It was an ordinary Tuesday night, or at least that’s how it started. I was sprawled on my couch, a bag of half-eaten chips by my side, binge-watching a reality show so absurd that even the participants seemed unsure why they were there. My cat, Mochi, was curled up next to me, occasionally glancing at me as if judging my choice of entertainment. The clock on the wall ticked towards 11 PM, signaling it was far too late for anyone to drop by. Or so I thought.
The doorbell rang.
It wasn’t the typical “ding-dong”. This was different—louder, almost musical, and with an unsettling echo that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I paused the show, staring at the door. Who could it be at this hour? The delivery apps stopped operating in our area after 10 PM, and I hadn’t ordered anything.
“Mochi, stay here,” I whispered, as though my cat would leap to my defense if it came to that. Grabbing my phone, I tiptoed to the door and peeked through the peephole. Strangely, I saw no one. The hallway was empty, bathed in the dim glow of the flickering corridor light.
My first instinct was to ignore it, but curiosity, as they say, kills the cat. And in this case, it might kill the human too. Against my better judgment, I unlocked the door and opened it slightly. A gust of cold air rushed in, carrying with it a faint smell of rain and… something else. Cinnamon? Before I could ponder further, a voice broke the silence.
“Good evening, sir. Apologies for disturbing you at this late hour.”
I jumped back, my heart racing. Standing before me was a man dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. It wasn’t just any suit; it shimmered slightly, as if woven with threads of silver. He had an air of calm confidence, though his choice of footwear—bathroom slippers—undermined the otherwise polished look. In his hand, he held a suitcase so large that it seemed comical against his slim frame.
“Who are you?” I blurted, my grip tightening on the door handle.
“A humble salesman,” he replied with a bow. “I’m here to offer you something extraordinary.”
“At 11 PM?” I asked incredulously. “Who sells anything at this hour?”
His smile widened, revealing teeth so white they could blind an unsuspecting passerby. “Timing is everything, my friend. May I come in?”
Now, every fiber of my being screamed “no”. Inviting a strange man into your home at this hour was the kind of decision that fueled true crime documentaries. But there was something oddly compelling about him. Against all logic, I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.
The man walked in with an air of familiarity, as though he’d been here before. He placed his suitcase on my coffee table, ignoring the crumbs scattered around. Mochi, usually aloof to strangers, hopped down and sniffed at his feet, then promptly curled up next to him. Betrayed by my own cat.
“So,” I began, crossing my arms. “What are you selling? If it’s another subscription service, I’m not interested.”
“Ah, but this is no ordinary product,” he said, clicking open the suitcase. The latches released with a satisfying “click,” and he lifted the lid to reveal… a tiny bell.
I blinked. “That’s it? A bell?”
“Not just any bell,” he corrected, lifting it delicately as though it were a priceless artifact. The bell was made of some kind of metal that shimmered like molten gold. Its handle was carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when you looked at them too long. “This, my friend, is the Anti-Doorbell.”
“The Anti-Doorbell?” I echoed, utterly baffled. “What does it do?”
“It solves the universal problem of unwanted guests,” he explained, his tone dripping with conviction. “Nosy neighbors, persistent salespeople, even your in-laws… with one ring of this bell, they vanish.”
I laughed, certain this was some elaborate prank. “And where do they go? Narnia?”
“Somewhere far from here,” he said cryptically. “Would you like to try it?”
“Why not?” I said, indulging him. “But if it doesn’t work, you’re buying me a pizza for wasting my time.”
He chuckled and handed me the bell. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. I gave it a gentle ring. The sound it produced was ethereal, almost like a whisper carried on the wind. For a moment, nothing happened. Then…
The man disappeared.
I stared at the empty spot where he had been, my mouth hanging open. Mochi meowed, equally confused. I looked around the room, half expecting him to pop out from behind the curtains, but he was gone.
“What just happened?” I muttered to myself.
Before I could process it, there was a knock at the door. Heart pounding, I opened it to find the same man standing there, looking slightly annoyed.
“Please don’t ring it while I’m explaining,” he said, stepping back inside. “It’s very disorienting.”
“How did you…?” I stammered.
“The bell works,” he said simply, closing his suitcase. “Now, do you want to keep it?”
“Keep it? Why would I need this?”
He sighed, as though he’d heard this question a thousand times. “Think of all the times you’ve wanted someone to leave. That colleague who overstays their welcome, the neighbor who borrows everything and returns nothing. This bell is your ultimate escape.”
It did sound tempting. But before I could respond, a thought struck me. “Wait, if I use it on someone, are they gone forever?”
“Of course not,” he said, sounding offended. “They reappear elsewhere, perfectly unharmed. Though where exactly they end up is… unpredictable.”
That wasn’t exactly comforting.
“What’s the catch?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “There’s always a catch.”
He hesitated for the first time. “The bell has a… limit. Overuse it, and its effects might become permanent.”
“Define overuse,” I pressed.
“More than ten times in a short period,” he admitted. “But I’m sure you’ll use it responsibly.”
I wasn’t so sure. But the idea of having such power at my fingertips was hard to resist.
“How much?” I asked, already knowing I would regret it.
“Oh, no money,” he said with a sly grin. “Just a promise to use it wisely.”
That sounded even worse than money. But before I could argue, he placed the bell in my hand, tipped his hat, and walked out the door. The moment he left, I realized he’d never told me his name or how to contact him. Not that it mattered—I had a feeling he’d show up again if he wanted to.
The next few days were uneventful, and I almost forgot about the bell. It sat on my coffee table, gathering dust, until one evening when my neighbor, Mrs. Patel, showed up. She was sweet, but once she started talking, there was no stopping her.
“Oh, hello, dear,” she began, holding a Tupperware container. “I made extra curry and thought you might like some. By the way, have you heard about the new family in 4B? They’re…”
As she launched into a monologue, my eyes drifted to the bell. Could it really work? Only one way to find out. Feigning interest in her story, I casually reached for the bell and gave it a light ring.
Mrs. Patel vanished mid-sentence.
I gasped, staring at the empty spot where she’d been. Guilt washed over me. But before I could panic, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, I found her standing there, looking dazed.
“Oh, dear,” she said, clutching her head. “I must’ve gotten lost in thought. What was I saying?”
Relieved she was unharmed, I quickly returned her Tupperware and made an excuse to end the conversation. That night, I stared at the bell, torn between fascination and fear. This was no ordinary object, and I had a feeling its true purpose was yet to reveal itself.
React
