The Knock

Gray hairs line the sink as I yank another from my chin. “Where the hell do these things come from?” I ask myself rhetorically. It’s like every time I turn around there’s one here or one there. Found on my chest the other day. Pesky lil things. Now that all the grays are gone, an image of a pot-bellied version of myself stares at me in the mirror. Geez when did that happen? I suck in my gut to remind myself I can still have my college physique if I wanted to. I’ll go to the gym tomorrow, as for now, there’s work to be done.

The keyboard echoes throughout the shotgun style house as I type another expense report for work. ‘I should have spent a little more and gotten quiet keys’ I think to myself. Ugh, I must sound like my father. He would always talk about all the things he should have done and I’m sure splurging a little more on a new laptop would have been amongst them. I guess I’m cheap like him too.

In between keystrokes there’s a soft tapping I hear echoing in the room. Not hard enough to command my attention but not soft enough to ignore. I jump to my feet and my eyes scramble through the room searching for the source that my ears swear is here. “Hello? Is anybody there?” Silence is the answer. The sound is gone and I’m left questioning my hearing or if I’m here alone.

My large plush cherry brown leather chair embraces me as I plop down in front of the laptop again. My desk is covered in coffee stain receipts, pens and other office supplies. But before I could put on my reading glasses. There’s the knocking again. It’s much harder than before. Its presence is hard to deny although I wish I could. My eyes are fixed on the red door in the back of the room. I’ve always known it was there but I’ve largely ignored it. Now it demands my attention and jumps with each knock and the handle rattles from someone eager to get inside. This can’t be! There’s gotta be some kinda mistake, I should have more time than this! I think to myself as the banging continues.

I scurry over to the red door in my fuzzy house slippers. The buttons on my shirt struggle to keep my beating heart in my chest. My hand shakes and sweats over a door handle begging to be turned. I have no other choice and open the door. In walks an old man with a head full of grays. His cheeks droop and there’s hair coming out of his nose and ears. This man is foreign to me but his eyes look so familiar. They are glossy and a cold shade of brown. They stare at me so intently, going over every inch of me almost disgusted at the sight.

“Do I know you?” I ask, gawking at the strange man making his way inside. I stand frozen to the floor in shock of this brazen geriatric man.

“You should…” he responds, looking around the room at my things. His knees pop when he walks. His hands shake with everything he picks up. He’s got pasty skin and varicose veins in his legs that he’s attempting to cover with tube socks. “You know why I’m here…” He says, as more of a declaration than a question.

”I just got here, I should have more time!” I yelp.

”Well you don’t.” He says calmly.

I race over to my desk and snatch the scissors from the drawer. They stand eager to serve as a weapon towards the intruder. ”I’ve killed before, old man…” I say puffing up my chest and threatening his life with scissors that shake in my hand.

“So I’ve heard. It was a snot nose brat barely outta high school. Was always gettin into trouble. Ya did the world a favor killin that hooligan. Didn't he used to live in there?” Old arthritic knobby joints point into the next room where video games line the shelf and music posters drape the walls. I hadn’t looked in that room in ages and it’s just as much as a train wreck then as it is now. Dirty clothes are scattered across the floor, along with empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. The bed is stained with who knows what, and the smell is damn near visible. But what really catches my eye is the lifeless body in the corner in ripped jeans and a hoodie. “Yea I guess he did need to go.” He says with a small smirk. “But I don’t! I should still have time!” I yell.

“Come on, this happens to all of us if you live long enough. There’s no sense in fighting it.” He says waving his knobby finger at me. “Let’s just get this over with…” he says grinning at me with stained yellow teeth.

I swing the scissors wildly “Stay back old man!” I yell as he encroaches closer and closer. “I mean it! I don’t wanna hurt you!” Yet still he approaches without an ounce of fear in his eyes. The old man slowly walks within striking range, and I keep true to my word.

I swing for his chest and the old man moves in a flash and swats the scissors out of my hand. His cold wrinkly fingers quickly wrap around my throat. “Please don’t do this!” I scream as I flail about struggling to break free and desperately trying to breathe. “Don’t take it personally, it's just a part of getting older. You had to kill that lil punk version of yourself in the other room and he had to kill the child version before him. Now your time has come.” He explains as the last few seconds of life flee from my body.

My corpse sinks to the floor, still, lifeless and growing cold. The old man wipes the deadly deed from his palms onto his pants and takes one last look around the room. He gives it a small head nod, bids it all farewell and shuffles his way through the red door and into the last room of the house. It’s a small room with a bed, a few momentos and photos of yesteryear, and an elevator. He walks over to the elevator and gives it a small tap on its doors. “Not yet.” he says. “I still have a good bit of living left.”

-End