Steve had followed all the instructions and still had pieces over.
Always the same with this flat pack furniture, he thought. Obtuse instructions, arcane pictograms, like some carpenter's strange invocation.
"The power of joinery bids you arise!"
He dropped his hands, laughing uneasily.
Steve'd always had this thing about wardrobes; it had taken some courage to buy the damn thing.
You should never have read that book, his mother had told him
Still, he thought, now I have somewhere to hang my clothes other than the floor.
Then, a thrum ran through the birch wood, rattling and shaking as from distant footsteps.
A note slipped sharply from between the doors.
"We have delights," Steve read.
A prank, he thought, it has to be.
He approached, gripping his screwdriver tightly, and threw open the door.
It wasn't Mr. Tumnus who greeted him.
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