Death is no Lady

By Richard I. Gargus

            Another long day was over.  I had watched the news and weather, and had locked all the doors and turned out all the lights.  I blindly meandered to my room in the dark house, knowing every inch of it.  Having lived here for 30 years, I needed no lights to navigate to any point within its walls.  I had spent the last month preparing the house for sale and each 16 hour day had improved the house’s presentation.  I would soon call the realtor and tell her to list it.  I needed to make a list of things to be finished.  I began to mentally note each unfinished task.

            I was pondering these thoughts as the doorbell rang.  I jumped in surprise since it was after midnight.  There was a storm outside and it had been raining hard for hours.  My mind switched to this new situation and I wondered who would be out on such a night, and why they would be at my door.  Nothing I could think of would put anyone here and now unless it was some kind of emergency.

            I returned to the living room and turned on the light in the foyer and the outside porch light.  Peering through the peep hole, I saw a small figure wrapped in black stooped heavily over with a curved spine.  A tuft of grey hair spring from under a black shawl and grey eyes peered back at me from below.  It was an old woman and she appeared to be barely able to stand on her own.

            I opened the door and stared silently for a moment, taking in the unlikely scene.  She just stood there shivering and staring back, as silent as I was.  Finally I found my voice.  “Can I help you?”  I asked.  The old woman continued to stare back up at me.  “It’s late, what do you need?” I added.

            “A touch of comfort is all I ask,” said a weak voice and as if in a dream, her figure became a blur and in slow motion and like a dark cloud she moved past me and to my fireplace.  Still in a blur and in slow motion, a fire sprang up as she huddled close to it.  I, in a bit of shock, turned around to look at her, and the blur disappeared.  There was nothing, no fire, no old woman, only the darkened room.  I turned back to the door, still open to the storm, and stared into the night.  A flash of lightning showed me the familiar scene of my neighborhood.

            I looked again at the dark fireplace for a second before closing the door, and turning out the porch light.  I stood in the foyer for several more minutes before realizing how chilly the night had become, and found myself shivering.  For some reason, I felt compelled to build a fire for real, and set about stacking wood into the fireplace.  After several minutes I had coaxed a comfortable fire out of the dry wood, and sat in front of it listening to the crackle.

            Now drowsy, but still a bit unnerved, I decided to make some hot cocoa and went into the kitchen.  Just as I poured a pan of milk, the doorbell rang again.  I stood in front of the stove staring toward the foyer, unsure if I wanted to respond.  A large clap of thunder rattled the walls and growled at me for several seconds.  I returned to the foyer and turned on the porch light again.  Peering through the peep hole, I saw the old woman standing there, staring back at me with those grey eyes.

            With a shaky hand, I opened the door again.  “C.. Can I help you?” I stammered.  She stared.  “It’s late, what do you need?” I found myself repeating from earlier.  I felt the slow motion feeling return and the feeling of deja vue was more real than the moment itself.

            The weak voice said “A touch of comfort is all I ask,” and the dark cloud again moved past me to the now roaring fire where her figure appeared to huddle.  I stood staring, and after a moment remembered to close the door and turn out the porch light.

            “Who are you and what do you want?” I asked, shivering as I turned toward her.  I had a feeling of dread and was extremely uncomfortable as I started to cross the room.  As I approached her, the old woman looked back over her shoulder at me.

            “A nice cup of hot cocoa would be fine,” she said weakly, and tightened her shawl.

            As if in a dream I returned to the kitchen and turned on the flame to heat the milk.  Then I returned to the living room and said, “It will be a few….”  I never finished my statement, for as I entered, I found myself alone.  Again, the old woman was gone.  I shook my head and stared again.  The fire roared but there was no one in front of it.  I began to feel a bit queasy and was very disturbed by these events.  I had no explanation for what had happened.

