Mr. Dark

Some debts should be collected

      Alois scanned the yellowed business card carefully. In bold, scrawling cursive it read, ‘Artimis O Dark: Collections’.

       Dressed in black from head to toe, Mr. Dark wore a suit woven of unusual fabric…the threads shifted and crawled over him like a thousand tiny snakes in the sunlight. His face was tight and gaunt. Deep set eyes sat grey as concrete in their sockets, accentuating sunken cheeks and sharp eyebrows that pointed upwards towards the heavens. A fedora adorned his head, allowing tufts of curly hair to escape beneath the brim.

      Alois’s wife had left early for the market, leaving him alone with their young child. He was unable to process a clear thought before Mr. Dark calmly spoke.

      ‘Do you know why I am here?’ He questioned in a polite tone, a hint of a smile pervading the seriousness of his face.

      ‘To collect on a debt…although in truth I am unsure of which establishment you have traveled from’ Alois countered truthfully. His finances had suffered tremendously from the loss of three children in infancy before the birth of their fourth, which was battling a similar sickness.

      ‘Correct…the company is rarely known and the timing always unfortunate, for this I apologize’ Mr. Dark responded kindly. ‘May I come inside to discuss the matter further?’ he continued, leaning towards the doorway as if admittance was a guarantee. 

      ‘Please do’ Alois replied, unusually comforted with the easy manner and soft tone of this tall, dark stranger. He was reminded of his father, stern but caring, a countenance earned through experience.

      ‘Thank you’ Mr. Dark said, walking through the open door. The house was small and warm; a space designed for children, although none had lasted long enough to roam the corridors, filling the rooms with laughter.

       Now inside, Mr. Dark’s suit appeared of normal construction. Rubbing strained eyes, Alois dismissed the earlier apparition. Staring was un-polite, and he was quickly caught within its midst. Dealing with houseguests, friends and visitors alike, hospitality was protocol, a display of proper upbringing, and he was well versed in pleasantries.

      ‘Have a seat if you like’ Alois proposed, gesturing towards a worn chair with lions heads carved delicately on its armrests. ‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked, motioning towards the dining room.

      ‘Thank you, but no…however, would you object to the lighting of a pipe?’ Mr. Dark questioned in the same calm, buttery manner, producing an intricate ivory pipe from his breast-pocket.

         ‘Not at all, treat my quarters as if they were your own’ Alois responded, using a term common to his Para-military career as a customs official. Noting the intricate craftsmanship of Mr. Dark’s model, Alios hesitated to reveal his own; a simple smoker carved of walnut. Prompted by politeness he withdrew the small wooden receptacle, and nodded in Mr. Dark’s direction courteously.

       ‘Much appreciated’ said Mr. Dark, striking a match off the mantle and roasting the tobacco in his pipe in an expert motion. Offering a match book to Alois, Mr. Dark settled in his chair and began. ‘On to unpleasant business…’

       A loud flurry of coughs abruptly interrupted him, issuing from the back of the house.

      ‘Pardon me’ Alois interjected, quickly rising from his seat to check on his young son. Entering the child’s room the coughs continued, and Alois bore witness to a dark déjà vu. Placing his hand softly on his sons head and feeling devilish heat flow into his fingers, tears formed within his eyes. Nothing could be done for the moment, so pulling a blanket over the child’s small chest, Alois shuffled back to the living room. Attempting to conceal the fear of placing yet another tiny wooden box in the earth, He forced a thin smile towards Mr. Dark, apologizing for the disruption. ‘I’m sorry Sir, my son is battling a cold.’

      ‘I pray it’s not serious’ Mr. Dark responded politely, but in an unsettling new tone. Alois felt a chill roll up his spine. The mannerism of Mr. Dark had not changed but the eyes were a deeper grey, the skin forming to his bones like iron. ‘Where was I? Ah, yes business…He said just as coldly, drawing a pull from his pipe and exhaling a puff of smoke that exited his lips with urgency.

      ‘I shall get straight to the point. Your debt is not of currency or possessions, it is for the life of your child’ Mr. Dark spoke without emotion, eyes burning brightly into Alois.

      These unexpected words struck Alois in the chest with the force of an invisible hammer. He stumbled blindly backwards knocking over an end-table with a loud crash. Mr. Dark rose even taller than before. His suit flowing around him like a Raven seated on a perch before flight.

      ‘As you may realize this is not your average debt’ Mr. Dark continued menacingly, ‘I offer you the chance to save your child . . . at a price.’ The word price hissed as it issued from his lips, and there was no feeling of comfort left. It became obvious he was no man at all, but a messenger and collector of death.

