Death Knocked

Content Warning: conflict involving physical violence (non-descriptive)

I did not see any fault in my actions. Not at first.

In the end, inviting that man inside became my undoing. That night is at the forefront of my mind. A dark and dreary night, devoid of any sound until rain started pouring, never stopping, drowning my plants with a supply of water that seemed endless. I remember thinking of how sad the rain seemed, like it was filled with an unbridled sense of melancholy; for what remains a mystery to me. Perhaps that is the reason for my lapse in judgment, for letting a stranger into my home. The rain gave me too much sympathy for a creature standing out in it and for the cat-and-dog weather that cried endlessly. As the weather carried on, it took a darker and more angrier path. Turning into a thunderstorm that seemed to get more vexed as the night went on.

The rain started just as I was making a cup of tea, getting ready for another sleepless night that would lead to a tired morning and that didn’t matter seeing as I still had to go to work. I took a sip of my tea when a knock sounded at the door. The way it startled me, I remember my heart beating so fast, so loud like someone was playing the drums to a rhythm that my heart couldn’t help but play along with. I opened the door to a man, taller than me, making me crane my neck in order to meet his eyes. His eyes, I cannot express that expression he held as anything but desolation, he reminded me of the rain.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, letting the rain soothe my beating heart to a quiet hum. We continued to stare at each other until I found the courage to look away.

“I suppose you want to be invited in? To get away from the rain.” I stated the obvious, knowing I was being rude but finding no reason to apologize to a stranger who knocked on my door at midnight to get away from the rain.

He lowered his head a little, finally taking his eyes off me, seeming to be hiding a blush that crept up to his cheeks. He coughs into his hand, I assume to clear his throat.

“Yes miss, my car broke down as I was on my way home and I haven't been able to charge my phone. If you could lend me yours or allow me to stay until the rain clears up I’d be extremely grateful.”

The whole time he talked I couldn't help but feel bad for him. Ignoring the alarm bells in the back of my head screaming at me that this is a person unknown to me and therefore I shouldn't let him in.

And I invited him in, like I said before, inviting a stranger is not the best idea but the rain, the rain clouded my judgment so now I am making another cup of tea beside mine for a man that is hoping I’ll allow him to sleep on my couch. I make great decisions, why do you ask?

“How do you like your tea, mister-?”

“Ah it’s Eric, Eric Morrison, nice to meet you miss-?"

“Mara, Mara Enoch, it is nice to meet you as well.” I hadn’t talked to many people in months besides my cat and the occasional hello to the mailman. I don’t count the people I work with and I doubt they count me.

I was genuinely happy to have someone to talk to despite the circumstances.

The man looked around my living room making his way to my backdoor that led out to a green room. That is my favorite room though I don’t spend a lot of time there. Not as much as I want to.

“You have a lovely home, it is very remote and I take it without sugar or milk.”

“Thank you.”

As I was making the tea, a thought occurred to me. And I felt the need to air it. I handed him his cup of tea and made my way to a potted plant that was wilting to check for the cause. I over watered it again. Where was I? Oh, right.

“What were you doing out in the woods this late into the night?”

The air in the room shifted; it felt like an arctic freeze making even my plants close up. The man in front of me, Mr. Morrison, became eerily still. His smile froze on his face but his eyes filled with malice making him look deranged. It was like he became a completely different, more frightening person in the span of a few seconds. Then, as if this was a dramatic movie, the power went out.

My hands searched frantically for a weapon landing on the potted plant. I aimed for his head but missed entirely, with the plant landing broken on the ground. I used the moment, hoping I had distracted him, to book it to the kitchen and find a better weapon. I searched for what seemed like hours but was probably seconds, until I found a knife. As soon as I turned around I felt something hit my head and I felt the world go black.

My last thought before it went dark was; ‘who is going to feed my cat?’

When I opened my eyes I looked down to find myself lying on the cold kitchen floor with a broken potted plant near my head.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I thought, ‘I must be dreaming.’

I did the only thing that made sense, I tried walking through a wall. And it worked! So I am pretty sure I am dead. 97 percent sure. I looked down at my body again and saw myself devoid of color, my eyes frozen with an expression of terror, and both blood and dirt covering my face. Okay I’m 99 percent sure.

This sobered me. I didn’t know what to make of it or what to do. And then I came to a dire realization, I was not alone when I died.

‘Where is he?”

Where is my cat, Henry, he has got to be around here somewhere.

As I went to look for him, I left the kitchen and quickly passed by a mirror in the hallway. There I saw my reflection. I looked transparent. My face held the same scared expression that colored my body. No matter how much I tried to move my face, it remained stuck. And on top of that, the more I thought about it, the more distressed I became, like my emotions were finally catching up to my face. But I couldn’t remember why I had died or the events that led up to it. I stood there staring at myself in the mirror for what felt like, what felt like nothing, I had no sense of time. I felt like I was in a trance when a faint presence near my feet snapped me out of it.

