FEBRUARY 2025
The Visitor
My Story of the Month for February is something deeply personal. Forty years ago this month, my sister and I lost our mother at the age of just 44. As a tribute, ‘The Visitor’ is a little story that tells what maybe could have happened… plus what I wish had happened!
She just wanted to sleep, why wouldn’t they let her sleep? She had a terrible migraine, she needed to sleep it off before Jean arrived to take her for lunch. Hopefully, the painkillers would kick in before long: for now, she just needed to sleep.
But whoever was at the front door wasn’t giving up. The persistent, loud knocking that had woken her had been going on for several minutes. She wanted to shout, ‘Go away,’ but that would tell them she was in. Better to hang on until they left of their own accord. ‘Please make it soon,’ she prayed to herself.
The knocking continued, the rapping of knuckles against glass, it was grating on her nerves, impossible to ignore. Couldn’t they see there was a doorbell? Although, maybe it was as well they weren’t using it, they’d have worn it out. She glanced at the clock. Jean wasn’t due for over three hours, it couldn’t be her. Gillian was at school, Chris was at work, both of them had their own keys anyway… or they’d use the bell. Adrian would let himself in too and, while her husband often popped home for lunch, it was way too early for that.
So, who on earth was banging at the door?
Lying back, she closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. Surely the visitor would give up soon, go away, leave her in peace. Please!
But they were unrelenting, refusing to stop, it just went on and on, the sound boring into her brain. What kind of person would keep up this torment for so long, what did they want?
It was no use, she would have to answer the door. Sighing, she struggled out of bed and pulled on her housecoat. The knocking seemed to get even louder. “Alright, I’m coming,” she shouted, wincing as the pain shot across her temples, her migraine escalating to new, previously unexplored heights of agony.
She went down the stairs slowly, careful not to trip in her old, badly worn slippers, and approached the front door. She could see a figure through the frosted glass, a tall man in dark clothes, but she couldn’t make out anything else.
“Who is it?” she shouted.
The visitor didn’t reply.
“Look, whatever it is you’re selling, you’re wasting your time. I don’t buy from door-to door salesmen. Try number twenty-five, they’ll buy anything.”
Again, no reply… at least not in words. The visitor tapped the glass again, loudly, insistently. There was something compelling about it, like she had no choice but to open the door. But she knew she shouldn’t, she should phone Adrian, maybe even the police. That was it, that was how she could get rid of this annoying nuisance.
“Go away or I’ll call the police.”
The dark figure seemed to pay no attention, simply knocking the door yet again. The sound of those knuckles against the glass was driving her crazy, the compulsion to open the door getting stronger, taking hold of her senses. She found herself reaching out, turning the latch… and pulling.
Her jaw dropped as she stared aghast at the visitor on her doorstep, “Oh… it’s you, I wasn’t expecting you, I…”
He spoke at last, giving her a cold, thin smile, “It never ceases to amaze me how you are always surprised, when you surely most know I would be coming some day.”
“Well, I er… I suppose so… but I… I didn’t think you’d come so soon, I thought…”
“May I come in?”
“I, er, I… can I stop you?”
“Many have tried,” he laughed softly, “but no, you cannot stop me. You owe a debt and I always collect, without fail.”
“But I need more time, I…”
“No,” he shook his head, “no more time… no exceptions.”
“OK,” she nodded, “I, er… I understand.” She was scared, very scared, though not as scared as she’d always thought she’d be when this moment came. Somehow, she felt a strength coming from somewhere within, keeping her calm. Her migraine had gone too, that helped.
“W-w-where do you want to do it?” she stammered.
“In your bedroom. You lead the way,” he gestured towards the stairs.
She climbed the steps, shivering in fear, “Please, I know you have to do this, I know it’s, er… inevitable you would come one day, and I can’t stop you taking what you’re here for, that it’s something I owe and I must pay the price, but please… please don’t hurt me, not any more than you have to… please.”
“How much it hurts is entirely down to you. If you just relax, do not struggle, accept what I must do, there will be very little pain.”
They reached the bedroom. “Sit on the side of the bed,” he ordered.
As she sat down, she saw the framed photograph on her bedside table: Adrian and the children on holiday last year; they all looked so happy. She felt terrible; when they found out, they would be devastated. Maybe not Adrian, he thought she didn’t know about Delia, but she knew alright, she’d known for months, she chose to turn a blind eye for the sake of the children, to spare them the embarrassment.
