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CHAPTER FIVE OF TWENTY

❝ FORBIDDEN FRUIT ❞ 

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THE SHEER DISAPPOINTMENT (NAME) FELT WHEN SHE'D AWOKEN THE MORNING AFTER WAS UNDENIABLE. She'd shot up in bed, waking up to the dull-looking bedroom. She'd groaned in disappointment. It was a nice dream, she'd thought, or was it? Leela was barking to be let out. It motivated her to get on with her day.

Eric had been more distant that following morning. The husband and wife met in the kitchen, whilst (Name) recalled the strange dream she'd had that night. "...It was incredibly real, Ricky," (Name) exclaimed, waving her hands about like an excited child, "Only...you weren't you...you were my other husband and you called yourself Eros,".

"Buttons for eyes, huh?" Eric boredly replied, filling up his mug with instant coffee, "(Nickname), I'm sure that you only dreamed that you ate all that (favourite meal). Take your multi-vitamin at least if you won't touch the toast...".

"That's not all, Ricky," she continued, after swallowing the multi-vitamin, "You wore sweater vests...a tangerine-coloured one to specific and you wore those fancy leather shoes...like the ones you wore to our wedding!".

Eric rolled his eyes. "Christ on a bicycle, (Nickname), are you sure you're not smoking drugs?" he questioned, "I'd be caught dead in a sweater vest. Let alone a tangerine-coloured one. Dream me has no sense of style. And those shoes. They're pinchy. And there's a reason I've not worn them since our wedding,".

(Name) took a bite of toast before swallowing it. "Anyways, maybe those actresses downstairs or the loony upstairs would love to hear about your weird dream," Eric said, brushing off (Name)'s dream, "Also buttons for eyes? That's given me a good idea for a story...also maybe you should get me some of the magic lotion stuff. It might help get rid of my writer's block,".

⁕⁕⁕

He'd locked himself away in his study. All she heard was aggressive typing from the other side of the door. She sighed, adjusting the powder-blue blanket that acted like a cloak in the exodus of the winter. Spring was right around the corner. She'd ordered some tulips to plant around the garden.

(Name) found herself outside, sipping tea on the porch, as Leela barked at the birds in the nearby, sparse trees. A loud meow brought (Name) out of her trance, noticing the approaching cat with his matted black fur. Wybie followed suit, giving her a wave. "Good morrow," (Name) greeted, "How may I helpeth thou?".

Wybie let out a chuckle. "He really is drawn to this place..." Wybie mentioned, gesturing to the unnamed cat, who meowed at Leela, who barked in response. It was like they were having a conversation, "I wonder why. I've never been inside myself...".

(Name) raised an eyebrow. "Never?" she repeated, as Wybie nodded, "Why on Earth not? I'd imagined you'd've been inside this place a load of times, given your grandad owns the house...".

Wybie shrugged. "Nah," he corrected, "Grandpa doesn't want me inside the house. Says I'm forbidden...or something like that. I've asked why, of course, and he said that...well, back in the '50s...my grandma disappeared,".

(Name)'s eyes widened in horror. "Oh God...I'm so sorry..." (Name) asked, "What do you mean 'disappeared'? What happened?".

Wybie took a sharp inhale. "Well...he brought his house for Grandma for their anniversary in '56," Wybie began, sitting next to (Name) on the porch, "He found this doll, the one I gave you, but it looked just like Grandma. He noticed that grandma would disappear for hours at a time and she'd have these dreams. One day...Grandma disappeared. Says she was stolen by a bad man,".

(Name) froze. "Oh my god..." (Name) breathed, "I'm so sorry...".

"Grandpa never let his kids in after," he clarified, "Never rented the house to couples until you and Eric showed up. Weird. He never let me or my older sister, Charlotte, in either...".

(Name) froze for a second time. Charlotte Lovat? It couldn't be a coincidence. She opened her mouth to ask a question, until a sharp yell of "Wyborne!" in the distance, caused Wybie to stand up at lightning speed before he muttered an apology, "I've gotta go...".

"Wait a minute!" (Name) fleetingly called, but Wybie was gone before she noticed. Her eyes glanced at the cat, who growled up at the doll who sat on the windowsill of her bedroom. She hadn't left it there...had she? The cat pounced off, as Leela continued to bark aggressively.

(Name) picked up Leela, bringing her up the porch. She put Leela back in the house, eyeing the large stack of strangely-shaped packages near a pair of her wellington boots. Closing the door behind her, (Name) picked up the stack of packages, reading the name printed onto all of them. "Bobinsky...Bobinsky..." she muttered underneath her breath, "Bobinsky...and Bobinsky...".

There was a foul stench, (Name) took a whiff of the packages. The strong smell of cheese invaded her nostrils, causing her to exclaim in disgust and drop all the packages. She gathered the myriad of packages into her hands, eyeing the sign pointing to the attic apartment. BOBINSKY, UP HERE.

⁕⁕⁕

IT WAS A LENGTHY CLIMB UP THE MYRIAD OF STAIRS until (Name) reached Mr Bobinsky's apartment in the attic. She stood on the doormat, using her free hand to knock against the wood of the off-white painted front door. She waited awkwardly in the harrowing silence that was so thick in the air that you could cut it up and serve it as cake.

She inhaled sharply, trying to block out the putrid smell of the cheeses. "Hello?" (Name) called. No response, "I think our post got mixed up! Anyone alive in there...".

She went to knock on the door for a second time, only for the door to become ajar. She peered into the shamble that was Mr Bobinsky's apartment. There was loads of furniture covering white sheets and a chicken inside, letting out a loud bah-gawk noise. (Name) had eyed the overboiled pot of water on the stove. Unbeknownst to her, a blue-skinned figure lurked behind her.

