Short Story

The Bright Report, it read. Beneath the coat of arms which seemed to contain a hot air balloon of some description (among other hard-to-make-out things) was a Latin motto: Homo in Absurdum.

As I advanced towards it, my foot found a piece of scrap on the cobblestones. I looked down to see a set of skid marks – something anachronistic in this quaint setting. I had inadvertently kicked a loose wingmirror. I picked it up and examined the chipped maroon paint. Looked expensive – carbon fibre, maybe. It seemed wrong to leave it there, perhaps someone inside was looking for it.

I walked up to the door. It was polished mahogany with a large brass knocker in the centre. It was shaped like the head of a cat – the lever dangling from its mouth. Pasted next to it was a handwritten note:

No hawkers, snake people, kale people, or people named Augustus. If your name is Alcub, you are six five years too early – please come back later.

As I was pretty sure that I was not one of those things, I reached out and pulled the knocker. Okay, this is going to sound ridiculous (much like everything else that you are about to read), but I’m sure I heard the cat head purr. The knock echoed.

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