The Reaper Always Collects

Being a former city slicker government employee, Stephen had moved to the town of Manistee, off of Lake Michigan in the Manistee National Forest. He bought himself a bachelor pad away from everything and became a hermit who just wanted to be alone.

On this particular night, he was finishing the dishes, while watching episodes of the sketch comedy of Chappelle Show on YouTube. Laughing helped ease the pain of sticking his hands in dirty water, back and forth, then drying the dishes.

Then a clear resonant noise of a rhythmic tone came from the glass sliding doors behind him. He dried off his hands, paused his video entertainment, and on the other side of the see-through doors, two children, around eight or ten. One was a boy and the other a girl, both dressed in odd clothing for this year of our Lord. The nearest neighbor was five miles down the road, and they were old and childless.

The kids kept staring straight ahead -- motionless. No parents. Carrying nothing. Wanted nothing. Till they did.

Stephen moved towards the windows to slide open the door, but something stopped him. The eyes were black as tar. Shiney too. Lifeless. You’d think for being young, they’d give a cute childlike wave. Nothing cute about these two.

“What are you two doing out here? Your parents with you?” Stephen asked through the glass.

“Can we come in?” the boy asked, in a monotone voice.

“Where are you parents?”

“Can we come in?” the girl asked, in the same monotone voice.

“I said, where are your parents?”

“Can we come in?” both asking simultaneously.

Something wasn’t right for sure. Perhaps they were home schooled.

“It’s cold out here,” the boy said.

It was summertime and the temperature was seventy-degrees.

“You don’t look cold,” Stephen replied.

“Let us in please,” the girl stated.

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

“We came to see you,” she said.

“See me. Why?”

“He sent us.”

“Who’s he?”

Then the boy tried to open the door. Over, and over, and over, till he stopped.

“Let us in. We need to come in,” the boy demanded.

“No!”

“Can we use your phone?” the boy asked.

The phone was over by the sink. Stephen looked in that direction, which took about four seconds, turned back to the kids, and they were gone. He unlocked the door and peeked around the corners. Nothing but darkness on each side. He quickly closed the door, flipped the lock, and stepped back from the glass sliding doors.

The next night, Stephen was about to enter Sleepytown in a recliner, watching late-night television in total darkness. With the background noise of Jimmy Fallon, loud banging came from the kitchen, over and over and getting louder. He opened his eyes, paused to decipher if it was Jimmy Fallon doing a skit, or actually banging, which sounded like hands on glass. He walked to the kitchen, and it was the creepy kids again. Same clothes. Same expressions. Same evil eyes. All parties locked eyes.

The kids kept knocking. Knocking and staring. Right into Stephen.

“Can we come in?” the boy asked again.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” he yelled.

“Can we come!?” the boy asked more angrily.

“Please let us in!” the girl asked.

“What the hell do you want?!”

“To come in. Please!” the girl asked.

“You’re not coming in. Get the hell out of here! Now. Before I come out there and whoop your ass!”

Their knocking became more agitated with every denial. The two of them pounded their little annoying hands on the windows, demanding entry.

“Stop it!”

“Get outta here!”

“What the fuck do you want?!”

“To come in. We need to come in,” the boy said. “If you don’t let us in, he will come.”

“Who?! Who will come?!” Stephen demanded.

Then both creepy kids pointed towards the driveway, without even looking in that direction. Being inside, there was no way to see what they were pointing at, if anybody, or anything, was out there. He turned around to switch on the deck lights, then they vanished.

He opened the door and looked around the perimeter. No critters. No birds. Dead silence. Darkness engulfed every inch around my house. A heaviness of despair hung in the air, as if something horrible was upon the property. He walked back inside, locked the doors, and stepped back, waiting for their return.

The next day, Stephen took a trip down the road to visitor his “neighbors,” who lived five miles away. He turned down a long driveway, there pushing a lawnmower, was Mike, the old man. He was a spry eighty-year-old who still got around. Stephen parked and got out of his truck. Mike turned off the mower, wiped his brow and hands with a handkerchief, then walked to Stephen from his parked truck.

“Well, hello there neighbor,” Mike said.

The two men shook hands like old friends.

“When ya switching to a rider?”

“Only eighty. How ya been?”

“Can’t complain. Country living treating me good.”

“Good to hear. When was the last time we saw ya?”

“The funeral.”

“Right…been awhile. Well, good to see ya. Let’s go inside. Mae will be happy to see ya.”

“Sounds good.”

Mae was doing what Mae usually did, talk on the phone, a landline phone. She was a gabber and loved to gossip.

“Oh Rose, I have to call ya back. Our neighbor just walked in with Mike. Yea…the one down the road. The young one. I’ll tell him about your daughter. Gotta go. Bye,” Rose put the phone back on the receiver. “David! Come here and give me a hug.”

