Hesketh Tolson
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Chapter 25: I Was Reincarnated As A Magical Door Knocker
🕑 Added 2021-03-21 17:24:21 +0000 UTCChapter 25
I Was Reincarnated As A Magical Door Knocker
My first life was fine, if a bit mundane. Pleasant. A little dull. There was nothing particularly interesting or wonderful about it. I didn't accomplish anything remarkable. I didn't do any great feats of good, although I certainly didn't do anything particularly evil. There was small everyday thoughtlessness, of course. But show me a soul who has lived a perfect, selfless life and I will show my neighbour's golden retriever, Barker. Such a good boy. But I digress.
My life might have been dull but it was my life and I was satisfied. I worked as a receptionist to a busy dental studio, answering calls, taking appointments and doing a little light admin. In my spare time, I read naughty novels – the kind with dashing young men on the covers, holding beautiful women who seemed to have trouble staying upright as they spilt out of their vaguely historical ball gowns. I had a small window with some herbs. I thought about downloading a dating app but never got around to it.
One day, crossing a busy street I was distracted by a beep on my phone. I hardly ever got messages so I pulled it out of my handbag to look, which is when I was hit by a speeding truck. I never did find out what that message was or who it was from. Probably some asinine telemarking guff. Nothing important. But I died right there on the pavement.
It was painful but the pain didn't last. The next thing I knew I was waiting in line to be reborn at the Reincarnation Station. I stood patiently in the long snaking line. I started to have regrets. There were so many things I hadn't done. So many things I should have done. I had wanted to learn to cook, to cook properly not just the everyday basics. I had always planned, someday, to travel to Grasse to see the fields of roses. I would never see them now. I should have asked that cute postman if he'd like a coffee. He would never be able to say yes now. I had wanted to take singing lessons but never got around to it. It had never bothered me before. Tomorrow, always tomorrow. I had been content. But knowing there were no more tomorrows suddenly made me very sad.
But here was hope. A chance. A chance to try again, to live a better life. I filled out my forms, collected my gear and was soon on my way. I chose to play as a Bard. After all, there was no time like the present. If I wanted to live again I needed to start living. It started off well. I made friends, I learned to sing! I had fun. I loved my party. But somewhere around the Murder Dungeon on level 3, I died. I mean, I died properly. Out of respawns and stabbed in the back by someone who I thought cared about me. Betrayed. No hearts, no lives. Once again, dead as a doornail.
And that, I thought, was that.
I had had my chance. I would be absorbed into the dungeon, giving up my soul and essence to power the great game for others. It was only fitting. I had had my chance, I had had many chances. I floated in the darkness, phantom tears running down the ghost of my face. Any moment now I would cease to have any sense of self. There would only be dungeon. A mote. I would be a drop in an ocean, no longer in control of my own consciousness. I waited. Pain and sorrow lanced through me like a poisoned needle. I clung to the misery. At least these feelings were my own – my own stupid sorrow, my own stupid thoughts.
I wallowed, floating in the dim light.
Then it occurred to me that I seemed to be emitting the light. I was floating, no longer in darkness but in...a jar. I was the light. I was emitting a subdued silver sparkle although I seemed to have no corporeal form. By my own pale light, I could see I was on a shelf, surrounded by other jars. Each one pulsating gently. The shelving stretched away into darkness, jars as far as I could see. Before I could be too surprised at this turn of events a voice spoke to me out of the gloom.
"I like you," it said. "You seem nice. How about we make a deal?"
"Okay?" I said. I didn't really know what else to say. I didn't know how I said it. Maybe I thought it. I certainly had no mouth.
"How would you like to be an NPC? Well, an NPC of a sort?"
"That sounds nice," I said, anxiously. I wasn't sure if it would be nice but it sounded better than oblivion. Or living in a jar for all eternity.
"Don't be too eager," said the voice, a little amused. "You should ask more questions. Too accepting. That's probably how you ended up here in the first place?"
I sagged in my jar.
"Maybe," I said, "so er–"
"Here's the deal," said the voice. It was proud and a little impatient. It rang in my head and made the ears that I didn't have ring a little. "My proposition to you is a wager. I'm not supposed to interfere directly. I mean I would never–"
"Of course, of course," I muttered. I have no idea who they were or what they were talking about but it seemed the right thing to say. I couldn't see them either. They were just a voice, vibrating through the very fabric of my being.
