Short Fiction: The Visitor

Only the feverish night sky bore witness to the arrival of the visitor as he descended from the artist palette sky, as if standing in a glass elevator, and landed in a field. A cow mooed softly nearby. The visitor regarded the creature with only mild interest before setting off towards the stone wall that separated the field from the village further down the single-track road, a briefcase-like hold-all in his right hand.

Outside the first row of houses, a man was coming out of his front door, an ice-scraper in his gloved hand. He stretched across his car bonnet, and vigorously ran the scraper along the front windscreen, that glistened like diamonds in the moonlight.

‘They say it’s going to snow tomorrow,’ the man remarked. He gave the visitor a fleeting look then did a double-take and straightened up, the windscreen forgotten about. ‘Fancy dress party, is it?’ he asked, with amusement. The visitor stared at him, not uttering a word. When the man realised he wasn’t going to get a response, he returned his attention to the car again. ‘Students,’ he muttered, with a shake of the head.

The visitor walked on, his head swinging from left to right, taking in the cottages on either side of him. Some were in total darkness, windows on others contained warm orange glows within.

Coming to the end of the lane, he stopped and jerked his whole body to the right. The house was in darkness, save for one ground-level window. A healthy light penetrated through the closed curtains. He held up his left hand. The palm emitted a faint, pulsating green shimmer. This was the right place.

Kath grimaced as the pill, with the aid of water, slid down her throat. She put the glass on the kitchen counter, and yawned. This headache was getting worse, she just knew it. Normally, she’d only have to suffer one for a couple of hours, but this one’s talons were embedded deep. Aspirin and water had been a constant, these past three days. In hindsight, she knew she should have contacted the doctor, after the first day, just for a check-up. But, like her father, she was stubborn and would only seek help if it was a life-or-death situation.

She rubbed her eyes and returned to bed. Even if the pain kept her awake all night again, she’d much rather be under her thick, warm duvet than in the chilly living room with the faulty electric fire. Thank god it was the weekend. She could stay in her pyjamas and dressing robe and not worry about the office and her bickering colleagues for the next two days.

The bedside lamp had been off for less than a minute, the bulb still giving off a faint glow, when she heard a noise like breaking glass. She froze in her bed, the duvet held tightly beneath her chin as she listened.

Crash

This time she sat up sharply, unsure what to do. Her mobile phone was in the living room but lacked power. The charger was in the house, she just didn’t know where. She had no choice, she would have to investigate. For all she knew, it could have just been the Matheson’s cat. The ginger puss always found its way into Kath’s house. It had probably knocked over the glass she’d left on the counter.

She switched the lamp back on and got out of bed. Goosebumps spread over her skin so she put on her dressing robe. On the way out, she lifted up the large, blue, empty, ceramic moneybox on her vanity table and tip-toed down the hallway.

She’d left the kitchen door ajar when she’d come to bed and it still looked in the same position. Whoever had caused the commotion was still in the kitchen.

Beyond the door, all was quiet. Kath moved to the door then peered through the gap. She couldn’t see anything from this angle. She would have to go in.

After a count of five in her head, she shoved open the door and winced as it made hard contact with the fridge-freezer behind it. She stepped into the room.

She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, apart from the glass currently lying in a hundred pieces on the black and white lino. She lowered the money box and let out a sigh. It was probably the cat, after all.

'Where are you, you big furball?’ she said aloud, crouching to peer underneath the circular breakfast table.

The money box fell out of her hand and smashed onto the floor. Kath barely noticed. Her eyes were stuck on the thin figure cowering within the table legs. He looked injured. One hand was pressed over his chest. Kath shifted a little to get a better look.

He looked at her and scrambled to get away, moving further back until he hit against the washing machine. Kath stood up and came around the table where she could see the figure properly for the first time.

If anyone had asked her to describe him at that moment in time, she would have to reply that he was dressed as a 1970s glam rocker. His hair was big, wild and fiery red. His suit was a silvery-blue, matching the suitcase he held in his hands, with a collar pulled up to his small ears. On his feet, which he was still trying to scramble away with, were boots made of a thin-material Kath didn’t recognise. The weirdest thing was his skin. It looked white but when he'd moved backwards, she could see there was a blue tinge to it.

'Who are you?’ she asked, cautiously, her eyes darting around the room for a weapon if she needed one. A pan sat on the side of the sink, a small pool of baked beans lying on the bottom, but she would use it, regardless, if necessary.

The visitor didn’t speak. He watched Kath watch him, with apparent fascination. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again. He repeated this a few times then looked at her, quizzically.

‘What are you doing in my house?’ She began to feel nervous again. What did he want? Eyes still on him, she crossed over to the sink and picked up the pan. ‘You’d better speak or I won’t be held responsible for what happens next.’

The threat didn’t work.

