Midnight Visitor

“I’ll be heading out now Mr Clark,” Tim called from the front of the shop.

“Please call me Walter, son. Say hi to your mother for me, I’ll see you next weekend.”

Tim smiled back before zipping up his jacket and disappearing out into the rain.

Walter listened as the door chime gradually faded. He would most likely go without speaking to another person until he saw Tim the following Saturday. He had managed to run the bookstore alone for the last 30 years, so didn’t really need extra help. But it was nice to have the company.

It was approaching 7pm. The chances of any more customers coming in were slim, but Walter hesitated as he was about to switch off the lights. He paused and breathed in the comforting smell of the books around him. It was always difficult to leave the warm glow of the store, especially on blustery nights. A moment passed before he pressed his lips together into a thin line and reluctantly stepped into the night.

Walter said a silent prayer of thanks as his rusty pickup truck grumbled to a start. He was long overdue an upgrade, but his wife, Meg, had loved the old thing so he couldn’t bear to part with it. Besides, it still worked, didn’t it? The windscreen wipers screeched and moaned as they got going into a rhythm as Walter pulled out of his spot. He fiddled with the radio briefly before settling on a crackly country station. It was only a five-minute drive, so it would do. The radio’s job wasn’t to entertain, only to destroy the silence.

The tires plunged through the murky puddles as Walter pulled into the driveway. He was home. But it hadn’t felt like any kind of home since Meg had departed this life. Leaving behind an empty shell. It was crippling to continue living there, but the thought of selling up was too painful to consider. The house was one of his last links to her.

He eventually mustered up the courage to make his way up the porch steps and gave an almighty sigh as he pushed himself through the front door. Meg’s homemade Christmas wreath was still hanging on the knocker. It was brown and dried up, but still carried a feint smell of cinnamon. Meg had always bought a Christmas themed perfume for the holidays and had taken to spraying it on all their decorations. Walter thought it a little excessive at the time, but now he was thankful she’d left a small piece of herself behind for him.

Once inside, Walter switched on the TV and made his way into the kitchen. Some mind-numbing game show was on, but that would do. He never sought anything truly riveting, the background chatter was what he needed. The house felt cold without it.

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his eyes glanced at the answering machine. No pulsing light meant no new messages. No new messages today. His heart sank. It had been two months since he’d heard from his kids, Nancy and Travis. They were living out of state with families of their own and hadn’t been back home since the funeral. He knew coming back was painful for them, and apparently speaking to him was also too much to handle. Walter tossed an old newspaper over the machine; he didn’t want to be reminded of his loneliness.  

He grabbed a beer and some leftover bolognese before sinking into the couch. His spot for the rest of the evening. Sleeping in bed without Meg still felt wrong, so he’d gotten used to sleeping downstairs, usually with the TV left on all night. It was just easier to sleep that way.

Two bowls of bolognese and too many beers later, Walter dropped off into a slumber. He found that food and alcohol couldn’t solve all his problems, but they certainly helped.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

His head ached as he struggled to open his eyes. The television flickered, streaming fluorescent light across the room as he strained to focus on the screen. By the looks of it some guy was about to win big on Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

He sat up on the couch. At first, he couldn’t tell if it was just his head that was pounding.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

No. There was definitely someone at the door. Walter craned his neck to look at the clock on the oven. 00:52.

No one he knew would turn up announced – especially at this hour. So, who the hell was it?

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Walter slid off the couch onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the window ledge. He wrapped his forefinger around the course edge of the living room curtains before pulling it back just an inch. Cautiously, he peered out into the night.

A hooded figure stood on his porch. They were empty handed, so surely not some kind of burglar, and how many burglars knock to announce their arrival?

The visitor swayed from one foot to the other, occasionally looking over their shoulder before pacing back and forth across the porch. They returned to the front door.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

More concerned about Meg’s wreath being smashed to smithereens than anything else, Walter got to his feet and approached the door. He fumbled with the security chain and shifted the door open, just a few inches.

The young man standing there looked up swiftly at Walter, shocked that someone had actually answered the door. The boy had straggly, sopping wet hair hanging over his eyes, so it was difficult to gauge his age. But he couldn’t have been older than 17.

“Can I help you?” Walter said calmly, not quite sure what to say.

The boy looked down at his shoes and scratched at his head through the sodden hoodie.

“I didn’t think anyone would answer,” he croaked in reply.

“Well, I have. I’m sorry to be abrupt, but if there’s something I can help you with, please tell me. It’s almost 1am.”

“It is? I’d lost track of the time. I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t know where else to go. Your house was the only one I saw with a light on, so I thought someone would be awake. I… I just need someone to talk to. Please.” The boy’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d just spent the night at a heavy metal concert.

Walter peered past his midnight visitor at the rain pounding onto the ground. He frowned slightly before turning to the boy.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He spun around back into the house and made his way to the linen closet. An array of bed sheets and towels flopped onto the ground. His eyes shifted to a large green towel that had landed at his feet. It had Travis’ initials sewn into it, along with a little blue boat, a gift from Meg when he had started swimming lessons. Walter had tried to convince Travis to take it with him when he moved out for college, but it had been left behind with everything else his son had deemed too ‘lame’ for a college dorm.