"I like a fair game," said the voice. "I don't like needless suffering. And sometimes, whatever the Administration says, you have to even the odds. They don't understand. They are too young. Idiots."
"Quite, quite," I repeated. "Even the odds."
"Which is where you come in. I will put you back in the game as a magical door knocker, how about that? A small thing. No one will notice. The Administrators do not understand the power of small things in the right places."
"A...magical door knocker..?" I said weakly. A door knocker. Something people banged on when they wanted to announce their arrival. My mind darted here and there. What did it mean?
"Yes, a magical door knocker," said the voice. "You will be sentient of course. You will be you. So here's the deal. You save a thousand lives and you get another shot at life. Same as if you had won the game? Sound good?"
"What happens if I don't save a thousand lives?"
"You stay as a magical door knocker."
"Deal," I said. The voice was right, I should have asked more questions. But I just fixated on the part where they had said ANOTHER SHOT AT LIFE. Also, I don't think I had a brain at this point. I was just a little, lost soul floating in a jar, very far from home.
"Deal," said the voice, sounding pleased. "Excellent. Thank you. Now, if you can just hold onto something (metaphorically of course) while I make the necessary arrangements..." There was a sound like a toilet flushing, and then a dull clunk as if something metal had dropped on the floor. The voice swore. "Ha! Okay. Right! Here we go!" it said, after a few moments. Then: "Good luck!"
"Good luck!" I echoed, although in retrospect I didn't know what I was wishing them luck for.
The world twisted and bucked.
Gone were the jars. Gone were the flickering rows of lights. The darkness faded away into a whirlpool of flashing yellow and brown. A maelstrom of gold spun in the haze. A chill crept over me. It was a good thing I didn't have a stomach or I most definitely would have emptied the contents of it. The world came to a grinding, shuddering halt. I blinked. I was cold. I couldn't move my body. But this was an improvement because five seconds ago I hadn't had a body! My body was cold. My face was cold. I was cold. I couldn't move anything but my face. Was I frozen? I tried to wriggle fingers that weren't there. I tried to find my legs but they weren't there. Before I had fully processed the horror of this, something hit me. Three times. Whack, whack, whack! Right in the face.
"Ow, ow, ow!" I cried.
I realised I could open my eyes. I did so, cranking open heavy eyelids that felt like they were made of metal. A man's face peered at me, a thick moustache beetling over his lip. He was dressed in workman's overalls and wore a badge that said 'handyman'. He looked right at me and whispered in a voice that I recognised.
"Are you alright?"
"That hurt!" I complained. I tried to move again. I could move my face. Only my face. My chin could go up and down. My head could wiggle from side to side but I had an extremely limited range of motion. The handyman smiled.
"But you are yourself?"
I nodded, stiffly, trying to get used to the sensation. The handyman straightened suddenly, as someone came up behind him.
"There you go, mate," he said in quite a different voice. "All installed. One magical door knocker, compliments of the dungeon decorating team." He tapped my nose with his hammer again.
"Ow!"
"Sorry!" he said and winked. "As you can see it talks."
Another face loomed towards me and I jumped. Well, I would have jumped if I had had a body but instead my face sort of twitched. It was a tall man, pale, and dressed in healer's robes that I vaguely remembered from one of the levels. I was back in the game! Even if I was an NPC. I instinctively disliked this face. Objectively he was a handsome man, but he turned my blood cold. Occasionally I had premonitions. Last time it had been about my upstairs neighbour who had gone on to murder several of the apartment cats. This man set off the same warning bell in my head, clanging loud and clear.
"I'm Doctor Raithby," he said. "Welcome to my door."
"Hi," I said. Then I panicked. Because I couldn't remember my name. But the doctor didn't ask my name.
"Your job is simple." He turned his head, "how much can it understand? Oh, where has the blasted man gone?" Doctor Raithby turned back to me, frowning. "A simple job," he said, intently. "Don't let anyone in without a password. Today's password is Jelly Beans. Do you understand?"
"Sure," I said. "Jelly Beans." I had dealt with all sorts of people when I had been a receptionist. Difficult people. Tall, sinister, angry looking people like the doctor who spoke in cold clipped tones as if I was stupid. It made me angry. But I didn't show it. I knew how to deal with difficult people. Also, I was a door knocker made from brass so it was easy not to show emotion.
