Forced Friendliness

Rain poured onto the roof, pounding the shutters of the house just as hard as my heart was inside my chest. The stranger on my doorstep huddled against the wall, unaware of my curious eyes watching from the nearby window. Their dark cloak, damp and ragged, clung to their shoulders as rain narrowly missed their hunched back.

A deep breath is exhaled before I open the door. "Can I help you?"

"Let me in," the stranger croaked. Completely taken aback, I was only able to blink at them. No 'please,' no 'if it's no trouble to you,' just 'let me in'. I have to be hospitable... even in this situation, I have to be hospitable.

Putting on a warm but fake smile, I open the door wider. "Of course, come on in. Can I make you some tea?"

"Beer," came the course response, followed by the wet thump of the stranger's cloak hitting the floor, right next to the coat rack. I must seem frozen to this even colder response, for I don't move fast enough and am hit with, "Did you even hear me? Get me a beer."

Startled out of my wonder, I put my head down and went to retrieve the requested drink. Again, I had to stay hospitable.

When I returned, the stranger had made themself comfortable on my couch, their wet shoes dripping mud onto the freshly polished floors. Sighing, I handed them their drink. As I turned around I heard a sudden noise and right before I could turn to investigate, a sharp but heavy object hit my back. Cold washed over me, along with the feeling of glass breaking on my skin. They just threw glass at me! Now shaking, I turn around to see nothing but a wall of wet cloth. Now that they weren’t hunching, I realized just how tall the stranger was.

“I’ll just… get you a new one.” Even though I tried my hardest, my voice still shook as I spoke to who I now knew was a man. A large and grumpy one at that. His hooded eyes were as dark as that damned cloak and the storm outside.

“You don’t do it right, I’ll do it myself.” Using one impossibly large hand to push me aside not-so-gently, he lumbers into the kitchen, leaving me bleeding, wet with alcohol, and outrageously confused and angry.

Muttering the words “stay hospitable” to myself over and over, I paced, biting the already cracked bit of my thumbnail. “Grandma would want you to remain calm, mother would want you to remain kind,” I say to myself as I wonder what to do. Before I could make any kind of decision, my newest housemate came back.

He grunted at me, lifting his new identical drink in my direction before resuming squeezing out his cloak on my couch. My breathing became harder as my bewilderment became red hot like an iron. I didn’t snap, however, as my family’s voices filled my head: “Strangers have always been through worse than you can imagine, treat them with as much kindness as you would a starving dog.”

“Can I get you anything to eat?” I ask quietly, this time trying to suppress anger rather than fear or confusion.

Turning to look at me as if I was stupid, he raised his voice louder than before, “Of course I want something! Did your mother teach you anything? I was out in the rain all night, come on!”

Stunned back into silence at the mention of my mother, I move towards the doorway before asking what he wants.

“Anything you have.” He made direct eye contact with me for one of the first times. Thunder boomed right at that moment, a flash of lightning right on top of it, lighting up the angles of his face and accentuating his statement with terrifying foreshadowing. For he really and truly wanted everything.

First, he ate the leftover stew from my dinner, next to every single egg my hens had laid that week. Then went the vegetables, the meat, and any fruit he managed to find until my kitchen was picked clean. Only once he was sure there was absolutely nothing left in the house, he decided to retire to bed. In my bed, specifically.

The next morning my clothes were still damp from the couch and my muscles sore from my cramped sleeping position. The rain had thankfully cleared up, for I had to venture back into the market for more food for my unexpected visitor. Maybe you should just bring back the entire market, though knowing him, he’d still be hungry after that. Shaking inhospitable thoughts from my head, I entered the mostly empty market.

For the first time in years, I bought eggs not produced by my own chickens and vegetables not from my own garden. Meats filled my basket along with more spices, bread, cookies, pies, anything I could find. Raw carrots and onions and lettuce joined them as I realized I’d need more. Satisfied with what I got, I began to leave. 

However, on my way out, one specific vendor caught my eye. He was quiet, not like the rest of the people trying to get me to buy their food or clothes. His stance was casual as if he couldn’t care less whether someone bought his goods or not. As soon as he made eye contact with me, however, his entire demeanor changed. 

Standing up straighter, he beckoned to me silently. As I got closer and as fewer people blocked my view, I saw that there was nothing but a singular glass bottle on his table. Its cork was stained black and the fluid inside looked to be the cause. Wordlessly, he handed the bottle to me. “You know what to do.”

For reasons unknown, I kept it. And as I prepared breakfast for my beast of a houseguest, I contemplated. What is the bottle for? Why did he give it to me in exchange for nothing? But as I seasoned his steak and eggs and baked his biscuits and chicken pie, I realized. 

Without a second thought, I poured the bottle into, well, everything. Just enough to ensure the egg stayed yellow and the steak remained eye-watering, put it inside the biscuit and other baked goods as filling, and poured the last of it into the broths of any soups and stews I prepared. 

The giant ate them with no complaints, the food going down his greedy throat as if he wasn’t even tasting it. Within the hour, I was able to drag the hulking man’s body out of my house and into the backyard. The rain later that night washed away any remains leftover that the strays hadn’t reached. After all, I had to follow my mother’s and her mother’s advice: I did not let the dog starve.