The children though, now, after this… there might not be much pain for her, but the heartache they were going to suffer would be unbearable. Thinking about them, about the trauma they would endure because of her, she wanted to weep, break down and beg for more time, but the tears refused to come.
It wasn’t fair, they were so young, they shouldn’t have to go through this now, so soon. She and Chris were so close, like best friends, how would he cope: a man in theory but, in truth, really still a boy, still so vulnerable. And Gillian, only sixteen, on the cusp of becoming a woman, they’d barely had chance to get to know each other.
“Lie back, but keep your feet on the floor,” the visitor commanded.
She did as he asked, her mind whirling with regret, feeling desperately sorry for her children. It would be such a shock, what would it do to them?
The visitor stood in front of her, he leaned forward, looming over her, reaching out towards her. This was it. She felt oddly numb, detached, as if it was a dream, like she wasn’t really here. But she knew it was real, she knew she had to do something… something to help her children deal with the pain. “Wait, please,” she cried.
“Everyone says that,” he gave his cold, thin smile again, “but I am afraid I cannot. You have seen me now, you must come with me. Lie still and accept it, then it will not hurt, I promise you.”
“Please, my children, I can’t leave my children like this, it’s not fair.”
“But it is fair, you have had a life, now I must take you.”
“Please, just a couple of days, so I can talk to them, say goodbye… please. I don’t care about myself, but please let me say goodbye to my children.”
“I cannot do that. Once you have seen me, I must take you; none among the living must know of me, I cannot allow you to speak to them.”
“Then don’t let me speak, put me in a coma or something, but please, I beg you, let my children have some time to adjust before you take me. Not for me… for them.”
He stood back, rubbing his chin, “It is highly irregular, but I suppose I could…”
“Yes, yes… please.”
“I could give you… let us say three days. You will not be able to speak, or move, you will be in darkness, paralysed and helpless. Is that truly what you want?”
“Will my children be able to see me, speak to me?”
“Yes… you will even be able to hear them. But you will not be able to respond.”
“That’s good enough, that’s all I wanted… for them to have a chance to say goodbye,” she closed her eyes and smiled; “I’ll see you in three days.”
“Three days, it is.”
“Thank you, er… do you have a name?”
“You know my name.”
“Of course, yes, er…”
He reached forward and placed his cold, bony hand on her forehead.
“Thank you…” she began, but the darkness descended before she could finish.
*
She woke with a start. It had seemed so real, all had been lost; she’d been terrified. But now, as the realisation dawned it had just been a dream, albeit a vivid, terrible one, the relief flooded through her veins like a palpable force. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the awful apparition. It had been so convincing, so…
The loud banging came at the front door, the rapping of bony knuckles against glass, grating on her nerves, impossible to ignore. It had infiltrated her dreams, it was what had woken her… but, this time, it was real.
She felt her body turn to ice, the fear rising inside threatening to paralyse her. He’d come for her, just like the dream… it had been a warning, a premonition. What could she do, was there any way to escape?
The noise was unrelenting, refusing to stop, going on and on. She’d just stay here, ignore it; he couldn’t get her if she didn’t answer the door. But she was compelled to follow the same path, unable to resist, as if she had no control, no free will. She struggled out of bed, pulling on her housecoat. “Alright, I’m coming,” she winced as the pain shot across her temples…
Going down the stairs slowly, careful not to trip in her old slippers, she approached the front door. She could see him through the frosted glass, a tall figure dressed in black. “Who is it?” she demanded, knowing there would be no answer. The visitor tapped the glass again, loudly, insistently, compellingly.
“Go away or I’ll call the police,” she shouted, cursing herself for following the same script, letting herself be led to the same dreadful conclusion, only this time it was no dream, no premonition… it was actually happening.
The dark figure paid no attention, knocking the door yet again; the sound of those bony knuckles against the glass driving her crazy, the compulsion to open the door taking hold of her senses. She had no choice, no control over her actions; she reached out, turned the latch… and pulled.
Staring at the visitor, she stammered, “Oh… it’s you, I…”
He gave her the same cold, thin smile, “It never ceases to amaze me how you are always surprised, when…”
“Oh, just fuck off, will you.”
She slammed the door, bolted it shut, and went back to bed.