"Last thing," he said, looming close.
"Yes–? Gah." He shoved a dirty great brass ring into my mouth. Through some magic, insidious or otherwise I was unable to spit it out. It was hard and cold and I bit it angrily with my little brass teeth.
"Pffft," I said. "Ifs gross."
"People have to be able to knock," the doctor said smoothly. "Would you rather have it through your ears?" I shook my head, brass ring clanking. "Good. Now, remember. Don't let anyone in without a password."
"Got it. Pfff."
And he walked away.
I hung there, adjusting to my new reality.
After a while, I pulled myself together enough to look around. I couldn't see much from my position on the door. A bit of garden. A pathway leading to a busy road. As I watched some fairies flew past, laughing in the bright sunshine. Not a town I knew, although it wasn't surprising as I had died so early on. Across the cobbled street was a small potion shop Raithby's Potions, just visible between the hedges. Goblins, Grimoires and Teacakes was the general store to the left, and to the right a tavern named The Watery Tart.
I stared across the shops hard, trying not to cry. It didn't work, and tears began to trickle down my golden, brass cheeks.
After a while, I perked up. After all, this didn't have to be forever. I wasn't in pain, even if the brass ring was annoying. What had the dungeon said? A wager? Save a thousand lives? And then I could live again. Easy. Easy. The tears started to flow again. How the hell was I supposed to save anyone? I was nailed to a door! I was made of brass.
Just as I was contemplating howling my grief and frustration to the sky a young man walked up the garden path, looking up anxiously at the building I assumed was behind me. He peered down at the card in his hand and then lifted his hand to knock.
"Paffword!" I said loudly, stuttering around the damn brass ring. He jumped and I felt bad. I hadn't meant to be so noisy but I was a little overexcited.
"Oh!" he said. "Oh right, of course!" He checked his back pocket for the card again.
"Jellybeans?"
"You may enterfff," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I discovered if I tensed and concentrated, I could open the locking mechanism. It was as natural as breathing, but in the same way as breathing it felt weird when I thought about the mechanics of it. The door swung open. "Weeeee," I screamed to the young man's consternation. He edged past and disappeared beyond my sight. I caught a glimpse of a dark room, with the doctor waiting at a table. He coughed.
I shut the door. The swing was exciting, I resisted the urge to open and close it again, just for fun. I didn't know much about the doctor, but he didn't look like the type to enjoy that sort of thing. It also occurred to me that he might have had a door knocker before me. I cast about on the ground as if expecting to see scattered remains of my predecessor. There was nothing there but some flowers. Pretty ones. That was something, I suppose. Something to look at.
I waited patiently, trying to puzzle out how the dungeon expected me to save anyone. The young man did not come out, but two more people arrived, said the password and then disappeared into the building behind me. I assumed it was a healers house. It didn't occur to me to worry. I was still innocent then.
Afternoon passed into the evening. No one exited the house and no more people arrived. They were either staying the night or had left by another door. Nighttime was boring, I couldn't see far, and there wasn't anything going on. Loud noises of singing and carousing issued forth from The Watery Tart but there was nothing else to see or hear. I must have dozed a little.
At about midnight, or what I assumed was about midnight I was startled awake. The door banged open, which felt weird, because I did not open it. The doctor appeared in front of me, dragging a body behind him. It was the young man who had arrived earlier. He was most definitely dead. His eyes stared up at me, glazed and hollow, gleaming in the moonlight in a mockery of life. I bit down on the brass ring to keep from squealing. It was important that the doctor thought I was a stupid door knocker. I watched in silence as the doctor loaded the body into a wheelbarrow, covered it with a bit of sacking and wheeled it across the street and into the Potion Shop.
I had heard of places like this. It was an XP farm. The good doctor was luring injured adventurers here with promises of healing and then killing them. I shuddered. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. The doctor walked back across the street. The swing of the door no longer thrilled me. It was a long night.
By the time the sun rose, I had a plan.
Doctor Raithby appeared, rapping on my ring. I cringed at the touch of his fingers and tried not to show it.
"Today's password is a call and answer," he said. "You say 'The queasy beau lies at midnight?' and then the patient must respond 'But what about the mangoes?'"
