It was a Tuesday morning, and everything in John's life was normal. He lived in a normal, albeit ugly, squatty yellow house with wilting hounds tongue in the front and a dead bird in the back. It was just after 9:30 in the morning when he finally dragged himself out bed and shuffled towards the kitchen. Unemployment was new to John, and while he was quite happy waking up whenever he damn well pleased, the unpaid bills and notes from debt collectors didn't quite suit him as well as it might suit some young bohemian. John was an IT man, after all. And he wasn't young anymore. Then again, he wasn't married. He had no children, no wife, no dogs, and no companions to look forward to seeing during the day.
"Ah, one of the lucky ones," his co-workers would say, trying to convince him that his existence wasn't as dull or depressing as it really was.
John liked being alone. He didn't have to look out for anyone else, he could watch whatever he wanted to at night, and eat all his favorites with no one to complain. Some nights he would eat nothing but garlic bread and browned onions. Truly, his life was one to be envied.
That was, until he slunk into the kitchen, past the pantry, past a chartreuse door, past a refrigerator, a dining table and on to the coffee maker. The small bit of glass and plastic beeped happily at him, announcing that his morning brew had already been made. The smell of roasted coffee beans with a hint of french vanilla wafting through the air was exactly what he needed to open his groggy eyes and wake up.
"Chartruese..." The word tumbled quietly from his lips while he scratched at his stubble and reached for a mug.
"Chartruese..." he repeated as he poured.
Chartruese!
John snapped awake and whirled around. His green eyes were wide open and his hands flew up to the messy nest of bright orange hair on the top of his head. Behind him, in a place where nothing had ever existed but a refrigerator that was now pushed against the cabinets was a bright, big, wooden door. John rubbed his eyes, but it was still there when he opened them. He grabbed his coffee, just in case this was some sort of day dream and he had a lot more waking up to do, and cautiously approached it. The handle was an antique brass knob, it's once intricate designs worn into nothing by time except for one large eye that stared up at John from just above the keyhole. John grasped the knob, and with all his might swung back on the green door, taking in a burst of cold damp hair that hit him like a slap to the face.
Leaning in, he was shocked at what he saw inside.
Nothing. There was no floor, no roof, no walls - nothing at all. John had found a room in his house, where he had lived for the past twelve years or so with no complaints ever before, filled with complete nothingness. He certain at first that despite seeing only pitch blackness behind the door he was mistaken. John set his mug down on the floor by his feet and rushed to the sink. It took him a moment to find the flashlight he had stored underneath, but it worked brilliantly...
Until he brought it to the chartreuse door.
He shone the bright white light into the dark room and almost immediately the flickered and died. The redhead sneered at his tool and slapped it, but the flashlight wouldn't work. He cursed at it to turn on, but the heavy duty item would simply not listen. In one last act of frustration, he turned towards the chartreuse door and smacked the flashlight against it.
The door swung back at the force of the flashlight and banged the refrigerator. A glint of polished metal in the sunlight caught John's attention. He grabbed the door and held it still, only just then noticing that on the side of the door opposite of John's kitchen an old brass key was still stuck, turned in the latch.