The Visitation

Hello, officer, I’m concerned about my neighbour’s safety.

I’m Chris McNeill from fifty-two Galley Lane…

His name’s James Ratcliffe with an “e”…

Jim lives opposite me at fifty-three…

I believe strangers have abducted him…

They’ve got gold skin and black eyes…

No, officer, this isn’t a prank call…

Yes, I appreciate you’re busy but…

Please, just allow me to explain…

#

Sherry and I aren’t nosey neighbours, however we couldn’t help noticing Jim’s house guests. They first appeared late one night about a fortnight ago. A series of thunderous blasts rattled our double glazing and bursts of bright light illuminated our bedroom. Sherry woke with a start and shoved me out of bed to investigate the kerfuffle. I stumbled across our room, shielding my eyes as I approached the window. Peering past our curtains, I saw the outline of Jim’s house silhouetted by pulsating flashes of light that emanated from behind his property.

We’d both been worried about Jim ever since his wife’s departure. He’d lost contact with the outside world except for regular on-line grocery orders and deliveries from the liquor store. Clearly, it was far too late for a consignment of his favourite tipple, and today’s groceries were still on the front doorstep. 

The disturbance continued for about five minutes until the loud noises ceased and the bursts of light diminished. It was then I noticed a ground floor light come on and saw two tall, dark figures framed in the front room window. It was difficult to identify them, and after the blinds snapped shut, the neighbourhood remained peaceful all night.

#

Jim Ratcliffe and I are a similar age, though you’d never know it. He received life-changing injuries on a training exercise in the Pacific during his military service. The damage resulted in a severe back problem and lack of mobility, impacting both his physical and mental wellbeing. The Navy pensioned Jim after his accident. However, he was a hollow shell on his return. Jim had retired a decade earlier than planned, hit the bottle, and got divorced from Anthea within two years. Anthea told Sherry she couldn’t stand the endless drinking, self-pity and alleged violence toward her. It was all too much, and she left him.

It's been tough witnessing Jim struggle by himself and adapting to his new life in a wheelchair. We weren’t the closest of neighbours, however we do what we can nowadays, given his predicament. Sherry worries that Jim’s neglecting himself and takes him an occasional hot meal. 

#

The next day, I wandered over to Jim’s place with my secateurs. I had a long-standing arrangement to help maintain his garden, and the border shrubs required my attention. As I crunched up Jim’s gravel driveway to the front door, I spotted an upper curtain twitch and a curious golden face disappeared from view. Knowing Jim would be downstairs, I didn’t give it a second thought and presumed it must be his visitors, making themselves at home.

I rang the bell three times and, after waiting in vain, I proceeded to the side entrance. Jim trusted me to get on with the gardening, and I knew the work he required. As I approached the side gate, I heard tiny footsteps on the gravel pathway ahead. I eased open the double doors on their rusty hinges and glimpsed a pretty little girl. She had a golden face and wore a foil bodysuit that glinted in the morning light. Her beady eyes were pitch-black and intense, halting me in my tracks. As I opened my mouth to speak, her face contorted into a snarl and she hissed like a feral cat before scampering into the undergrowth. 

I closed the gates behind me and headed towards an unkempt bay tree that needed pruning. There was no obvious sign of a vehicle or tyre tracks on the turf, although there were four symmetrical scorch marks. I attributed them to over-zealous leaf burning; an activity Jim enjoyed every October. His many trees produced an abundance of autumnal debris and he often asked me to collect and incinerate them.

After snipping away for half an hour, I noticed a seated figure watching me from behind the kitchen door’s fly-screen.

Hey, Jim! I said, ambling over to greet him. How’re things?

He grunted an unintelligible response as I approached the rear porch.

You never mentioned your granddaughter was here, Jim.

He gestured towards the bay trees and muttered something I failed to hear.

We can chat later if you’re busy, I said, pausing on the lowest step.

Jim raised his arm and waved it somewhat mechanically, retreating into the shadows again.

