The Unexpected Stranger

The knocking had seeped into her dreams, along with the wailing of the wind. She dreamed she was being chased through a graveyard, alone in the night, running for her life. She heard heavy footsteps behind her and knew he was getting closer. Her small legs pushed forward, but his hand reached out and caught the hood of her jacket, and she knew this was the end.

Her screams rattled her awake, but she still didn’t feel safe. The branches of the huge maple tree in the front yard, outside the two windows at the front of her room, were now completely bare. Just a few weeks ago she had played under the cascade of orange and red leaves, making huge piles and taking turns jumping into them with her brothers.

But now the leaves were gone, stripped by the north wind, and the branches looked like a monster trying to grab her. Who was that chasing me? she wondered. Maybe it wasn’t a person at all. She pulled the blankets up to her nose, trying to get warm, eyes wide and darting around her room. While she loved this room in the daytime, the wraparound windows of the converted porch now cast shadows from passing cars across both walls. She wondered if someone outside was watching—peeking around the edges of the pulldown shades that didn’t quite meet the window frame.

Then she heard it—the knocking. At first she thought it was the sound from her nightmare still clinging to her like the threads of a spider’s web, full of danger and impossible to shake off. She held her breath and closed her eyes. No. No. No. But there it was again, coming from the front door. She waited and listened, hoping one of her parents would hear it and get up to answer. No. There it was again, this time even more insistent.

Then she thought about her sweet neighbor, Mrs. Dunne, and wondered if she was sick or needed help. Mrs. Dunne was always so kind—baking cookies and taking her on walks through her garden. The thought of her smile gave her the courage to sit up, find her slippers, and walk to the bedroom door. She opened it slowly so it wouldn’t creak on the old hinges. Then she walked to the living room window and peeked around the curtain.

There on the stoop was a man she didn’t know. She drew her head back quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen her. She stood next to the warm radiator, wondering what to do.

Just a few steps away was her parents’ friend Barbie, asleep on the pull-out sofa. She didn’t want to wake her or her baby sister, who was asleep in her parents’ room. The knocking came again, and she decided she didn’t have a choice. She quietly walked across the wood floors and opened the door just a few inches, leaving the chain attached—just like her mother did when her father was working his second job.

She peered up at the man but didn’t say a word. He looked irritated to see her. Without even saying hello, he demanded, “Is Barbie here?” She nodded and then added, “She can’t come to the door. She’s asleep.”

With that, his voice changed to desperation. “Please, I need to talk to her. It’s important.”

But the small girl shook her head again and, with more courage, reprimanded him: “No, Sir. I don’t know you, and I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

He seemed to understand, but he didn’t leave. He turned his face away to look down the street. When he did, she could see that his face was wet and looked like he’d been crying. Finally, he said, “Look, kid, can you do me a favor? Can you give her a message for me?”

She nodded again, because she felt his emptiness.

“Tell Barbie that I came to see her and I’m sorry. I thought about writing her a letter, but it would just make her upset. I really just wanted to tell her that I love her… and I’ll miss her.”

Then, as he started down the steps, she called out, “Hey mister, what’s your name?”

He turned around from the front walk, looked confused for a moment—like maybe he’d forgotten his own name—and finally said, “Ralph. My name’s Ralph. She knows who I am.” He walked down the street, passed the streetlight, and then he was gone.

She quietly closed the door, making sure it latched, and turned the lock above the handle. Then she walked to her room, slipped into bed, and fell back to sleep.

The next morning when she got up, she looked out the window and could see frost on the grass, the bushes that lined the front of the house, and the roofs of her neighbors’ houses. She couldn’t wait to tell her brothers. Even though it was only October and not even Halloween, she knew that frost meant it was below freezing and that it would probably snow soon.

She ran into the living room and saw the sofa had already been folded up. In her brother’s room, the boys were still asleep in their bunks, but she couldn’t wait. She shook her little brother Danny, who slept on the bottom bunk. He didn’t even open his eyes. Then she climbed to the top bunk and called out her older brother’s name, “Allen!”

He rubbed his eyes and asked, “You have another bad dream?”

It was her habit to come sleep in their room when she was afraid, but she shook her head. “No. Well, yeah, I did, but that’s not why I’m here. It’s morning and guess what? It looks like snow!” she blurted out.

He sat up and asked, “Really? Flurries?”

Winter was the highlight of their lives. Every year they looked forward to the first snow, sledding down the hill at the elementary school, building snowmen in the front yard, and making tall snow forts with their dad. Then, afterward, their mom made hot chocolate with cocoa and milk and cinnamon toast in the oven.

“No, it’s not snowing yet, but there’s frost all over the yard and on the bushes,” she announced, like she was an expert at the age of five.

With that, he crawled to the side of his bunk, jumped down to the floor, and ran to the window in one fluid motion. She scrambled down the ladder and joined him.

“What do you think? It looks like snow, doesn’t it?” she asked expectantly.

“Not sure,” he said. “The sky is gray, but I can’t tell if there are enough clouds. Let’s go ask Mom if she listened to the weather.” And they both bounded into the kitchen.

As soon as they came around the corner, they knew something was wrong. They halted in the doorway, taking in the scene. Barbie was sitting at the table holding a handkerchief to her eyes and crying. From the look of her red face, this had been going on a while.

Their mother had pulled her chair close and wrapped her arm around Barbie’s shoulders. She was talking to her in low whispers, telling her it was going to be all right and to just try not to think about it.

