Submitted to: Contest #295

Under New Management

Written in response to: "Write about a portal or doorway that’s hiding in plain sight."

Fantasy Fiction

Montgomery Brashton sat in the front pew of the small church, nervously fiddling with the bone buttons of his simple black suitcoat, suitable for a low-level clerk at the bank where he dutifully worked, day in and day out. He was thankful for the job provided by his father, manager of the branch, but it provided no intellectual challenge. When not busy with the drudgery of compounding interest, he dreamt of a life, any life, beyond the musty basement where he drearily toiled.


It was clear from the empty rows of pews that he was the only one in his family to show up to his Great Aunt Matilda’s funeral. She was the odd duck of the family, having never married, being eccentric, and was derisively spoken about at family events that she was never invited to attend. Monty was very fond of his great aunt, visiting her for tea on Sundays, spending hours discussing fiction, folklore, history, astronomy, the breadth of topics as varied as the colors she wore on the multihued shawl she wore.


As the service began, Monty looked once more to suddenly find several dozen elderly men and woman had filled the other pews to capacity. They were all dressed as eclectically as Great Aunt Matilda did. Oddly colored and patterned coats and jackets were paired with trousers and skirts that seemed to be mismatched on purpose completed the ensembles, accented with a variety of ornate or vintage hats feebly taming wiry, white hair for the congregation of guests. Their fashion was very much in the manner of Aunt Matilda’s curious sense of style when she was alive.


The service was short and to the point, much like Aunt Matilda. Everyone in attendance at the funeral service gave their deepest and most heartfelt condolences to him. Monty had no idea his aunt had so many friends, having never seen them nor had they been spoken about during his many visits over the years.


The last to speak to Monty was a frail gentleman, where blue veins stood prominently raised on the backs of his papery thin hands. His pale coloring was in stark contrast to the bright yellow and vibrant green checked jacket and purple and gray striped pants that he wore. The elderly gentleman shook Monty’s hand and tipped his impossibly tall bright blue stovepipe hat before handing over an aged leather folio and large brass key with an ornately intricate filigree bow.


“I was your great aunt’s solicitor. She wanted you to take over after her passing,” the elderly gentleman said simply.


“Take over what?” Monty asked, scrutinizing the folio and key in his hands, unaware his aunt oversaw anything other than living a secluded life of taking care of herself and the dozen or so cats that ran about her tiny cottage and slightly overgrown garden. When he looked back up, the gentleman was gone.


In the church’s graveyard, his great aunt was laid to rest. He and the parson were the only ones in attendance graveside. Given how it was bucketing down relentlessly, Monty figured the elderly guests did not want to risk catching something in the cold, drenching rain. They had been to the service to pay their respects, and that was more than anyone else in Monty’s family had bothered, sneering and scoffing with insults when a note had been delivered to the family residence in London about her passing and upcoming funeral.


Monty’s father had threatened to fire Monty for taking time off from his work to attend a funeral for a “crazy old spinster who barely had two tuppences to rub together, much less any wits left in that empty head of hers. But since you two were so much alike, if you don’t go its likely no one will be there at all.” It was his father’s disparaging pity that prevented him from losing his position. A small part of Monty wished he did. Not even his own mother, sister or other relations could be bothered to spend a few hours paying their final respects.


Entering the cozy cottage, he set the folio and key down on the kitchen table. When he went to fill the kettle to make a warming cup of tea to take the chill off his bones, he noticed a door that had never been there before, looking as old as the three-hundred-year-old cottage itself. Not during the years that he had visited his aunt, nearly every weekend, did he ever see that door, knowing the cottage and its main room better than the reflection of his own face. Reaching for the knob, he noticed it was locked. Walking back to the kitchen table, the folio was now open, and a sheaf of paper having escaped from it.



“My Dearest Monty,

I am sorry I could not tell you before I passed, but you come from a long line of witches and wizards, our particular lineage being literary mages. Since before the Romans came, our family has been foremost keepers of knowledge in the British Isles. Over time, our collection became a sort of bookstore-cum-lending library. You are the next in line to take on the role of Owner, Manager and Head Librarian of the oldest book depository of magic in the British Isles.

Why could I not tell you before? Well, that is how it has always worked, the magic available to only one of our family members at a time. The key my solicitor presented to you will open the door you now noticed behind my chair that you never saw before. Upon taking the folio and key, the magic that was once mine has now been passed down onto you.

I know your life as a bank clerk for your father is a dreary business, and I think this new position will be much more suitable for your natural talents, and with a much higher income. The many cats that inhabit the property will now be able to speak with you, bringing you up to speed on running the family business.

Good luck,

Aunt Matilda"



Turning the key in the lock to what he thought might be a mere broom closet, the door opened to a majestic room with three grand levels of bookshelves and a huge, opulent stained-glass window that rose up to nearly the ceiling, filling the room with light. Lush hanging plants and majestic potted palms added to the sumptuous décor featuring the dark wood mill work, staircases, railings and balustrades. It was filled with more books than Monty thought he could read in a hundred lifetimes. Above the checkout and sales desk was a banner that said, “Under New Management.”

Posted Mar 27, 2025
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5 likes 1 comment

Dennis C
01:15 Apr 03, 2025

Loved Monty’s journey and the vivid details of Matilda’s world. Great twist with the library.

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