No Strangers, After Dark

A short story. It is about many things, but mostly sadness and regret. Sometimes surviving the fight isn't the best ending for a hero.

His feet rocked back and forth on the old wooden slabs before the faded blue door. The sky was the color of night, and the wind carried the faint smell of swamp and rain. The old flesh of the man attached to the rocking feet looked hard at the sign nailed to that faded blue door, ‘No strangers, after dark’ it read. If someone were to happen across this old man, on this old porch before that old blue door, they might think he was too simple to read, or too daft to know where he wasn’t wanted. But this man, like all other people, is not what he seems.

His dark brown pants are stained, and bare the holes of use and labor. His hands, while old, are well used and strong. His jaw is tight, and his lips know more fancy words than any other educated Englishman from the universities to the north. His mind, unlike his body in its age, is sharper than the keen knives of Turkish assassins. This man stares at the sign and says to himself, “Am I, a stranger?” His words were not meant for an audience, but they were heard, much to his surprise.

The old blue door cracked open, and the aged face of a black woman appeared behind it. “Who come ‘ere in the night, tawkin to ‘iself like a man of crazy.”

The lips of the man cracked into a smile, and he pulled his hat from his head revealing a bushy head of long white hair. He ran his palm across his long beard, hoping to make it more presentable in front of the lady. “I come here, looking for Madam Flora.” He said, his words curved into a smile as they passed by his lips.

“An ‘ho you be?” Said the woman, opening the door a bit wider displaying a plump hand resting upon a plump hip.

“My name is Jeffrey Rasmun, I am a friend of the Madam.”

The woman’s eyes fixed deep on him, looking into him as if reading what turmoil rested within. Under her burning gaze, he shifted his feet and cleared his throat subtly. He wasn’t used to the gazing of a woman. “Jeffrey got ‘iself dead in the war” she finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

The old man chuckled, “They certainly did try, but he most certainly did not.”

“You say you be ‘im?”

“That is right ma’am. I am Jeffrey.”

“ ‘old on then.” Her plump hand slammed the door shut, causing the old man’s eyes to jerk wide. He fingered the lip of his hat, his eyes focused into deep thought. When the door opened again, another woman, older, stood in the doorway.

This woman looked at him with foggy eyes, and she smiled. “It is him, the ghost of Jeffrey comin’ to see me before I die.” She waved her gnarled hand, summoning the black plump woman back into the door frame, “can you see him Evelyn? Can you see my Jeffrey?”

“mmhm.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“I am no ghost Madam. It has taken me many years to find my way back here, but I told you I would come back for you.”

“That you did Jeffrey. Now I don’t know what pleasures dead men require, but would you join my daughter and I for tea?”

“I am not dead Flora, I assure you.”

“We got note four ‘ears ago Jeffrey get himself shot and dead in the war.” Said the black woman, “ ‘an it be from the gov’ment. ‘An they don’ lie bout deaths o’ the boys in the war.” She looked hard at the old man, as if attempting to convince him to leave with her cross gaze.

Jeffrey shifted again on the porch, “Your daughter you say?”

“Yes, my husband is no longer with me unfortunately. He died many years back.”

“Did he treat you well?”

“He had his moments, but he gave me my dear Evie, and that is the greatest gift a man ever given me.”

The old mans eyes displayed his sorrow, but his smile did not fade.

“I told you I would come back for you, and I did. Oh lord, it took more than I will ever confess to find my way back here.”

The old woman smiled, “You always were a man of your word Jeffrey.”

“That I was.”

She blinked hard and tilted her jaw, “No longer a man of your word Jeffrey? Has death robbed you of your honor?”

The old man’s eyes filled with tears, but he choked back his rising emotions. “I suppose I have been robbed of many things in my life, and now I know I have been robbed of them all. Now I ask you, my dear Flora, has your life been kind to you?”

“It has Jeffrey, but I missed you.”

“I suppose that is all I needed then. I shall leave you now, but know that I held my word to you and I came back. I know my body is old, and my face is not as handsome as it was when we last spoke, but I did come back for you. I spent my life fighting, to get back to you.”

“I will be joining you again soon Jeffrey.” Said the old woman, her eyes also filling with tears. “Death will give us the union we both dreamt of. In heaven the lord will grant us our youthful bodies and we can be lovers again.”

Jeffrey smile faded at last, and looked at Evelyn. “Soon?”

“Momma ain’t well. She got cancer in ‘er chests, say the docs.”

“I see.” He put his hat back on his head. “I will see you at the gates of heaven I suppose Madam.”

The old woman nodded, and she walked away from the doorway back into the dim house.

“Is you really a ghost?”

“No my dear girl, I am not.” His dusty feet began to move him from the porch and he turned to her saying, “but I never wished for that more, than I do now.” He paused at the first step, and turned to the woman still standing in the doorway. “Might I ask, what is the meaning of the sign? Are strangers allowed during the day?”

The woman roled her eyes again, “Ain’t no one in gods green earth that bring good in the night, so I made a sign that say you wait ‘till mornin’.”

“Should I have waited until the morning?”

“Ghosts only come out at night Jeffrey. I know what you is, even if you say you ain’t.”

He nodded, adjusted his hat upon his head and left that old house and that woman, again, and for the last time. A lifetime ago he had left this place, the call of war beckoning him. His youthful hands fought and killed, and he was carried away by the gust of conflict to lands beyond the sunset. As the sands of time drained from his glass, he spent the rest of his youth fighting back to this place, only to find himself only a memory in the place he once called home. Perhaps he was a ghost, at least that is all he was in this place that he thought would be his home. But Jeffrey Rasmun was a ghost of the living, and he walked along the road outside the Madam’s house, tears on his face, wondering what to do with himself now.

Reviews

[Mia]

WOW! I really enjoyed this a lot...A LOT! Made me a little sad but the good kind of sad, because I connected with your story!!

[miguelbovine]

You are very good