In retrospect, the entire exchange felt uncomfortable, and most unlike our usual friendly banter. It was almost as if he were a puppet or an automaton. However, despite skulking behind the protective mesh, it never occurred to me I wasn’t addressing Jim. I just assumed he was short of sleep after the night’s disturbance.

#

A week later, I paid Jim another visit to deliver a letter posted in error at my address. The postman was new to the area and always in a rush to finish his round on time. Our house in Galley Lane was at the end of his route, and often he stuffed any remaining letters in our mailbox in desperation.

Jim answered his door, clutching the doorframe for support. It was the first time I'd seen him standing upright for three years. The sudden improvement to his health was a surprise, although his face remained impassive.

You’ll never guess what, Jim, I said, brandishing his letter. He’s done it again.

Is that for me? Jim asked, gazing at me as though we’d never met.

You’ve got mail, I said, stammering a brief explanation as I handed it over.

He received it, offered a rigid smile, and returned inside.

#

It was Sherry who spotted the additional occupants at number fifty-three. I hadn’t been counting how many visitors were occupying Jim’s home. The visitors restricted all their activities to nighttime and kept a low profile during the daylight. We were aware of their unconventional behaviour, but as long as Jim was fine and they didn’t abuse his hospitality, we presumed there was nothing untoward.

#

Yesterday Jim answered the door standing tall and proud, looking twenty years younger. It was a remarkable transformation, but something was missing; he wasn’t himself. His light pallor had a faint golden hue and his pupils were black, like asphalt. Jim’s eyes had lost their playful sparkle and his jokey, self-deprecating wit was absent, too. Our exchange felt contrived, despite his rejuvenated appearance. 

Who’s that, honey? Asked a woman’s voice from inside.

Just the neighbour, said Jim.

Surely, that’s not—-

Excuse me, please. 

Is that Anthea?

I’m required out back.

With that said, he closed the door. I shook my head in disbelief and stumbled down the front steps, returning home with deep lines etched on my forehead.

#

A week after reporting my concerns, two policemen arrived at Jim’s address. They couldn’t get a response at the front and gained entry through the rear door. The attending officers’ cursory inspection confirmed the owner was absent, and they noted the fuse box under the stairs wasn’t working. Their report surmised an excessive electrical demand had blown all the fuses, which accounted for the puddle of water under the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Don’t you reckon Jim’s disappearance is suspicious? asked Sherry.

We get calls like this all the time, said the lead officer. A leaking appliance isn’t grounds for a nationwide manhunt. 

I suppose not, but—-

After all, there’s no law against abandoning a property and failing to leave a forwarding address.

They closed the case due to lack of evidence and no positive line of enquiry.

#

Sherry said that Jim wouldn’t leave his beloved home by choice. He had no mortgage and received a pension that covered all his out-goings and expenses. She persuaded me to pop over and see if the authorities had overlooked anything. Despite my concern about Jim’s disappearance, my visit to his house revealed nothing else. None of it made sense to Sherry. She maintained we’d all missed something obvious. 

Had anyone looked in the greenhouse? 

What about the garage?

#

The greenhouse was a complete mess; its panes were all shattered and shards of glass covered the soil. The sorry state of repair was odd, as Jim spent so much time pottering about in there. However, it revealed neither clues as to his whereabouts nor evidence of any nefarious activity.

I said a search of the garage was a waste of time because Jim hadn’t owned a vehicle since Anthea disappeared in the Toyota Camry after their divorce. Anyhow, I forced up the metal coiling door six inches to peep underneath. As soon as I bent down, a foul stench assaulted my nostrils. It was coming from the depths of the garage. Peering inside, I spotted Jim’s wheelchair. It was lying on its side by the freezer cabinet. There was also a distinct hum; the high-pitched whine of ravenous bluebottles. I wriggled under the door and headed towards the cold chest, protecting my nose and mouth with my sleeve. A cloud of black flies greeted me as I raised the lid. I recoiled back, catching my breath with the stench. Jim hadn’t left his home after all. His remains were plain to see.

The End