Short Story The Cupboard Under the Stairs

“Whatever you do, don’t open the cupboard under the stairs.”

Those were the final words Tonie’s cousin Shirley said before she left for the airport. Now there was an impatient man from the gas company on the doorstep wanting to read the meter, which, inconveniently, happened to be in the cupboard under the stairs.

Tonie was in a quandary. While Shirley was away, she’d promised to check in on Uncle Norman every day. She’d been doing her best to avoid Norman’s cupboard but the persistent hissing and squeaking coming from within was hard to ignore. Sometimes she imagined the door seemed to move as though something was pushing against it from behind, trying to get out.

“Has Shirley got back into breeding snakes?” she’d asked Uncle Norman cautiously. It had been a regrettable business venture. Nobody spoke of the time poor Norman went to switch on the immersion heater and one jumped out from behind the hot water tank. He had to run out the house in just his shower cap.

Shirley had been acting very secretive lately, keeping unusual hours, her phone always ringing, and now there was suddenly cash to spend on a minibreak. Tonie was certain that whatever was hidden behind the door was the answer.

“Snakes? I don’t think that’s it.” Norman shook his head while holding court in his favourite armchair. “She did tell me what she’s doing but I can’t be expected to remember everything.” Whatever it was, though, Tonie noticed he also avoided the cupboard under the stairs.

“Would it be alright if the man read the meter?” Tonie called through to the sitting room, smiling innocently at the man from the gas company. “He says it’ll only take a minute.”

“Tell him there’s no need,” Norman called back stroppily.

“Tell him I don’t bother with the gas fire very much anyway.”

This was untrue, Norman had the fire on all day long; the sitting room was like the tropics.

“He says he’s got to read it to send you an accurate bill,” she called, playing go-between as usual. “He says it hasn’t been done in over a year.”

“Just send me a guesstimate,” Norman called back dismissively. “I’m happy to pay the going rate.”

The man on the doorstep looked at his clipboard irritably and Tonie grimaced apologetically.

“I’m only trying to do my job,” he tutted. “I’ll soon be out of your hair. Is that the cupboard there?” He took a step across the threshold.

“He’s coming in!” Tonie called to Norman. The situation had escalated, and he still hadn’t got out of his armchair. “What harm can it do?”

If there was a snake in the cupboard, she reasoned it would not be her fault. The gas man had let himself in uninvited and would have to shoulder the responsibility. She quickly grabbed an umbrella from the coat stand, just in case.

“How are you with snakes?” she asked casually as he turned the door handle.

“You’d better not be opening that door; I remember what she’s doing now!” Norman called from the sitting room.

“There’ll be hell to pay!”

The door burst open.

The man from the gas company staggered backwards, protecting his face.

“What’s all this?” he cried. Tonie shrieked and batted the air blindly with her umbrella. It took her a moment to realise that she was not fighting a reptile but a cloud of colourful balloons.

“I told you not to open it,” Norman said gruffly. “Balloon sculptures for events, that’s what Shirley’s up to. Good luck getting them all back in there now.”

By Jackie Brewster