      ‘What price?’ Alois managed to stammer while quivering to the point of convulsion. His head swam with possibilities. What had he done to deserve this? What action had brought about the destruction of lives created?

      ‘Immortal regret’ Mr. Dark stated plainly, the words practiced and cold. ‘You will also be offered the knowledge of your own death, if you choose. I believe you understand what has been occurring with your previous children; you will never create a lasting life without sacrifice. I will warn you, your son is marked for a reason. I need not reveal why you owe so dearly. I will not attempt to dissuade you; just know this decision will ripple throughout the course of time.’

      Alois knew the answer immediately. He simply could not place another child in the ground unless the box was large enough for two. ‘I accept’ he whispered, staring at the floor begrudgingly.

      ‘Very well’ Mr. Dark responded, shrinking back to original size. ‘Would you like to know the date of your demise?’ he asked, his voice resuming the calm flow their conversation had begun with. ‘You shall live long enough to see your son walk these halls and climb those trees if that is your concern’ Mr. Dark added, reading Alois thoughts.

      ‘Yes’ Alois said softly, still wavering on the ground. A hundred invisible hands held him in place, and the air in his lungs had become thick and stale.

      In an instant Mr. Dark was at his side, whispering into his ear. As soon as the message was conveyed, he rose quickly and exited the house. Alois sat in surreal silence for a long while, seconds moving as minutes, until a strange sense of calm slowly washed over him. Drunk from the emotion of what had occurred, his eyes closed and he drifted into sleep, warm rays of sunshine reflecting on him through the window.

      ‘What are you doing down there?’ his wife questioned in the open doorway, waking him from slumber. She stood beautifully framed in the doorway, and an incredible rush of happiness overtook him seeing her there.

      Rising slowly, Alois wondered if it had all been a nightmare. Fear taking shape in a world the brain travels during exhaustion. ‘Tired…sleepless nights…’ he responded to his wife with a look of affection. Smiling back, she accepted the answer completely; and why wouldn’t she? Today’s events would seem impossible, even to someone whose trust was unquestionable.

      Realizing he had not checked on his son for some time, Alois walked groggily to the back bedroom. Gazing into his crib, Alois witnessed the child sleeping serenely. Lively color flushed soft cheeks, and a tiny chest rose and fell rhythmically. Alois knew, dream or not, that everything would be ok.

     For the next thirteen years Alois watched his son grow and play, displaying extraordinary intelligence and leadership among peers in school. Although he never forgot the date imagined in a dream, he now laughed it off and even told his wife the tale a few years ago, attributing it to stress. They had more children, beautiful and healthy, so when that fateful day arrived, Alois fearlessly kissed them all and headed off to a local tavern in celebration of the albatross he would soon shrug from his shoulders.

      Alois ordered a pint of beer from the bartender, outwardly smiling at the foolish nights spent dreading the passing days on a calendar; the silent reminder of a shortened life.

     ‘Simply another day’ he said, directing his comment towards the bartender, who shot him a puzzled look. Unconcerned with explanation in newfound happiness, Alois raised his drink proposing a personal, yet vocal toast, ‘To thirteen more years…and thirteen after that!’ From around the establishment eyes flew towards the distraction. Patrons jarred from private conversations in favor of this outburst. Most watched silently as Alois Finished his beer in a single triumphant swallow, then collapsed in a heap where he sat, instantly dead; A pleural hemorrhage the known culprit.

      Awakened in a room shrouded in linen, Alois sat opposite of a very familiar figure, the unseen cause of death.

      ‘Hello’ Mr. Dark spoke softly ‘I assume you remember why you are here?’ He questioned, raising an eyebrow. The same black, living suit adorning his body hadn’t dissipated through the years.

      ‘It wasn’t a nightmare. . . ’ Alois responded, surprised at the calmness in his own voice. He began to fidget, wondering what damnation waited in such a pristine place.

      ‘Now your debt shall be repaid’ Mr. Dark said, white linens parting behind him, displaying a sort of large screen. ‘I shall leave you alone to watch the life of your son’ he stated, vanishing upon issuing the order.

      Confused and excited by this revelation, Alois smiled, for what could be better than this? He loved his son dearly and missing him grow into a wonderful man would be a major regret. Suddenly the screen in front of Alois flickered to life. A schoolhouse hazily came into view, and he immediately recognized his son’s seat in the first row. Mrs. Rozenthal, the teacher, presented a question to the class and a hand shot up automatically. Prompting her to say with affection, ‘young Adolf, you need to allow other students time to answer as well.’

      Swelling with pride only a father can understand, Alois Hitler settled in for what was sure to be a wonderful afterlife.