"Secret!" Mr Bobinsky hissed, grabbing (Name)'s shoulders and jerking her back and slamming the door to his apartment closed. He came face to face with (Name), who stared up at the towering man in shock. He was at least 6'5" or taller and his skin looked to be an unhealthy and concerning shade of blue. His limbs were thin as tree trunks, whereas he had a beer belly that stuck out uncomfortably, "Famous jumping mouse circus not ready,".

His wifebeater tanktop was dirty and had a myriad of unwashed stains on it. He had a distinct Russian accent. "Hi, sorry," (Name) apologised, "I'm (Name) Melrose...I live in the middle apartment and I think our post got mixed up or something...".

Mr Bobinsky had a thick, messy moustache above his upper lip, which moved every time he spoke. He didn't believe her. (Name) rolled her eyes at the man's oddity that was his attitude. "Anyway...I brought your packages up," she said, gesturing to the various packages in her arms.

Temporarily, he seemed unbothered about why she was gracing his front door. Until she mentioned the myriad of packages that he'd been anticipating. He was eager to snatch up the foul-smelling packages from the woman's arms and quickly relished in the potent smelling odours coming from the packages.

"New cheese samples," Mr Bobinsky explained. (Name) raised an eyebrow, "Very clever, young lady. Using this mix-up to take a peek at mooshkas,".

(Name)'s brows furrowed. "Mooshkas?" the woman parrotted, frowning at the man's eccentric attitude.

"The mice!" Mr Bobinsky clarified sharply, shifting his lanky arms from side to side. He'd jabbed his thumb in the direction of his off-white painted front door, conveying what he meant.

She curtly nodded. "Sorry that my husband couldn't be here...Eric's busy work with again," (Name) said, ignoring Mr Bobinsky's previous exclamation. There was a notable mix of distaste and annoyance that lurked in (Name)'s voice. Eric had always been a distant man, more recently anyway.

The blue-skinned fellow nodded, stopping the series of stretches he'd been performing casually. "And I am the amazing Sergei Alexander Bobinsky!" he proclaimed, "But you," he jabbed a slender index finger at the woman, "May call me Mr B. Amazing already know that I am!".

(Name) meekly nodded. To put it lightly, Mr Bobinsky was a rather...eccentric and interesting man. He began to pour his heart out to her, explaining his current predicament, though the (hair-coloured) woman didn't ask in the first place, "You see, young lady, my songs they go Oompa-Oompa! yet...the mice only play Toodle-too, like that...it's nice but not amazing...so now, I switch to stronger cheese and soon...wham!".

Abruptly, the lanky man picked up the scattered packages from the floor of his balcony/porch. His slender-shaped hand dug into the pocket of his unwashed shorts, which were littered with unwashed food stains, and plucked out a dark purple-coloured vegetable. "Here, have beet," Mr Bobinsky said, placing the beet into (Name)'s hands, "Make you strong. Dasvindanya, (Name)!".

Just like magic, Mr Bobinsky vanished into his home, slamming the door behind him, making the bell attached to the doorframe chime in response. She stood, stunned, on the balcony for a moment. She blinked, confused and brain-riddled. The woman let out a deep sigh, turning on her heels and walking down the stairs to the ground, tossing the beetroot over the railings as she did so.

Once she reached the darkened grass, (Name) went to her car and retrieved a pink coloured suitcase that had been tied to the top of the mauve car. She opened it to reveal a black, leather Baker's Boy cap. She placed the hat on her head, taking a casual turn about the land surrounding the pink house.

"Hey, (Name)!" the echoed voice of Mr Bobinsky called from above. He let out a word that fell untranslated in (Name)'s ears before he flung himself effortlessly over the railing of his balcony, causing (Name) to flinch and cover herself with her arms. his landing was flawless, crouching down next to (Name), mimicking her height.

He was out of breath and through his heavy panting, he whispered, breath fanning against her ear, "The mice...asked me to give you message," the odd man whispered, as though they were being spied on.

(Name) frowned, her brows furrowing in confusion, which clouded her mind. "The jumping mice?" she questioned. Mr Bobinsky shushed her louder tone, which echoed throughout the area surrounding the Pink Palace Apartments.

"They are saying..." Mr Bobinsky continued, his tone hushed, "Do not go through little door,".

The woman let out an audible gasp, hand covering her mouth slightly. Her eyes blinked in disbelief and her heart thudded with a sense of terror. First Wybie's mysterious story about his grandmother going missing, now Mr Bobinsky's mice were warning her about the small door that led to Eros' paradise pocket dimension. Alarm bells were going off in her head.

Mr Bobinsky merely shrugged. "Do you know such a thing?" he questioned, as (Name) stood there, huddled in fear and confusion.

The only mysterious door she recalled going through was the mysterious door in the lounge. The portal to Eros' much better world. "The one behind the wallpaper?" she wondered, "But it's all...bricked up! I couldn't go through it if I wanted to...". She reminded herself that it was a dream. That everything had to be just that. A coincidence.

Mr Bobinsky brushed off the vague warning from the mice casually. "So sorry," Mr Bobinsky apologised, hoisting himself up the metal bannister, which led upwards to his attic-based apartment. He gestured to his head, "Sometimes the mice are a little mixed up...they even get your husband's name wrong, you know that? They call him Eros, not Eric. Not Eric at all!". Mr Bobinsky threw his arms up in the air before returning to his home, "Maybe I work them too hard...".