A Welcome Visitor

He walks the streets, black-cloaked, striking heavy-handed. Bedecked with a veil of dewdrops, his crown lit with the halo of streetlights.

He stalks the shadows of my memories – his hand turns each page, begins and ends each chapter.

He will come for me, as he came for the others. My wife, Macy, has long been in his ledger. My boy, John, taken at eighteen – too young. Death waits in the wings of each moment, waiting to take his solemn steps onto the scene.

I will open my door at his knock, open my chest to his blade.

He will come soon, I’ve kept him waiting. He will come soon, but not soon enough.

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7 thoughts on “A Welcome Visitor

  1. Anonymous says:

    A little too close to home-spooky.

  2. Draug419 says:

    ooooooooooo I like the imagery!

  3. Gina says:

    I’m glad I checked whether this was fiction. I totally get why he’s ready and waiting. Extremely sad but very well done.

  4. Jen Gienke says:

    Sad and heavy and well done.

  5. Christine says:

    This is lovely. That first paragraph is pure poetry. I love the stage you set with “his crown lit with the halo of streetlights.” That pulls the surreal into the real, if you see what I mean. Great writing!

  6. trifectawriting says:

    This is one of my favorite pieces from you. Nice work. Thanks for linking up this week.

  7. gold account says:

    Mrs Lancaster soon moves into the house with her elderly father, Mr Winburn, and her lively young son, Geoffrey. Mr Winburn knows that the house is haunted and hears another set of footsteps on the stairs following his grandson down. He also has a disturbing dream that he is in a town populated by no one but children who are begging him to know if he has “brought him”. In addition, he overhears the servants gossiping about hearing a child cry.

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