"Pff okay," I said. Before I could decide whether or not I had the courage to ask him anything he spun on his heel and left. "That's okay," I said. "I'll just wait here."
But I said it very softly.
The first patient of the day was a young woman. She was pretty banged up, with a black eye and a broken bow slung over her shoulder. She limped up the path.
"I don't thinff you should go in there," I said to her seriously. I kept my voice low, just in case. My eyes darted nervously from side to side. "I don't think itffs a good place."
"Whatever do you mean, little door knocker?" asked the woman in surprise.
"Come on, I'm hurting here." I stared down at her purpling bruises.
"If there nowhere elffe you can go?" I said. "I really think it'ffs a bad place. I think it'ffs an XP farm. Pffft."
"What! No! Doctor Raithby is famous," she said. "He healed a bunch of people I met at the tavern last night," she nodded over her shoulder to The Watery Tart, which stood cold and empty in the morning light.
"Probably actorff," I said, desperately. I spent the next ten minutes arguing with her, and in the end she turned and limped her way back up the garden path. Had I done right? What was I thinking of course I had–
[ding! x1 Soul Saved!]
Right. Right. I straightened on my door. I had purpose. I could do this! One down, one thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine souls left to go! No one else needed to die while I was on door duty!
Alas, the next customer was a haughty faced dame in full armour. She strode up the path and knocked me before I had a chance to utter anything.
"You don't wantff to go in there," I started on my spiel.
"No," she interrupted, "you are supposed to ask me 'The queasy beau lies at midnight' Come on! Come on! No time for inefficiency, these haemorrhoids won't see to themselves!"
"Liffen," I said urgently, but she wouldn't. She said the password and to my horror, the door clicked open without my permission. I tried to close it but it swung open and she strode through it.
Okay. This wasn't going to be as easy as I hoped. I could do better. I would save them. I could do it. And I tried my best, I really did. That day I managed to persuade about half of the patients not to enter the doctors rooms. I saved five more souls, but another four wouldn't listen and I had to watch their corpses being wheeled out under cover of midnight.
Tomorrow I could do better. I would do better. And I did.
As the days passed I grew more and more skilled at turning people away. The trick was to change my tactic according to the person. I was already a pretty good judge of people, (all those years working as a receptionist paying off). Some people could be reasoned with. Some people could not. Some could be scared or startled. The trick was knowing which was which.
A small, anxious-looking young man still in his teens and dressed in ratty wizard's robes approached. He twisted a handkerchief in one hand, boils covered his arms. He looked like he had fallen in some sort of magical blister bush. Or perhaps he had been cursed. Either way, he was clearly miserable. I looked at him consideringly and chose my strategy.
"Boobs!" I shrieked. "Booooooooooooooooooooobs!" He turned tail and ran as fast as he could.
[ding! x1 soul saved]
I beamed in delight. I could do this. I just had to get creative.
Another wizard approached. This one elderly, straight-backed, his sleeves neatly darned.
"I'm not suffosed to fell you this," I said, my voice low and urgent. "But thif doctor if really expensive ppft. Ripping offff all of his customers, pfft, swindling the fairy insurfance company out of their money. And," I thought quickly, because the elderly gentleman's expression had not changed, "and you will have to pay with dungeon internet money. Pff. He doeffn't take gold. Pfft."
"What!" said the neat, elderly man, stuttering. "What an outrage! I'll be taking my business elsewhere–" He hobbled back up the path. [ding! x1 soul saved]
"You will have to get like, pfft twenty vacffines," I said to a tall young bard in her early twenties. [ding! x1 soul saved]
"Patienfff keep dying off mysfteriouth illnesses, pfff," I said to a tight-lipped man. [ding! x1 soul saved]
"Fuck offff!" I screamed at a nice old lady in armour plate with a bandage on her head. "No one wants your kind here, pffft, ye wee slapper!" She ran off crying, but her soul was safe. [ding! x1 soul saved]
"Bang me harder, you naughty trollop! You know you like it! Yeff pleaff!" I murmured to a straight laced monk. She ran off, her eyes bulging. [ding! x1 soul saved]
I bit someone's fingers. [ding! x1 soul saved]
Sometimes I just acted like I was crazy.
"Pfft I hear Manchester United is doing well this time of year...and so are the mangoes..."
("Sorry," said the confused looking young man, "but isn't the password–". He reached his hand towards the ring.)
