by Andrew Arasimowicz

It was nice overlooking the lake as I lingered by the fire. Beneath several blankets, in the fetal position; allowing the sky to alter colors in a space with no volume. 

I’d been looking forward to getting away from it all regardless. A little time finally to myself to whimper in warmth. It was by good chance then, that I left after it all went down. I have no patience for Gossips; and whatever fantasy lands their delusions construct. The truth is known now, and I think they’re crafting new fictions to fit what they wish.

But I wouldn’t brood in anger over Nothings and Nobodies. It was my time, and I would enjoy my peace.

I could hear the storm outside in the night. But a crack in the fire told me I Am Here, and I remained on the couch. Warm. Safe. Secure. At last with my privacy.

I was in that blissful state of living with my mind dead when the knocking began. It took me a bit to come back here. To debt, betrayal, and aging. I thought it was either a tree branch or dumb animal at first. Banging against the front from the wind or instinct.

The continued knocking corrected me. And it just grew louder, refusing to follow any rhythm to let me nod back to daydreams. It was a noise outside my peace. And I could only grumble in anger. Did not this would be Voorhees know how much I suffered? Did he not know how much I needed this little away from it all? Here I was; finally enjoying the solitude I’d been planning for months, and in the peace of near slumber comes this KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I didn’t move from the couch. I refused.

“Hello? Hello? Somebody in there?” The voice belonged to some strange man. More the reason not to budge. “I can see a light in the window. There’s nothing else around for miles. I know you’re in there.”

Intelligent. Likely plotting something.

“Don’t you see the storm? Don’t you hear the rain? Please! I need help!” His knocking grew louder, as if I hadn’t heard him before. I half thought him trying to tear down the door; and I applauded my wisdom in the renovations I’d undertaken the year before. Besides, there was a hunting rifle nearby if he couldn’t be civilized.

“Please! I don’t have anything. Just my keys to a truck which won’t work and a jacket that won’t keep me warm. I just need a room for the night! Maybe a phone to call for assistance. But I’ll die out here if you don’t let me in! Please!”

His howling matched the wind, and I even lost my sense to pity. But I knew what he was trying to do. He was manipulating me. Trying to coercive me to his will and have me feel guilt for exercising my rights. I wouldn’t fall for such tricks. I know all humans are the same.

“I’ve been walking for miles! My legs are on fire, and I can’t feel my feet! I can feel the cold in my bones, and if I’m out here a few more hours a finger or toe is likely to go black. Please! Please let me in!”

In between whining, he continued to knock. Now at a ferocity which could break diamonds, and I thought he should save the energy for heaven’s gate.

“Please! Please! I need your assistance! Can’t you tell how desperate I am! There’s skin on your door, and there’s splinters in my blood! Please! Just a basement or couch, I’ll leave you alone! Please! PLEASE! I’LL DIE TO THE COLD! LET ME IN!!!”

His fist continued to bother the door, but those were his last words. The strength of his assault began to dwindle, and near the end there it was almost tranquil. Like the beat of a drum, or waves caressing rocks. I found my peace again, and fell asleep before I could hear his final knock. 

The morning air in my room was cold, but I was warm beneath my blankets; and remained there for an hour to relish in my comfort. Hunger finally got me off the couch; and I made myself eggs and a fruit salad for a late-in-the-day brunch.

After my second coffee, I put on the proper attire to rake leaves and do some other bits of outdoor maintenance. As I went out and closed the front door, I looked behind me to see the stranger last night had been right. There was blood and skin from the night before. And I felt a little bad in myself; misjudging the character of this honest man for a liar. 

But I wouldn’t allow myself to indulge too much remorse. No, it’s the obligation of all to look after themselves, and nothing more. If my stranger needed assistance, he’d have to do it himself. Find some other bit of land to find his fortune, and build.

I do hope after his wanderings, my stranger is able to better himself. Make a vacation home for himself with its beds and blankets which are fully his own. Besides, I need him to come to some money anyway. He owes me a new door.

Andrew Arasimowicz is an emerging writer currently residing in Ottawa Ontario; however, he has both American and Canadian citizenship and has resided in a number of locations between the two countries. When not writing, reading to improve his craft, and working the odd job to support writing; Andrew enjoys long walks in nature, engaging with the various arts, and participating in other creative ventures.