The Visitor

I hear a metallic scraping sound and know instantly what it is.

It’s hard to believe that word choice and simple phrasing could mean the difference between life and death, yet here we are.

I’m standing in a living room, well appointed and clean, my folders and papers - props, merely for effect - are tucked under my arm. The woman, I’ll call her Alice, is behind me. She’s responsible for the sound that warns me of what’s to come.

“I know who you are.” She says, not a trace of fear in her voice.

I replay the last few minutes in my head: I stepped onto the porch and walked up to the door. I knocked, a nervous smile on my face. The door opened and Alice - the one I’m looking for - peered out. I began “Morning ma’am, my name is Justin and I’m collecting for my baseball team. We made it to nationals and I’m raising money for the trip.” I reached for my paper props, rustled them a little so she could see names and amounts and added “Will you pledge a couple of dollars?”

“Of course,” she said.

I know what people see when they look at me: a child, innocent and harmless. But I am most certainly none of those things. I’m here for blood.

“May I come in?”

There it is, those four words. That’s what did it. Too formal and not appropriate for my current skin.

I hear the air split as she swings the sword, but my reaction is too fast for her. I leap away and force my body to change. In an instant I’m flying, my sinewy wings guiding me towards the window, my only escape.

That was close. I guess vampires do get second chances.