"The ridiculouff budgie squawks in the morning!" I yelled desperately. He opened his mouth– "Hooray, hooray for the hamster's auntie's doormat!" I screamed. The young man backed away slowly. ("Um–") "Verily, the cod is in the pillowcase!" He scuttled away.``The ill-built bower trembles mightily at the eejits passage! Pffft." I shouted after him.
[ding! x1 soul saved]
I lean back against the smooth wood of the door in satisfaction. In the last week I managed to save over a hundred souls. At this rate, I will be reincarnated before too much time has passed!
The doctor was displeased, but he didn't seem to realise I had anything to do with it. As the days rolled by I relaxed.
When my soul count reached seven hundred I realised something upsetting.
It was all very well me running off to live again but them what would happen to the souls I did not save? To the players? The doctor would go back to his grisly ways, XP farming ways. In fact, he never stopped. For occasionally no matter how hard I tried, no matter how mad I seemed, or how aggressive I acted someone would simply barge through the door. I mourned them, but I knew I had tried my hardest.
But how could I leave all the players without protection?
It was so hard to have agency as a door knocker. Surely, surely there was something here I could use? Some knowledge, some trick? I knew the street so well. I knew the garden. Maybe I could somehow trick the doctor into running across the street moments before the number four carriage came charging around the corner, as it did every day at ten...but how? I had no idea.
My soul count grew and with it my sense of unease. I needed to do something. I couldn't leave the doctor there, with his hapless, seemingly unending stream of victims. I tried to talk to him, but he ignored me as he always did. I tried to talk to some of the patients, tried to ask them to go to the watch, but they just got confused or ran away. Nothing worked.
I was stuck. And I couldn't slow down. I had to save them all. But the faster I saved them the sooner I would be gone. Eight hundred souls. Nine hundred. Then nine hundred and ninety-nine.
The last person I saved was a pretty, young woman in a prim, high-collared druid's dress. I eyed her speculatively as she walked towards my door and decided I would be a pervy doorknocker for the last time. It worked. She ran up the path as fast as her legs would carry her.
[ding! Congratulations! Special Secret Achievement Unlocked! 1000 Souls Saved!]
I sucked in an excited brassy breath.
"Congratulations," a familiar voice whispered in my ear. There was no handyman this time. I assume he was just for the doctor's benefit. "I knew you could do it. And in such a short time too! Are you ready to be reincarnated?"
"I can't," I said, sadly.
"You can't– what exactly?" The disembodied voice sounded confused.
"I can't leavffe. I mean, I want to livfe again, pfft, I really do butff–"
"Yes?"
"If I leave he will carry on, won't he? Killing people? Murdering them for XP? I'm sure some of them were on their last heart."
"Certainly."
"Then I can't go."
There was silence. I wondered if I had offended it. Them. The dungeon. I was pretty sure that I was talking to the essence of the dungeon. A month ago I would not have had the guts. But well, here I was, made of brass.
"A deal then?" the dungeon said.
"Okay?" I said, uncertainly.
"A life for a life," it said. "I can't kill him. Alas. If I could I would have pushed him off a cliff long ago. Sadly that's the sort of thing accountants notice. But I can ...switch your souls out. One in, one out. They won't notice that. The columns will balance."
"I don't underffstand," I said.
"He can go in your stead."
"He can– what?"
"He will be reincarnated. A fresh start. He will leave this world and be born again on the next. Maybe a fresh start is all he needs to be less...murdery."
"What'ff the catchf."
"Souls are weighted," said the dungeon. "You can't both go."
"I– I have to remain. Here. As a brass door knocker?"
"Yes."
"Forevffer?"
"Yes." The dungeon paused. "Although forever is a long time. But for the sake of this discussion yes. I won't blame you, you know. I don't think anyone would. You can be reincarnated, guilt free. You've earned it." I didn't say anything. "Would you really give up your chance at life for all these unknown players?"
I swallowed.
"Yeff."
"You're a good soul," whispered the dungeon. "I'll make sure you get moved to the most interesting door I can find."
"Goodffff," I said.
"What about a secret society, hell-bent on revolution?"
"Ohh yeff." I paused. "Maybe somewhere with a handffome postman. With nice fingerff."
"I'll see what I can do..."
The voice faded into the air.
The world went dark again, and when I woke I was hanging on a new door.
