A Visitor at Dusk
If he is dead, the devil can not have him. That is what the boy believed.
But before he could act, the door was knocked again. The knock came exactly the same as before, no lingering telltale signs of rage upon getting the door slammed to one's face. It was just another knock, light and peaceful.
But this time his mother heard it too. This time his mother was the one going to answer the door as she first loudly asked who it was, effectively alerting the boy.
"No, mom, don't answer the door!" the boy had enough strength to yell at the top of his lungs from inside his locked door but not enough courage get out of his room to stop his mother.
A sudden foreboding silence covered the recesses of his loudly yelling thoughts. No sounds could be heard from outside his room; even the previously blaring music has now been stopped.
After what felt like a century to him, a sudden loud banging on his door made him jump to his bones.
Stuttering voice echoed in the room as the boy reluctantly asked, "Wh- who is it?"
After about a second a voice came that calmed his errant nerve a bit.
"Open this door right now!" It was his mother ordering him from the other side.
Again, with reluctance the boy shakily opened the door but not before first peeking out to make sure it was indeed his mother.
"How many times have I told you, do not lock this damn door! One day you will trip and break your neck in half and I wouldn't know until you are long dead!" His mother yelled at him for locking the door, unregistering and unbothered by the fearful look on the poor 19 year old's face.
"Who was it? Who was at- at the door just now?" the boy asked, his voice trembling with fear.
"No one," his mother replied curtly, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.
Just when he relaxed, he saw the same man, the man whom unknown to the boy, called Dante, emerging out of the darkness and into the light; standing in the small yet dark corridor of his house. Slowly yet assuredly gliding his way without moving his legs an inch.
Fear was only emotion on his face as he was too stunned to react; only staring wide mouthed at something behind his mother. Finally registering, his mother looks behind her but was only confused as she find no one and nothing there.
"He- he is here- He's inside- Mom, mom!" The boy kept stuttering pointing a finger at Dante.
"No one is here, I told you, what is wrong with you, Tom!?"
As the boy's panic mounted, he pleaded with his mother to see the man standing behind her, but she only grew more irritated, dismissing his claims uncaringly, deeming them as childish nonsense.
The boy finally finds strength to shut the door, without even caring that he was technically slamming the door at his mother's face and locking it. With a huff he hears his mother's footsteps retreating.
Tom walks backwards until he hits the wall behind him and slides down shivering to his core.
Defeated and alone, the boy retreated into his room once more, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a leaden shroud. More than that it was now the fear of this unknown man following behind him wordlessly.
No knock, no sound; Tom thinks he finally got away from this devil. He trashed around to find the presence of a bible in his room thinking the Lord is probably why the man can not enter his room.
Little did he know, there was no bible in the room and Dante was already in there with him.
But as he sat in the darkness, a figure emerged from the shadows, unnoticed by his oblivious mother.
A loud gasp is heard and nothing else from the boy as Dante shows himself. "Apologies for the incessant intrusion; I must do what I am here for."
"What- are you here for?" Against his good judgment of not engaging in a conversation with unknown and dangerous looking men; the boy speaks to him wishing to know the reasons of his visitor.
"You, Thomas. I have come to do nothing but aid you; guide your soul to where is should be." The soothing rasp in his deep monotonous voice relaxed Tom where he sat on the floor watching in mesmerizing wonder about why he could hear his voice but not see him move his lips.
Dante's words made Thomas think, perhaps he was wrong about his visitor, maybe he isn't the devil, but the angel here to guide his wayward soul?
Dante, his features inscrutable yet oddly comforting, approached him with a sense of purpose. "Why do you run when you wish to embrace the end?" he asked, gentle yet probing.
The boy hesitated, his words catching in his throat. "I... I'm scared," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Scared of what happens to poor souls like mine when we end the lives we are given on our own account."
Dante saw through his lies, his gaze piercing through the boy's fragile façade. "But your own is not the only life that ended by your hands, am I wrong, Thomas?" Dante's knowing voice left the boy wide eyed in fear of his past actions.