Their father was standing with his back to them, staring out the window above the kitchen sink. When he turned around, his face was full of anger, which he quickly tried to hide by saying good morning, coming over to them, and using his huge hands to guide them out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

She looked up at him and asked, “What’s wrong, Daddy? Why is Barbie crying?”

He picked her up and cradled her like she was still the baby. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Then he kissed her on the cheek, nibbling her face, and said, “Something grownups need to talk about.”

Allen quickly forgot about the crying in the kitchen and focused on the important question. “Dad, did you see the frost and the clouds outside? We think it looks like snow. Did you hear the weather this morning?”

Then her father set her down and walked to the front door and opened it.

To their glee, the flurries had just started, tiny, more like frozen rain, but that was enough.

They started talking at once. “Can we go sledding?” “Do you know where my boots are?” “What about my mittens and hat?” “We need to wake up Danny!”

But as they turned to get dressed, their father said, “Wait. Come back here.”

His face was serious, and he knelt so his eyes were level with theirs. “There are footprints in the frost on the porch and steps. Did either of you see anyone at the house this morning?”

Allen shook his head quickly and impatiently asked, “Now can we go sledding? Please????”

But their father didn’t move. “Beth? What about you?”

She looked down and bit the corner of her lip.

“Well, I thought it was just a bad dream, Daddy. But now I’m not sure,” as tears started to well up in her eyes.

He picked her up and held her on his knee. She placed her head on his chest and really started crying now. She knew that lying was bad, but she also knew opening the door to a stranger could get her into trouble too.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she sniffled, wiping her nose with her hand. “I woke up and heard someone knocking and didn’t want him to wake anyone else, so I answered the door.”

Her father was worried now. “Bethie, did you open the door?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, Mommy showed me how she uses the chain to look out but doesn’t open the door all the way, so that’s what I did.”

“That’s right, we need to be safe,” her dad assured her. “But who was here? And why?”

Feeling a little more confident that she wasn’t going to get in trouble, she told the whole story in one long breath. “It was a man who wanted to see Barbie. He said that he was sorry, and he loved her and then he left.”

Without her seeing, both her mother and Barbie were standing in the doorway of the kitchen, listening intently with worry in their eyes.

“A man?” her mother asked.

She nodded. “Yes, he said his name was Ralph,” she responded.

Barbie looked at her and then her father. “But that’s not possible. That couldn’t have happened. There’s no way he could have been here last night…” Her voice faltered, and then she crumpled, collapsing onto the floor.

Her father scooped her up and laid her on the sofa as her mother ran to the kitchen and got an ice bag to place on her head. They stood over her, quietly calling her name, asking her if she was all right, looking at each other with a shared fear that said so much more than they could bear to believe.

Finally, Barbie’s eyes fluttered, and for a moment she was confused. “Allen, Sheila? What am I doing here?” she asked.

“You’ve been staying with us for a few days. Just to think things over until you could decide what to do next,” her mother said in a soft voice.

Barbie tried to sit up and then laid back down. “I’m feeling so woozy.”

Then my dad said, “Yes, it’s been a hard day. Why don’t you just rest?”

As he stood to walk out of the room, he said, “Sheila, I’m going to take the kids outside to play in the snow.”

Although the flurries had just started, the world looked transformed. The grass was covered in a thin layer of ice, and the tree branches, bushes, and flowers looked like they had been dipped in glass. Beth thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, like a magical fairy village.

While she wandered around the yard looking at her crystal garden, her brothers had gotten out their red plastic sleds. Although the yard was flat, they were seeing who could slide the farthest by running at them full speed, throwing their bodies on them, and sliding across the yard.

After a while they told their dad they were hungry, and he started a fire in the grill and made hot dogs. They sat at the picnic table, with mustard, pickle juice, and catsup for Danny dripping down their smiling faces. It was truly a perfect day.

After baths, their mom wrapped them in warm pajamas that had just come out of the dryer. She was so sleepy that she could barely keep her eyes open but was happy when her dad sat down on the side of her bed to say prayers with her.

She asked him to sing to her, but first he wanted to talk to her.

“Bethie, today was a hard day for Barbie. I know you don’t know why, but I think you should know. Her friend Ralph died, and that’s why she was so sad, crying in the kitchen.”

Suddenly awake, she sat up and looked at his face. She sensed there was more that he wanted to say.

“Daddy, how did he die?”

He looked at her, and in her eyes, he knew that somehow, she would understand. “Sweetheart, sometimes people get really sad and even their friends and family don’t know how to make them happy again. And sometimes when this happens, people give up because it just hurts so much, they can’t go on.”

She nodded but was still not sure what he was saying. “So, he prayed to go see Jesus?”

Her dad shook his head. “Well, he might have, but he did more than just pray. He decided to end his life.”

She looked at him, silent and in shock. Still not comprehending but horrified. End his life. The words echoed in her mind. How? She wondered but didn’t ask because she was too afraid. She didn’t want to know.

Finally, she asked, “Daddy, when did Ralph die?”

Her father rubbed his face and looked down at the floor. “No one is really sure,” he said finally, “But sometime last night.”

Then all the pieces came together, and she knew what he didn’t want to say.

“But… after he came here to see Barbie and I wouldn’t let him? I told him he was a stranger, and I didn’t want to wake her up…”

“No, no, no,” her father interrupted her, repeating the word like a prayer. “Beth, he had already decided. This wasn’t because of you. Sometimes people just make bad choices. You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

But that night and for many to follow, Ralph came to visit her in her dreams. He’d knock on the door, and she’d answer just like before. But each time he only asked her one question:

“Can I please see Barbie now?”