The Visitor at the Door

Adam sat at the kitchen table. His elbow firmly planted on its surface, hand of the same arm holding up his head. A sigh escaped his mouth as he slowly blinked.

“I’m so bored.” He drew out the so.

“Nothing ever happens around here,” the twelve year old said to the empty room.

Minutes ticked away.

Three loud knocks came from the door.

“I’ll get it,” Adam yelled.

He opened the door. His eyes widened. He took four steps backwards.

A tall figure stood before him, cloaked in grey. It stepped into the doorway.

“I am here for you, young man,” a deep voice said from under the silver trimmed hood.

A paralysis filled the boy, one of both body and mind.

The man removed his hood to reveal a gaunt face, deep wrinkles and closely cropped white hair and beard. Deep set eyes stared at the frozen boy’s face.

“You are needed, child. A great evil comes and you hold the key to stopping its march across the five worlds. You are the one foretold. You are…the Boy Of Destiny!”

Adam sucked in a quick breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind he always knew he was special. He knew he was meant for great things. And now, here in the entryway of his suburban home, his world was about to change forever.

“Make haste, young Dennis. The journey will be long and taxing,” said the robed man.

Adam blinked. “Um, my name is Adam.”

“Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this 504 Salamander Drive?” the old man said, crinkling his brow.

Adam answered, “Yep.”

The man reached into his left sleeve and pulled out a small piece of paper. He looked at it, moving it closer and farther away from his eyes to find the best focal point. Two steps were taken back and he looked at the number above the door, then the paper, and then back at the door. He squinted.

He stepped back inside and showed the paper to the boy.

“Does that look like a four or a nine to you?” he asked.

Adam looked. “I think it’s a nine.”

“Crap,” said the man. “Well, ok. Hmm.”

He turned and walked outside, scanning the houses across the street.

“Ah.”

Adam watched as the man walked across the street and a few houses down to number 509. The man paused for a moment, covered his head with the hood of the robe and knocked three times.

The door opened and a boy Adam’s age stood in front of the man. Adam could hear the man say, “Dennis Rothchild, right?”

The conversation continued until an ornate silver chariot appeared on the street. One giant mountain goat yoked to the front. The man and Adam’s neighbor climbed in and shot into the sky.

Looking up toward the darkness, Adam blinked several times.

Behind him, he heard his mother yelling to shut the door. He was letting all the heat out.