Mae greeted him like a son, with warmth and affection. “How are you?” Mae asked.

“Retired and loving it. Just keeping to myself down there.”

“How long you been retired from government work now?” Mike asked.

“Lost track. Don’t think much about it anymore.”

“What brings ya down River Road?” Mae asked.

“Well…its gonna sound a little weird…had some visitors the past two nights. Don’t know where they came from, who they are, but showed up at my front door – at night.”

“What kind of visitors?” Mike asked.

“Kids. Two of them. No adults.”

Mae put one hand on her chest and gasped. Mike grabbed her other hand to comfort her.

“What?” Stephen asked.

“What did the kids look like?” Mike asked.

“Little kids. Probably eight, nine, around that age. Dressed like they fell out of the eighteen hundred’s. Didn’t say much, just kept asking to come inside.”

“You didn’t let them, did ya?” Mae asked abruptly.

“No....thought about it. Something was off with them. Their eyes -- pitch black. No pupils. Never seen eyes like this before.”

The old couple paused for a few seconds, looked at each other, then back at Stephen. The concerned facial expression was palpable.

“You guys seen them before. Haven’t ya?” Stephen asked.

Mike nodded. Mae started to tear up. Mike put his arm around her.

“Where? When?”

“Here,” Mike stated.

“They showed up here?”

“Three days before Connie was killed.”

“Did you let them in?”

“No. Because of our dog. She kept barking. Never barked at kids like that before. Had the same eyes like you said. Three days later…the police called, told us Connie was killed walking across River Street. Apparently, an accident.”

Mae became more upset as Mike told the story.

“We weren’t the only ones,” Mae said, fighting back tears.

“What do you mean?” Stephen asked.

“Elenor and Doug, you know about them?” Mike asked.

“No.”

“They lost their son, about six years ago, to suicide. No alcohol or drug issues. No financial problems. Had a great girlfriend too. Talked about marriage. Made no sense. Like he woke up one day and wasn’t their son anymore.”

“What do they have to do with these kids?”

“After Pete’s suicide, they told us…one night after dinner, two kids came to the front door. Same situation. Their dog went crazy, almost rabib like. They never seen their dog that angry before. Kids kept pounding on the door, asking to come in. Doug threatened to go out there and teach em a lesson. Elenor stopped him. Three days later…the back of their son’s head was all over their wall.”

“You got to be shit’n me?” Stephen said.

“All true,” Mae replied.

“These kids -- anybody call the police about em?”

“What do you say? Their just kids. They weren’t there when Connie and Pete died,” Mae said.

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know. Sure, seems odd though.”

“When did your daughter pass?”

“Three years ago.”

“And you said Pete killed himself, about six years ago?”

“About six.”

“Three-year intervals. Death three days later. Hmmm.”

“You don’t have any kids, right?” Mae asked.

“No.”

Silence. No questions, or answers. The unspoken was just spoken. Time to go.

“Guess I better get on my way. Thanks for that information,” Stephen said.

“Don’t let these kids in, no matter what,” Mike said sternly. “These kids aren’t God’s children. Their Satan’s.”

“You really believe that?”

“We been neighbors for some time now; never thought about asking you this question, till now. You a believer?” Mike asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Connie wasn’t a believer. Didn’t want anything to do with it. Elenor and Doug’s kid…same. I suggest you consider your faith. This world…this is Satan’s domain. Not the Lords.” Mike said.

“Thanks for stopping by. Was so good to see you again,” Mae said grabbing Stephen’s hand in a soft, cordial way. “Hope to see you soon. Maybe next Sunday.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” Stephen said.

He got up, shook Mike’s hand, petted their dog, then walked out the front door. Mike and Mae watched Stephen walk to his truck and take off.

After parking his truck in the driveway, three windows from inside the house lit up. Someone was turning the lights on and off. Stephen rushed out his truck and into the house, to catch whoever had broken in. He scoured each room. Even went down to the basement. Not a soul was in there. Whoever turned on the lights – they or it – was no longer in the house.

A week later, Stephen was sleeping. At 3:33, loud banging came from the kitchen. He jumped out of the bed, went into his closet, pulled out a Glock 9 hand gun, racked the slide back to load a round, went into a defensive position, slowly walking out of the bedroom. Closer to the kitchen, louder the banging became. Childlike laughter joined the banging. It was the mischievous kind. He stopped before entering the kitchen, peeked around the corner in the direction of the sliding glass windows, where the banging was, and jumped out preparing to shoot. No one was there.

He slid open the door and walked out. This time, he wasn’t afraid, he was pissed. Enough was enough. The harassment had reached a new level.

“Whoever the fuck is out here…you come back, you’re getting a bullet! Don’t believe me, try me! You hear me?! I had it. Whoever the fuck you are!”

