The Visitor

Today's short story started out very different. It just kind of evolved into what it is now.


The Visitor


I've lived in this house since I was six years old. We moved out of grandma and grandpa's house and into this house then. It was our own place. Our own little slice of heaven. It had a large yard to play in, a dog house for our dog, a big tree we could sit in the shade under, and a creek to catch frogs in the summer. It just had one problem.

It was cursed.

My parents didn't believe me but everyone once in a while this tall strange man in all black clothing and a black hat would visit the house. He'd just stand around staring at it at a distance. And the next day something bad always happened.

I first noticed him when I was awake one night way after my curfew. I heard someone walking up our driveway. It was made of gravel then. I went downstairs and peaked out the kitchen window to see who it was. I was really short when it happened so I didn't get a good luck. I just saw a tall figure in black.

The next day Mindy, our dog, had passed away.

The next time was when I was home alone one night. I just got off my phone to my friend when I saw someone walk by the front door. I thought it was my dad so I ran to the front door to open it. When I got there I saw him looking over the yard with his back to the door. I was too scared to open the door so I just watched him. He stared for a while before he just walked away.

The next day my dad lost his job.

One time, really late at night, he was staring up at my bedroom window. I couldn't make out his face, but I knew he was an older guy, maybe in his 60's or so. He just watched. I didn't sleep that night.

The next day my aunt got sick, and a week later she died.

The scariest was when I came home from college one night. I was out with a friend catching up. I got home and as I was parking my car I saw him walk out the front door and walk away from the house. By the time I got out of the car he was gone. When I asked my parents who came to visit they didn't know what I was talking about. It was as if he was never there.

The next day my best friend got into a car accident.

So you can understand why I was scared when I saw him standing at our back porch in broad daylight. I wanted to call the cops but I had no proof that he had been trespassing. He was, after all, just staring at the back porch.

After about fifteen minutes I finally got the nerve to go outside. I raced around the side of the house and saw him staring at it. It was the first time I got a good look at him.

He was tall, REALLY tall, like, 6'1" or something. He wore a neatly pressed black suit and an old timey fedora. His face was smooth, he must've been a really young guy. He had fiery red hair a thick broom mustache.

"Hey!" I cried. "What are you doing?"

The man slowly turned his head toward me and smiled. "I'm just making sure the old girl is ok."

"What old girl? What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Oh, the house. I used to live." He said.

I felt a little more at ease. "Oh." I relaxed a bit and walked towards him. "You seem really young to have lived here before. I've been living here since I was six."

"I know." He said. "You're bedroom is where I used to sleep." He smiled, his cheeks creasing the crows feet at the edges of his eyes. "Do you like it?"

"I love my house." I said. I leaned against the wall and watched the old man who hadn't moved yet. "Why do you keep coming here?"

"I never left." he said.

"You don't live here anymore." I told him.

He grinned showing a toothless gummy mouth. He began to laugh a deep raspy laugh. The skin below his whiskered chin jiggled.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning grey hair before he looked up at me. His wrinkled and liver spotted face grinning wildly.

"I never left."