slid out of his wet clothes. “And I won’t be here to save you. You’ll be feasting on a squirrel, and she’ll … Okay, I don’t know what she’ll do. But it’ll be something. And I won’t feel sad in the slightest.”

  She blinked slowly.

  He sighed. “Fine. A little sad.”

  He put on his pajamas, buttoning up the front. They were monogrammed with an LB on the breast, a gift from the Department after fifteen years of service. He’d selected them out of a catalogue he’d been given on the day of. The catalogue had two pages inside. One page was the pajamas. The second page was a candleholder.

  He’d selected the pajamas. He’d always wanted to own something monogrammed.

  He picked up the wet clothes and left the room. The loud thump behind him told him he was being followed.

  He dropped his soiled work garments in the washing machine and set it to soak while he made dinner.

  “I don’t need an accountant,” he told Calliope as she wound between his legs. “I have other things to think about. Like tomorrow. Why is it that I must always worry about tomorrows?”

  He moved instinctively to the old Victrola. He flipped through the records sitting in the drawer underneath before finding the one he wanted. He slid it out of its sleeve and set it on the turntable before bringing down the needle.

  Soon, the Everly Brothers began to sing that all they had to do was dream.

  He swayed back and forth as he headed toward the kitchen.

  Dry food for Calliope.

  Salad from a bag for Linus.

  He cheated, but just a little.

  A splash of dressing never hurt anyone.

  “Whenever I want you,” he sang quietly. “All I have to do is dream.”

  * * *

  If one were to ask if Linus Baker was lonely, he would have scrunched up his face in surprise. The thought would be foreign, almost shocking. And though the smallest of lies hurt his head and made his stomach twist, there was a chance he would still say no, even though he was, and almost desperately so.

  And maybe part of him would believe it. He’d accepted long ago that some people, no matter how good their heart was or how much love they had to give, would always be alone. It was their lot in life, and Linus had figured out, at the age of twenty-seven, that it seemed to be that way for him.

  Oh, there was no specific event that brought along this line of thinking. It was just that he felt … dimmer than others. Like he was faded in a crystal-clear world. He wasn’t meant to be seen.

  He’d accepted it back then, and now he was forty with high blood pressure and a spare tire around his middle. Sure, there were times when he’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering if he could see what others could not. He was pale. His dark hair was kept short and neat, though it seemed to be thinning on the top. He had lines around his mouth and eyes. His cheeks were full. The spare tire looked as if it’d fit on a scooter, though if he weren’t careful, it’d turn into one that belonged on a lorry. He looked … well.

  He looked like most everyone else by the time they reached forty.

  As he ate his salad with a drop or two of dressing in his tiny kitchen in his tiny house while the Everly brothers began to ask for Little Susie to wake up, wake up, Little Susie, worrying about what tomorrow would bring with Extremely Upper Management, the thought of being lonely didn’t even cross Linus Baker’s mind.

  After all, there were people with far less than what he had. There was a roof over his head and rabbit food in his belly, and his pajamas were monogrammed.

  Besides, it was neither here nor there.

  He didn’t have time to sit in silence and think such frivolous thoughts. Sometimes, silence was the loudest thing of all. And that would not do.

  Instead of allowing his thoughts to wander, he lifted the copy he kept at home of RULES AND REGULATIONS (all 947 pages of it, purchased for nearly two hundred dollars; he had a copy at work, but it seemed right to have one for his house as well), and began to read the tiny print. Whatever tomorrow would bring, it was best to be prepared.

  THREE

  The next morning, he was early to the office by nearly two hours. No one else had yet arrived, most likely still tucked away safely in their beds without a care in the world.

  He went to his desk, sat down, and turned on his computer. The familiar green light did nothing to comfort him.

  He tried to get as much work done as he could, constantly aware of the clock above ticking by each and every second.

  The room began to fill at a quarter till eight. Ms. Jenkins arrived at precisely eight o’clock, heels clicking on the floor. Linus slunk down in his seat, but he could feel her eyes on him.

  He tried to work. He really did. The green words were a blur on the screen in front of him. Even the RULES AND REGULATIONS couldn’t calm him down.

  At exactly eight forty-five, he stood from his chair.

  The people in the desks around him turned and stared.

  He ignored them, swallowing thickly as he picked up his briefcase and walked down the rows.

  “Sorry,” he muttered with every desk he bumped into. “Apologies. So sorry. Is it just me or are the desks getting closer together? Sorry. So sorry.”

  Ms. Jenkins stood in the doorway to her office as he left the room, Gunther beside her, scratching his long pencil on the clipboard.