A few nights later, the harassment kept coming. On this particular night, Stephen was grilling on the deck, putting the cover over the grill, the same type of mischievous childlike laughter could be heard from out towards the field. Nothing but complete darkness out there. Whoever was out there, they were trespassing. He grabbed his gun and walked down the steps towards the darkness and laughter.

Every foot away from the house, within seconds, he was standing in complete darkness, with laughter all around him. The laughter swirled around him, getting closer and closer, but no bodies were attached to that laughter. It was as if the air was laughing at him.

Right behind his right ear, close enough to kiss it, a man’s voice said, “behind you.” He turned around and raised his weapon, ready to kill. Darkness was the only thing in front of him. Something super natural was playing games with him. He looked towards his house, and every light that was on inside turned off. Just him and the darkness out in the middle of the field. He was vulnerable, and at the mercy of “them” or “it” or “something.”

He booked it back to the house, but the front door was locked. He ran to the back door, same thing. Someone had locked the door from the inside. He ran to his truck, opened the glove department, and grabbed his spare house key. No one was inside the house again.

The next morning, Stephen was fried. He had heavy bags under his eyes and the thousand yard stare. His handgun was on the table next to his coffee cup.

A knock came from his front door and put him on high alert. It was only Mike. He took a big sigh of relief, set his gun down, and let Mike in.

“You, Ok?” Mike asked.

“Yea. Someone’s fucking with me.”

“Someone? Or something?”

“I don’t know. Think I’m losing it. I hear things, but nothing’s there. My lights go on and off. Get locked out of my house. I was out in that damn field last night, trying to catch some kids. I was ready to shoot someone.”

“Evil has shown up at your front door. Why don’t you come with me and Mae to church tomorrow? You need to get a little Jesus; do a little praying for some help. How about it?”

“I’ll think about it. Did you stop by for something else?”

“I wanted to mention something. Me, and Doug, both veteran’s of Korea and Vietnam. We did a lot things we weren’t proud of over there. We came back not right in the head. Took us a long time to be at peace with ourselves. You were special forces, right?”

“Yea.”

“You were over in Afghanistan and Iraq?

“Yea. Did a few tours.”

“Didn’t you tell me you got hired by Blackwater after the uniform?”

“For about a year.”

“Do any killing?”

“Yea. Where you going with this, Mike?”

“All three of us…right or wrong, we took lives. Those lives are now attached to us. So, life had to be taken from us. Everyone has to pay.”

“Fuck that shit, Mike. I didn’t kill just to kill, I did it for the mission, the country, following orders. So, I deserve…whatever the fuck is going here? I don’t agree with that.”

“You said you were gonna shoot someone. Violence is in your nature, trained or not trained, it’s part of you. We all have to pay the piper at some point, if we lived the lives we lived. That’s all I’m saying. Think about tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Mike walked out the door.

It was around nine in the evening, and Stephen sat down at the table with a bible in his hand. He put on his reading glasses and started to read. An hour went by, and he was still reading.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Stephen gets startled. The two kids have returned. Bang! Bang! Bang, on the window.

“Let us in!” the boy demanded.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Stephen yells.

Bang! Bang! Bang! “Let us in!”

“He is coming!” the girl says.

“Let us in!” the boy yells.

“He is coming” the girl yells.

Bang! Bang! Bang! “Let us in!” the boy demanded.

“Leave me alone! What do you want?” Stephen yells back.

“He is coming. Let us in!”

The pounding does not stop. The kids were relentless.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Stephen started to pray on his knees.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“LET US IN!” the boy yelled.

“Lord. Please hear me.”

“HE CAN’T HEAR YOU! HE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“HE IS COMING. LET US IN!” the girl yelled.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“I’ve sinned. I’ve done horrible things.”

“HE CAN’T HELP YOU” the boy yelled.

“Lord…please....”

“HE IS COMING. HE WILL BE HERE!”

“I don’t want to die, Lord. I made mistakes…a lot of them. Please forgive me.”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“DO YOU THINK HE WANTS TO HELP YOU?” the girls asked.

“YOU DESERVE TO DIE. AND YOU WILL!” the boy yelled.

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name….”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Thy kingdom come, they will be done as it is in heaven…”

“YOU DESERVE TO ROT IN HELL!”

“Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses….

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE.”

The kids voices turned to a guttural evil tone – very demonic.

“DO YOU THINK YOU CAN BE FORGIVEN BY HIM?” the boy kept yelling.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation….

“YOU DESERVE TO DIEEEE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Tears come to Stephen’s eyes but keeps praying.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“But deliver us from evil….”

Then the banging stopped.

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory….”

Silence from the other side of the windows.

“Forever and ever. Amen.”

He opened his eyes, turned, he was alone. He buried his head into the chair.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you.”

For the next five minutes, in that same position, it was just him and the Lord, in prayer, in silence.