I looked down and found my cat staring up at me, he was trying to rub his legs up against me. It brought a bittersweet smile to my face, I knew cats could see ghosts.

“Hi cutie.”

I reached down to pet him and my hand fell through, reminding me that I was dead. It felt like I needed constant reminders. I really should just put up a sign pointing at my dead body just in case but I can’t even do that.

I made my way to the living room looking at the leftover cups of tea, maybe I overdosed on herbal tea? I saw a broken potted plant on the ground, I wonder how that happened?

As I was making my way through the living room I looked at the forgotten half done projects in the basket near my couch. How many times had I said I would get to them but work got in the way. I loved the way the yarn felt in my hands, how it got easier to weave the material together after numerous failed attempts. And now, they’re just half done and will remain unfinished.

I don’t know what possessed me but I made my way to the front door, rather forced, my feet carried me as if they knew someone was there waiting for me.

The door was already open but no one was there. Just as I turned my head to go back to the living room, a voice startled me.

“Hello ma’am.”

I was shocked to see a normal, alive, person staring as if they could see-

“I can see you.” His face held a faint smile and there was a far away look in his eyes. He looked like he constantly had an inside joke held only to himself. And I found myself curious as to what that joke might be.

“Who are you?” He was tall and wore a black top hat with a large brim, making him seem taller. He was dressed in simple clothing, a shirt and jeans but both were black making him look like he came right out of the night sky.

“I favor black.” He murmured, seeming to not mean for me to hear. How did he know what I was thinking?

“It is hard not to hear a soul that has no voice.”

“I’ll ask again, w-who are you? What are you?”

“I happen to think I was rather obvious,” gesturing to his attire, seeming to be confused. “No matter, I have many names; in Hebrew and Islamic traditions, I am Azrael, in Mexican folk religion I am Santa Muerte, to poets I am The Destroyer of Delights, an Angel of Death, and most commonly I am referred to as The Grim Reaper.”

A yapper could be added to the list.

His lips twitched. Right, forgot he could hear me.

“Are you here to take me somewhere?”

“No, I am sorry to say my dear but there is a reason you have stayed tethered to this plane for so long. You have unresolved business.”

“Wait, but it has only been a day since I died what do you-?”

“You died three days ago.”

“How did I die?”

“You were murdered.”

That is the last thing I hear before it all goes dark again. I remember the man coming into the house, he seemed so normal and then I remember the switch and him coming after me when it all went dark.

“You’re back with me. It has been another day.”

“I remember feeling so helpless. Why am I still here?”

“No one moves on quickly after dying a tragic death but you may have unresolved issues separate from your death that are keeping you here.”

I stared at a shelf in my library filled with books that I was so excited to read but had no time to. Work always found a way to come first.

“I lived a normal life, it feels silly to mourn a life I could've led."

“Mmm, does it feel silly to mourn a life filled with more enjoyment. Depriving a soul of passion and happiness, that is what’s foolish.” Death has a way about him that soothes me. Maybe it is supposed to make the journey easier.

I stared at my cat who was making biscuits on one of my sweaters that was strewed on the couch. I’ve left him home so many times to go to work when all I wanted to do was stay home and play with him. If I had known I would die so soon, I would’ve made more time for him. This isn’t fair.

“Life can be full of regrets especially in the way I see humans value work and greed over passion or loved ones.”

“If I didn’t work I wouldn’t have the money which I need - needed in order to survive. And now I’m gone. I can’t come back, I have to leave my family and friends, I don’t want to be done. I never got to love or know love, never to just be. But then I think, what am I complaining about? I feel so selfish.”

“That’s human. You can feel guilt, sadness, and longing all at once. You were alive and breathing and you died to another human who took that breath away. They didn’t care, or feel remorse, you were in their way.”

“It isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t.”

“How could another person want to do that?”

“This world can make anyone crazy, but it makes the spiteful poisonous.”

I sat there for a long time. Time passes differently when you die, it is both slow and fast all at once. Soon I see an ambulance pull up, I see my body rolled onto a stretcher, and I see myself being taken away. And then I see my cat being taken. Away from all the strife and heartache attached to this place. Hopefully he goes somewhere nice.

“He’ll find a good home, I promise.” Death says. He is a calm comforting presence as I grieve. I noticed my colorless face in the mirror has become my own again. I look more and more like me before I had died.

“You’re becoming yourself again and not a soul without a voice.” I still don’t quite know what he means but it seems to be part of his secret inside joke.

Then yet again, my feet are carrying me towards Death and away from the home I’ve lived in for my whole life. Away from the cat, who I’ve seen over the past few days trying to get snuggles from me and curling up in a ball in my clothes and blankets. From a world filled with love, pain, heartache, happiness, life and death. We deal with all these emotions and atrocities that seem to be endless but somehow, we find beauty, we create and find compassion for our fellow humans and animals. We are all people living on one planet. And our strength and love live on even after death, nothing can take that away.

“Are you ready to go?” Death reaches out his hand.

And I gladly take it.