  * * *

  The offices of Extremely Upper Management were located on the fifth floor of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. He’d heard rumors about the fifth floor, most of them downright alarming. He’d never been there himself, but he assumed that at least some of the rumors had to be true.

  He was alone in the elevator as he pressed a button he never expected to.

  The bright gold five.

  The elevator started to rise. The pit of Linus’s stomach seemed to stay in the basement. It was the longest elevator ride of Linus’s life, lasting at least two minutes. It didn’t help that it stopped on the first floor, opened, and began to fill with people. They asked for two and three and four, but nobody ever asked for five.

  A handful got off on the second floor. Even more at the third. And it was at the fourth that the remaining exited. They glanced back at him curiously. He tried to smile but was sure it came off as more of a grimace.

  He was alone when the elevator began to rise again.

  By the time the doors opened on
the fifth floor, he was sweating.

  It certainly didn’t help that the elevator opened to a long, cold hallway, the floor made of stone tile, the gold sconces on the wall casting low light. At one end of the hall was the bank of elevators where he stood. At the other end was a shuttered pane of glass next to a pair of large wooden doors. Above them was a metal sign:

  EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT

  BY APPOINTMENT ONLY

  “Okay, old boy,” he whispered. “You can do this.”

  His feet didn’t get the message. They remained firmly stuck to the floor.

  The elevator doors began to shut. He let them. The elevator didn’t move.

  At that moment, Linus gave very real thought to going back to the first floor, exiting the DICOMY building, and perhaps walking until he could walk no longer, just to see where he ended up.

  That sounded good.

  Instead, he pressed the five again.

  The doors opened.

  He coughed. It echoed down the hallway.

  “No time for cowardice,” he scolded himself quietly. “Chin up. For all you know, maybe it’s a promotion. A big promotion. One with higher pay and you’ll finally be able to go on that vacation you’ve always dreamed about. The sand on the beach. The blue of the ocean. Don’t you wish you were there?”

  He did. He wished it greatly.

  Linus began to walk down the hallway slowly. Rain lashed against the windows to his left. The lights in the sconces to his right flickered slightly. His loafers squeaked on the floor. He pulled at his tie.

  By the time he reached the opposite end of the hallway, four minutes had passed. According to his watch, it was five till nine.

  He tried the doors.

  They were locked.

  The window at the side of the doors had a metal grate pulled down on the inside. There was a metal plate next to it, with a small button on the side.

  He debated briefly before pressing the button. A loud buzzer sounded on the other side of the metal grate. He waited.

  He could see his reflection in the window. The person staring back at him looked wide-eyed and shocked. He hastily smoothed down his hair from where it had started sticking up on the side as it always did. It didn’t do much. He straightened his tie, squared his shoulders, sucked in his belly.

  The metal grate slid up.

  On the other side was a bored-looking young woman snapping gum behind her bright red lips. She blew a pink bubble, and it popped before she sucked it back into her mouth. She cocked her head, blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Help you?” she asked.

  He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. I have an appointment at nine.”

  “With whom?”

  That was an interesting question, one that he didn’t have an answer to. “I … don’t quite know.”

  Ms. Bubblegum stared at him. “You have an appointment, but you don’t know with whom?”

  That sounded about right. “Yes?”

  “Name?”

  “Linus Baker.”

  “Cute,” she said, tapping perfectly manicured fingernails against the keyboard. “Linus Baker. Linus Baker. Linus—” Her eyes widened. “Oh. I see. Hold one moment, please.”

  She slammed the metal grate down again. Linus blinked, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He waited.

  A minute passed.

  And then another.

  And then another.

  And then—

  The metal grate slid back up. Ms. Bubblegum looked far more interested in him now. She leaned forward until her face was almost pressed against the glass separating them. Her breath caused the window to fog up slightly. “They’re waiting for you.”

  Linus took a step back. “Who is?”

  “All of them,” she said as she looked him up and down. “All of Extremely Upper Management.”

  “Oh,” Linus said weakly. “How delightful. And we’re sure it’s me they want?”

  “You are Linus Baker, aren’t you?”

  He hoped so, because he didn’t know how to be anyone else. “I am.”

  Another buzzer sounded, and he heard a click from the doors next to him. They swung open on silent hinges. “Then yes, Mr. Baker,” she told him, cheek bulging slightly from her gum. “It’s you they want. And I would hurry, if I were you. Extremely Upper Management doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Right,” he said. “How do I look?” He sucked in his stomach a little farther.

  “Like you have no idea what you’re doing,” she said before she slammed down the metal grate again.