‘You look like you’re going to a fancy dress party, or something,’ she stuttered.

‘Fan-cee. Fan-cee Drez. Fan-cee Drez,’ he said, abruptly. His voice was light, youthful, like a teenager’s.

‘I asked, what are you doing in my house?’ Kath repeated. ‘I’ll call the police if you don’t leave right now.’ Surely that would do the trick. But when he didn’t move, she gripped the pan tighter. ‘Right, you had your chance.’

As she went to move towards the door again, the visitor awkwardly stood up, wincing. Kath could see a rip in his clothing where his hand had been.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, pausing at the doorway. She knew the best thing to do was to go and fetch her mobile and pretend to call 999, but being the daughter of a retired nurse, she could remember all the times her mother would treat any injured person, no matter who they were.

‘Do you want me to have a look at it?’ she asked, in the same gentle tone her mother always used on patients. Pan forgotten on the table, she took a calm step towards the visitor. He looked warily at her, but made no movement.

She’d just leaned over to take a look at his injury when she felt something brush past her bare feet. She turned round in surprise, instinctively grabbing hold of the visitor.

‘Oh, that cat!’ she said, shaking her head and getting her breath back. She looked at the visitor who was regarding her hands on his chest, with alarm. Quickly, she removed them and took a step back. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just got a fright. It’s the neighbour’s cat. It treats this place like a second home.’

She scanned the floor, looking to see where it had gone. There was a shuffling noise coming from behind the bin. She made to move towards it and take the cat outside but the visitor came alive. He ventured towards the sound of the noise, briefcase still in hand.

‘Be careful,’ Kath told him. ‘It can sometimes scratch.’

The visitor leaned over the top of the bin then after a few seconds, his arm disappeared behind it.

Kath watched as his arm reappeared. Her mouth slackened at the thing in his hand. It wasn’t a cat. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. The face was disturbingly human-like, with a snub-nose, two eyes, a mouth. It even had eyebrows. The body resembled a worm the size of a small dog. The skin looked smooth and slightly slimy. When the creature looked at Kath she knew, somehow, that it had been a human being, at one time.

She could only stand by and watch as the visitor put his suitcase on the table and with his free hand, opened the catch. The top sprung open, then the visitor placed the creature inside before closing the case again.

He eyed Kath briefly as he did so. This was enough for her to run across to the set of knives protruding from the knife rack, and pulling out the sharpest. ‘What the hell was that?’ she asked, in a low voice. ‘Was that thing human once? Was that thing like me once? Are you planning to turn me into one of those?’ Her voice rose into a scream.

The visitor turned to face her, his face expressionless. He took a step forward. Kath saw that as a sign he was meaning to harm her. She lunged towards him with the knife. She felt the blade pierce his body and the visitor cried out, pushing her away. She let go off the knife, and sat sobbing on the floor. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, anymore. She’d never attacked anyone like that before. How could she even be sure he had meant any harm to her?

She wiped her eyes and looked across to where the visitor stood. The briefcase lay on its side at the far end of the room. The visitor was huddled over, both hands pressed against his bleeding chest. Except that his blood appeared yellow.

She was about to start apologising, tell him it was self-defence when she caught the horrified look on his face.

She looked down to where he was staring, and noticed yellow smears across the back of her hands. Before she could wipe it off, however, her skin seemed to absorb the strange liquid. She frowned and looked up for answers, but the visitor had vanished. The briefcase still lay on the floor.

She threw up.

Stepping into the bathroom and yanking on the light, she fell to her knees and continued being sick in the toilet bowl. The pain attacked her head like a machete. The sick feeling had been sudden and violent. Was it due to the shock of stabbing someone? Or was it to do with the strange yellow stuff?

When she’d brought up all she could, she got to her feet and viewed her reflection in the mirror.

‘Oh my god..’ she whispered.

Staring back at her was the visitor. She reached out a hand, nervous that the image would jump out from the mirror, but her fingers touched only glass. Any hopes that this was a hallucination was quenched when she looked at her own arm. It - and the rest of her body - was clad in the visitor’s suit. Her skin had now adopted the blue tinge. Panic rose as she touched her hair. His hair. Jesus Christ, that yellow stuff must have caused the change. What the hell was she going to do?

She. Who was she? Memories appeared before dying like candle-light. She touched her forehead, grimacing. What was happening?

Studying the reflection, Kath looked beyond the eyes as new memories swam through her mind. The universe. Stars. Research. Observing.

Returning to the kitchen, she claimed the suitcase and left the house, not bothering to close the door behind her. There was no point. She would not be coming back.

Only the feverish night sky bore witness to the departure of Kath - or what used to be Kath. The visitor acknowledged the cow grazing in the dark field, with a nod of the head. Suitcase tight in one hand, the visitor ascended the artist palette sky, as if standing in a great glass elevator.