It would do. Walter jogged back to the front door and handed the towel over to the boy on his porch.

“Here, dry yourself off and come in.”

The visitor cautiously looked over his shoulder, before shuffling into the house, clutching the towel.

The two of them stood awkwardly for a moment, the TV still blaring in the corner. Someone new was trying their luck at winning the jackpot.

“Please, take a seat,” Walter said as he cleared up the beer bottles and plates from the coffee table. He wasn’t sure why he was tidying up for a complete stranger who had knocked on his door in the middle of the night, but it had been so long since someone else had been in the house, so it felt like the right thing to do.

The towel wrapped around his shoulders, the boy peeled off his drenched black hoodie and sat on the edge of the couch. He peered around the room.

Walter returned with a glass of water for him.

“You’ve sure got a lot of photos up in here, your family upstairs in bed?”

“No,” Walter replied as he looked to the ground, “it’s just me”.

“Where are they then?”

“My kids live a couple of hours a way with their own families. And my wife, she, she passed away.”

“Oh,” The boy took a gulp of water and hunched his shoulders, “I’m sorry”.

“Son, what’s your name? And what are you doing here? What is it I can help you with?”

The visitor took another sip of water and put the glass on the ground. He rubbed his eyes vigorously with his forefingers and swept his bedraggled hair out of his face.

“It’s Sam.”

“Sam. I’m Walter. What’s going on with you Sam? Why did you show up at my house tonight?” Walter replied, trying to strike the balance between being too soft or stern.

Sam’s eyes remained glued to the floor. Staring intently, Walter could almost hear his brain ticking over.

“My parents, they kicked me out. I don’t have any friends in this town. I just need some place to stay tonight.”

Walter sighed, “Well, I’m sorry, son, but you can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be right. How about I call someone for you, is there someone I could call? Someone who could come and get you?”

“I told you, I don’t know anyone nearby,” Sam shifted on the couch, agitated.

“How about I drive you back to your parents’ house? I’m sure you can figure things out with them. I could help smooth things over?”

Sam chuckled as he planted his elbows on his knees, one of them jiggling erratically.

“You don’t know them. They hate me. They always have. According to my father I’m ‘useless’. Trust me, they don’t want me there”, Sam was hunched over himself, but Walter could still hear the way he spat out his words, full of loathing.

He pursed his lips as he thought of his own father. He was a bitter man who never seemed satisfied with his son’s efforts to please him. Nothing was ever good enough for him. That’s why Walter had always tried his best to be patient with Travis and Nancy, giving them every ounce of love and support he could. But where were they now?

“Look,” Walter sighed as he scratched the back of his neck, “you can stay here till the morning, but you need to sort things out with your family tomorrow, okay?”

“Thank you, sir, I really appreciate this. I mean it,” Sam looked up at Walter for the first time and stared at him with his icy blue eyes.

“Don’t mention it. You can sleep on the couch,” Walter gulped anxiously as he thought of sleeping in his bed for the first time in months, “let me get some proper bedding.”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“First door at the top of the stairs.”

Sam nodded and headed up the stairs, his soaked sneakers squeaking against the wooden floor as he walked.

Walter set up a bed for Sam on the couch and fetched him a fresh glass of water. He couldn’t quite believe he was letting a stranger sleep in his house, but it felt like the right thing to do. He wished someone had taken him in after the screaming matches he had regularly faced with his own father growing up. Meg would be proud of him, he hoped.

As he stretched across the couch to fit the bed sheet, he accidentally knelt on the remote and the TV jolted through the channels before landing on the 24-hour news station.

“Police are searching for 16-year-old Ryan Cole this morning following a fatal incident at his family home,” a flat news voice projected out into the living room.

Exhausted, Walter collapsed into his armchair and gazed at the TV.

“If anyone has seen Ryan or knows of his whereabouts, please get in contact with the authorities. Ryan is described as having a slim build with long brown hair and blue eyes.”

He leaned forward slightly and peered closely at the television.

“It has been reported that Ryan was wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans when he was last seen.”

Walter eyed Sam’s hoodie on the floor. It had fallen off the arm rest where it had left a damp ring in its place.

“Please look closely at your television sets. We have a recent photo of Ryan Cole on screen, now. If you recognise Ryan and have seen him in the last 12 hours, please get in touch using the number at the bottom of your screen.”

It was the piercing blue eyes he noticed first.

‘Sam’ smiled at Walter through the television screen. He looked different in the photo, hair slicked back and grinning, but it was him.

Dread seeped through his body. He could hear his own heartbeat, feel the blood pumping through every inch of his body, urging him to move and take action. But he was frozen solid. Feet planted on the ground. The news anchor was still talking. Walter continued to stare at the TV but was no longer listening. He was stuck.

The squeak of Ryan’s shoes coming down the stairs broke him from the spell. Walter could feel his eyes on him but didn’t turn around, his neck stiff with shock. The squeaking stopped.

The air felt thick as Walter took a breath in. Ryan’s picture was still on the television, the icy blue eyes staring at him from both directions now. But still, neither of them moved an inch.

“Walter?” Ryan called from the staircase. His voice was different now, deeper, more in control.

His body still rigid, Walter rotated his body towards Ryan, finally meeting his gaze.

“You’re still going to help me out Walter. Aren’t you?”