  Linus glanced back longingly at the elevators at the other end of the hall.

  Don’t you wish you were here? they asked him.

  He did. Very much so.

  He stepped away from the window toward the open doors.

  Inside was a circular room with a rotunda overhead made of glass. There was a fountain in the center of the room, a stone statue of a man in a cloak, water spilling in a continuous stream from his outstretched hands. He was looking toward the ceiling with cold, gray eyes. Around him, clutching at his legs, were little stone children, water splashing on the tops of their heads.

  A door opened to Linus’s right. Ms. Bubblegum stepped out from her booth. She smoothed down her dress, snapping her gum loudly. “You’re shorter than you look through glass,” she told him.

  Linus didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing at all.

  She sighed. “Follow me, please.” She moved like a bird, her steps tiny and quick. She was halfway across the room before she looked back at him. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

  “Right,” Linus said, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried to catch up with her. “Apologies. I’ve … I’ve never been here before.”

  “Obviously.”

  He thought he was being insulted, but he couldn’t figure out how. “Are they … all of them?”

  “Odd, isn’t it?” She blew another bubble, which popped daintily. “And for you, of all people. I didn’t know you existed until this moment.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  Yes, definitely insulted. “What are they like? I’ve only seen them when they serve me lumpy potatoes.”

  Ms. Bubblegum stopped abruptly and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. Linus thought she could probably spin her head all the way around if she put her mind to it. “Lumpy potatoes.”

  “For the holiday luncheon?”

  “I make those potatoes. From scratch.”

  Linus blanched. “Well, I—it’s a matter of taste—I’m sure you—”

  Ms. Bubblegum harrumphed and moved forward again.

  Linus wasn’t off to a good start.

  They reached another door on the other side of the rotunda. It was black with a gold nameplate fastened near the top. The plate was blank. Ms. Bubblegum reached up and tapped a fingernail against the door three times.

  There was a beat, and then another, and then—

  The door swung open slowly.

  It was dark inside.

  Pitch-black, even.

  Ms. Bubblegum stepped to the side as she turned to face him. “After you.”

  He peered into the darkness. “Hmm, well, perhaps we could reschedule. I’m very busy, as I’m sure you know. I have many reports to complete—”

  “Enter, Mr. Baker,” a voice boomed through the open doorway.

  Ms. Bubblegum smiled.

  Linus reached up and wiped his brow. He almost dropped his briefcase. “I suppose I shall enter, then.”

  “Looks like,” Ms. Bubblegum said.

  And he did just that.

  He should have been expecting the door to slam shut behind him, but he was still startled, nearly jumping out of his skin. He held his briefcase against his chest as if it could protect him. It was disorienting being in the dark, and he was sure this was a trap, and he would spend the rest of his days wand
ering around sightlessly. It would almost be as bad as getting sacked.

  But then lights began to shine at his feet, illuminating a pathway before him. They were soft and yellow, like a brick road. He took a tentative step away from the door. When he didn’t trip over anything, he took another.

  The lights led him much farther than he expected, before forming a circle at his feet. He stopped, unsure of where he was supposed to go. He hoped he wouldn’t need to flee anything terrible.

  Another light, this one much brighter, flicked on overhead. Linus looked up, squinting against it. It looked like a spotlight, shining down on him.

  “You may set down your briefcase,” a deep voice said from somewhere above him.

  “That’s quite all right,” Linus said, clutching it tightly.

  Then, as if a switch had been flipped, more lights began to glow above him, shining up into the faces of four people that Linus recognized as Extremely Upper Management. They were seated far above Linus at the top of a large stone wall, peering down from their perches with varying expressions of interest.

  There were three men and one woman, and though Linus had learned their names early on in his career at DICOMY, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember them presently. His mind had come to the decision that it was experiencing technical difficulties and was broadcasting nothing but fuzzy snow.

  He looked at each of them, beginning left to right, nodding as he did so while trying to keep his expression neutral.

  The woman’s hair was cut into a petite bob, and she wore a large brooch in the shape of a beetle, the carapace iridescent.

  One of the men was balding, his jowls hanging off his face. He sniffled into a kerchief, clearing his throat of what sounded like quite a bit of phlegm.

  The second man was rail thin. Linus thought he would disappear if he turned sideways. He wore spectacles far too large for his face, the lenses shaped like half-moons.

  The last man was younger than the others, possibly around Linus’s age, though it was hard to tell. His hair was wavy, and he was intimidatingly handsome. Linus recognized him almost immediately as the one who always served the dried-out ham with a smile.

  He was the one who spoke first. “Thank you for taking this meeting, Mr. Baker.”