The Resident

Ike flew out of the backdoor as fast as he could. Would he come after me? What would he do when he caught me? Would he kill me? Ike thought as he desperately prayed to God. The man had a gun, while Ike was defenceless. Ike reached his hiding spot, the one that had kept him hidden for so many years.

Ike could see a window from here. He didn’t want to look inside, but he mustered up some courage and looked. Inside, there was the bodies of his parents. They were still hugging each other, the way they were when they died. Tears found the way to his eyes and before he knew it, Ike was full on weeping. Ike was suddenly looking around, trying to find something to impale himself on. He finally found something and the world went black.

356 YEARS LATER

I hesitated, my fists an inch away from the door. Should I do it? Is the money worth it? The questions whizzed through my brain. I slowly lowered my fists, realising I would just have to get someone else, but something inside me stopped me from turning away and retreating to my house.

“I’m not a four year old. I won’t be scared of some mysterious, weird neighbour!” I muttered to myself. Slowly, my fists moved towards the door. Doubts circling my brain like vultures circling roadkill. I finally mustered all my courage and knocked.

The door opened as soon as I knocked, revealing a strange man who was definitely not my neighbour.

“How…” my voice trailed of as he looked at me.

“What took you so long?” he asked me, “I was standing at the door for ages, waiting for you to knock.” I was tempted to ask him how he knew that I was standing at the door.

Instead, I asked him, “Who are you?” I expected him to say something like cousin or a long lost son but he didn’t answer. Instead, he chuckled and stated, “Inquisitive one isn’t he. All your questions will be answered in due time.” I looked at him weirdly, trying to figure out if there was a joke I had missed.

Seeing the look on my face he exclaimed, “Oh! Where are my manners? Come on in.”

Half an hour later, I was seated in my neighbour’s armchair, sipping a hot coffee. Time after time, I had tried to question him about my neighbour but he managed to evade my question’s entirely. Now he was seated opposite me, and I finally had the chance to question him.

“Where is my neighbour?” I practically hissed at him. He raised his eyebrows, surprised at my anger.

“Someone’s feisty eh,” he laughed at me. “Ok, fine. Your neighbour died ten years ago. When you were nine,” he answered as soon as I glared at him. I was about to ask him how he knew my age when I realised that he said my neighbour had died ten years ago.

“I’m sorry. I think I misheard you. Can you please say the part about my neighbour again?” I politely asked him.

He looked at me, his face impassable and serious. “Your neighbour died ten years ago!” he repeated, slowly and loudly like I couldn’t understand English. I glared into his eyes, trying to find some evidence that he was joking. There was an extended silence, in which I was expecting him to burst out laughing and say that he was out or something but nothing happened.

“But I saw him yesterday, gardening!” I exclaimed.

The stranger pulled a face, “That was me. I hate gardening, however John loved it. It was one of the many things we disagreed on.” As he said it, he studied his hands, as if the word gardening had suddenly changed him.

I looked at him confused. “But you don’t look like him at all…,” I struggled to find words, “He is… he is old. And you…” I leaned forward and touched his hand, looking for something unnatural. I half expected him to shy away from my touch but he watched me as I studied his hand. He finally sighed.

“I’ll show you,” as soon as he said that, he disappeared. Suddenly, he reappeared. However this time he looked… old and Johnny. I gasped in shock and stared at him. Laughter filled the room and before I knew it, he appeared back in his chair.

“Your human though…” as soon as I said it, I felt stupid. He laughed at me again.

“I am not human. However, I was 300 or so years ago,” he told me. I shook my head, trying to put my thoughts back in order. I decided to ask him about John.

“You knew John?” I questioned him.

“Before he died, yes,” he replied with no emotion.

“You don’t seem sad,” I noted.

“I have lived here like this for three hundred and fifty six years and no resident has been as bad as he has,” he explained. I didn’t know John that well but he seemed nice when I spoke to him.

“I… I thought he was nice!” I thought about John. How he helped me sell my artwork when I was eight and how he would buy me gifts.

“Oh, he was nice. He just had bad tastes!” the thing exclaimed, “Very, very bad tastes!” I decided to get straight to the point.

“Why have you showed me this? Your powers and your existence. It’s not like I’m a resident or anything?” I questioned him. A huge grin broke out of his face. I knew I said something stupid. But what is it? Why is he smiling then?

He glanced at his watch, “Any minute now, a lawyer is going to come and tell your family that John had died?” That seemed normal, then why did it seem as if he knew something I didn’t? Then it hit me.

“Why a lawyer? Why not a family member or a funeral director?” I asked him, confusion seeping into my voice.

“Because Mr Parks, you are now officially the new resident of my house!” he announced.

A month later

“We are now roomies!” he exclaimed, excitedly slapping me on the back, “Let me show you around the house.” I allowed him to steer me towards the steers.

“Tell me more about yourself. Your name, your history… you get the idea,” I said.

“My name…,” he choked as he said it, “Well, they call me the wanderer.”

“Your name,” I commanded.

“My name is… my name is Ike.”