A Visitor (In eighteen lines)
The doorbell rang
And rang a second time
Dad rolled over. Checked his clock
It was the stroke of midnight. Woke his wife
What is it? she asked. The doorbell, he said, is ringing
They had spent the day at the cemetery burying their only son
Ignore it, she said. She and her husband were bereft and exhausted
The doorbell rang again. Dad could not ignore it. He grabbed his pistol
And crept downstairs. The doorbell rang again. Insistent. Who is it? Angrily.
The voice that answered was so quiet Dad had to press his ear to hear what it was saying
I can't hear you. Speak louder. The voice came back louder but with effort. And oh, so familiar
Dad, the voice said heavily, it's me, William, your son. Dad's blood ran cold. In fury, he shouted how dare you
How dare you, you know we just buried our son. The oh so familiar voice replied, I couldn't leave you both. Dad aimed his pistol at the door.
Mother was at the top of the stairs. What on earth is going on?
Stay upstairs. Go back to bed. I'm taking care of it. He pulled the trigger
Shot right through the door. Oh my God, Mother wailed, what are you doing
Dad heard the groan and the body slumped heavily against the door. And then silence
Dad opened the door. The body lay face up. There was blood. I know who this is. Call the police
