The third and last piece of amateur fiction I’ve written recently. I’ll take it easy on y’all for a bit now while I work out a few more from the twisted mass of my grey matter.
(Written July 26, 2012)
My fingers pry up a slat on the vinyl blind. He is there, at the end of the drive way, standing on the street and staring at me. Just like every other night for the past two weeks, He taunts me. There is a motion in the darkness, which wraps around Him like a thick blanket. A cherry red ember of light glows to life as the shadowy figure seems to take a long draw on a cigarette. The darkness clings like a suit to Him. I can’t make out any features – white, black, pale, tan, hints of age. There are no street lamps burning, no porch lights on. It’s as if, when He is present, light simply refuses to burn unless He wills it.
Returning to the tattered recliner, one of the few items my former wife left me in the divorce, my back sighs with relief as I settle down into it. The flicker of images on the television aren’t interesting enough to capture my attention again and hold it. Instead, my mind begins to wander. He does this to me. Seven nights a week my brain kicks into over drive and burns the midnight oil well into the early morning light. Can’t sleep. My performance at work was already in question because of the distraction caused by the divorce, but when I started factoring in the new-found insomnia … Well, let’s just say that 10 years of my life dedicated to their firm was no longer of any value.
Marissa was no different. Thirty-five years of marriage and two grown children later, and she runs off with a … Well, a boy, actually. The man not much older than our son, who himself is 23. Good riddance to her, I say. The children say I’ve changed, as well. Son and daughter both in colleges in different states. Never visit. Only a phone call once every few months when their checking accounts are running low or are already overdrawn. Well, the news next time they call will be that I am in the same boat.
No income. No wife. No children. Just me. And my nightly visitor at the end of the drive, shrouded in the blanket of night. He will come for me one night, I know. Soon. The drive way will become his red carpet, and in slow steady strides that my eyes won’t be able to detect, the Dark Man will come for me. His rapping on the door, the smoke wafting into the chill night air. Just me and him, finally face-to-face.
It’s just a matter of time, but I can feel my time wearing thin, dwindling down to nothing.
When daylight finally breaks and the birds chirping outside the window (actually, they started about an hour before sunrise – early birds and their worms and all). My eyelids grow heavy. Sleep takes me as a beam of sunlight splinters through a crack in the blinds. But the night will come again and so will he. Will tonight be the night?