Chapter 2 Unknown Visitor

It is pouring outside, cats and dogs style. I love that expression, although its original meaning has long washed out. Nowadays, the four-legged creatures are the first to look for shelter when their sensitive muzzles get a whiff of foul air.

Even though you might see a vagrant dog now and again drowning his fleas in a puddle of diluted mud, don't expect to see a cat engaging in such crude behavior.

While humans desperately run for cover, those sneaky felines have already found a cozy, dry spot and are licking themselves pretty.

There is an exception to any rule, and one stormy day I was lucky enough to witness it: a rain-drenched cat, dark slate grey fur cleaved in spiky, dripping clumps, waiting outside the neighbor's house.

Eight-year-old Chad Dunningham is on his bicycle, wearing the raincoat he had gotten last Christmas from aunt Rebecca Wisten, a woman with a heart of gold.

While riding on his bicycle on the wet road beneath the dark clouds, he noticed a girl sitting in the rain; it was quiet, and the neighbors' doors were all closed; he slowed down, finding it odd to see a girl sitting outside in the rain on the pavement, she wore a black rope, she leaned forward and placed her head against her knees, Chad Dunningham couldn't get a clear view on her face as he slowed down until he stopped right next to the girl.

"Hey, why are you sitting outside here in the rain?"

"She looked up."

Five days later, "it's been a week since Chad Dunningham went missing, last seen on railway road riding his rec bicycle; if you have information that can help us find this young boy, call us or email us, we are reporting to you live from Somerset west, Cape town."

"That poor boy went missing right under his parent's nose, and he was such a wonderful kid; I am telling you, Freddy, with all the drugs in this place, I am not surprised." Said Margaret, a 76-year-old neighbor, sitting in front of the television knitting.

Freddy, age 81, retired soldier, looked over at his wife; she hadn't changed a bit, he thought to himself; they had been married for over fifty years, and their anniversary was celebrated just last month.

He pushed himself up from the old beige couch; he could barely walk, let alone stand up straight, yawning, "those parents of his are useless; who lets their kids play outside on a rainy day alone riding a bike up and down the street, especially in today's life, I hope they find that boy, and they should take him away from that parents I don't know how a kid stays with parents who rely on welfare to provide for there kids and his dad, Jason Dunningham, was once a good man of character until the drugs caught up to him."

There was a sudden loud bang from upstairs. It sounded as if the glass had shattered, "Fred? What is that?" Margaret looked at him in fear as he turned around, looking towards the staircase; Fred dragged his heavy legs across the floor and walked towards the stairs.

"Fred, it's too dangerous to go up the stairs." Margaret pushed herself up on her swollen legs and ankles and pushed one foot in front of the other until she had reached the telephone line.

"Fred, don't go anywhere; someone is probably upstairs waiting to kill us."

"Margaret, I warned you about watching too many horrors," Fred replied thickly. The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye lines told of laughter, warm smiles, and affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present. But mostly, they were so deeply engrained they told a man who had traveled through eight decades to that moment; to stand here as an older man, beaten and sad. To be dismissed as "old" when he was so much more than the sum of his parts.

However, Fred the journeys weighed more than just average Journeys; they weighed experience, and with that experience, he knew you can never be too careful; he walked over to the cabinet removing his 1980 vintage Armsel Striker, "Fred it's been long since you touched that shotgun." Margaret moved closer to the window opening the curtains, It was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque. A black-to-navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky was so transparent you could almost see every crater. The moon, a glowing yellowy white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow. Millions of stars were sprinkled behind it, a few large ones but mainly a multitude of little white pinpricks. Now and then, a twinkle caught her eye. This was an unfamiliar sight from her city life, where the lights never went down, perpetually hiding the beauty of the nighttime sky.

Fred tightened his grip on his shotgun as his hands began shaking; it's been years since he last held this gun.

Margaret walked up to him and gently touched his arms; Fred then remembered why he had loved her for all these years; she was the strength when he felt weak; they walked towards the staircase, and Fred kept the shotgun steady, pointing it to the front, at his age, his legs barely carried him up the stairs, a cold breeze passed them giving them goosebumps when they had reached on top of the staircase they noticed the vase on the floor, it was scattered with glass, the little brown table was tilted.

"Who is there?" Said Fred as he raised his shotgun, the sound that they had heard faded; it was silent, "I think you should call the cops." Said Fred; Margaret hurried downstairs, and when dialing 911 on their old house phone, it was dead, as if the power cord line had been disconnected. Margeret inspected the power cord, and from what she could see, the line was still intact; she walked over to the window, unable to see anything; Margaret walked over to the sofa and leaned over to remove the torch from the drawer, thats when she saw something on the corner of her eye.

There stood a slender tall Gentleman with a red shirt and black suit; he was pale, and his hair was combed neatly to the back; it was short and sleek, he wore a gold ring on each finger, and his eyes were dark, and his fingernails were black.

His dark eyes stared directly at Margaret, who was paralyzed with fear, she had tried to scream, but it was as if her voice was gone; there came no sound.

Margaret was finally able to move her feet as she stepped backward; she backed against the mirror, she gripped the bottom fo the mirror; as the mysterious figure came closer, She shook her head, in disbelieve of what she was seeing since she was Christian women she never believed in evil, Margaret turned around and noticed the reflection of the man approaching her was not in the mirror, she turned around and was there he was, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, as her heart raced faster, even though he looked like a gentleman, his eyes draw pure darkness which suffocated her.

"F F F F R R R E E E," She stuttered, trying to call her husband, but with the amount of energy and fear consumed by this mysterious presence, she could t let words escape."

A few moments later, Freddy came downstairs relieved, "Margaret." He shouted to the kitchen to call the police and told them it was a mistake. He had last felt this scared when he was in the army when he and his best friend Rodney Dlamani got caught and kept captive in Africa; sadly, it's a memory he won't ever forget seeing his brother in arms being burnt alive and set alight as the tribe with white painting all body, he has also learned that they necklace they wore around there neck were made of human teeth.

"Margaret, where are you, honey?" Freddy dragged his swollen legs as fast as he could until he reached the living room.

His wife Margaret was lying on the floor; he ran as fast as he couldn't, dropping to his knees, and laid her head on his lap. He checked her pulse, but he knew death when he saw it; she was pale, and her body felt stiff and cold.

He rested her head on his lap and cried; looking up, he saw the open back door. He grabbed his shotgun and ran up to the door, swinging it kindly in the darkness, "you a coward, show your face I dare you to show me your face." He screamed out in anger.He screamed out hysterically.

He felt a touch on the back of his shoulder; he jumped, turned around, and what he saw next was nothing he could imagine. Careful what you wish for said the Mysterious leaning forward.