            Almost mindlessly, I returned to the kitchen where the milk had just come to a boil.  I turned off the flame and opened the cabinet to select a cup.  I spooned the cocoa powder into the cup, and then selected a second cup for some unknown reason… just as the doorbell rang.  I returned to the foyer and turned on the lights.  I knew who was there and opened the door.  The blurred cloud moved past me to the fireplace, and I turned to stare.

            The old woman looked back over her shoulder and said weakly, “A nice cup of hot cocoa would be fine.”  Like in a trance I returned to the kitchen and finished preparing the two cups of cocoa.  I carried them into the living room and handed one to the old woman who took it in both hands and nodded.  “Thank you,” she said feebly and smiled.

            I sat down in a chair facing her.  “W.. Who are you?” I managed to shakily ask.  “And what is going on?”  It was like the air was thick, movements were slowed, and sound was muffled.  She continued to stare for another few seconds, her smile becoming more a look of pity.

            “You already know who I am and what I want,” she said barely audibly.  Then she turned back to the fire and sipped the warm fluid from her cup.  I sat silent staring, thinking.

            I drifted off someplace, I don’t know where.  I sat there, jaw agape, staring into the fireplace, now filled with ash and embers.  An empty cup sat on the hearth and my own cup still full of cold cocoa suddenly took on weight.  I took all this in as I snapped back to here and now.  I looked up at the clock now displaying 4:23.  I shook my head trying to clear it.  I could not remember the last four hours.  I could barely remember making the hot cocoa, but I could remember the old woman’s eyes clearly.  The words “You already know who I am and what I want,” echoed in my mind.  I struggled to try to remember who she had been, but the only evidence I had that she was even real was the empty cup on the hearth.  This was hardly proof of the strange visit in the night.

            I numbly carried the cups into the kitchen and rinsed them.  Leaving them in the sink, I turned out all the lights and found my bed.  I tossed fitfully through the night until the encroaching sunlight demanded I rise.

            All day long, I worked as if in a fog.  I couldn’t clear my head, and all day I thought of the night’s visitor.  I tried vainly to remember the events between midnight and 4:30 but could only remember the strange way it all started.  I got very little done and at the end of the day, went straight to bed, but slept poorly, tossing and turning all night.  My lack of rest continued throughout the week and by the following Saturday, I was ready to call it a very early night, so at about 10pm I took a warm shower and headed to bead.  I had just dozed off when thunder began to announce the approach of a violent storm.  The window rattled several times in response to the driving rain and grumbling thunder, and at midnight, the doorbell rang.

            In a daze, I got up and went to the door.  I knew who was there as I turned on the light.  I opened the door, and the dark cloud breezed past me.  The fireplace sprang to life.  She was now huddled in front of the fire and she turned her head toward me.  “Are you ready,” she asked.

            I closed the door.  “Ready?” I asked.  “Ready for what?”  But I knew.  And I was definitely not ready.  “I think you should go.  You’re not welcome here,” I stated surprising myself.  The old woman just cackled.

            “No.  They’re never ready.  But the time has come.  You have to come with me now,” she said.  I turned and left the room.  I went to get my pistol thinking that I could force her out of my house.  I grabbed my 9mm and as I turned around, she was right behind me.  She looked at my Ruger and began to cackle again.  “Go ahead,” she taunted me.  “Pull the trigger.  It won’t matter.  You will still be coming with me.  I can make it easy or I can make it… well.. not so easy.”

            I fired three times, point blank with hollow point rounds.  There should have been three gaping holes but there was none.  The old woman just cackled, and then began to … unfold is the best I can describe it.  She was no longer anything even human as she grew in size and became a hideous creature filling my hallway.  Her… no, it’s voice now thundered like it was spawned by the flashing lighting outside.

            “It is time,” the horrible sound rattled the walls, and in an instant I was surrounded by blackness and felt the most agonizing pain, like being extruded though a small hole in a wall.

            A loud clap of thunder rattled me out of my deep sleep.  I looked at the clock.  It was midnight… and the doorbell rang.