The Ring

I suppose if I had known that evening would be the last vestige of normalcy in my life, I would have paid more attention to the subtle disquiet that simmered just below the surface. But, as it is with most people, I was preoccupied with trivial matters. Such as Netflix and the comfortable swiping of social media; barely aware of the dark shadow creeping over my tranquil existence.

As it happens, I am a man prone to misconceptions, and this account will undoubtedly reflect that. You see, the truth, as I perceive it, is often a shade of my own invention. Perhaps if you consider my account with a healthy dose of skepticism, you might piece together the real story that I, in my misguided naiveté, have obscured. What is more honest than saying the truth gets buried by time afterall.

It began with the doorbell—a jarring chime that echoed through the otherwise still evening. I had just settled into the familiar embrace of my Lazyboy, a worn but reassuring piece of furniture that had seen me through many a sleepless night.

I was alone, as I had been for some years since my wife Ally had died tragically in a car accident.

This night was like most since then. I would come home from my laborious job; usually tired from the amount of my soul it siphoned away. I would clean my modest house until it shined. Then I’d spend the evening in quiet solitude, indulging in my usual pastimes- which may include a modest amount of whiskey to accompany me. So, when the doorbell rang, it was all the more startling.

My initial reaction was one of irritation. After all, the night was too fine to be disturbed by unsolicited visitors, and I haven't ordered anything from Amazon in some time. Yet, curiosity—an unfortunate trait of mine—compelled me to investigate.

I rose with an exaggerated groan, aware that the sound of my feet on the wooden floor seemed louder than usual, reverberating through the quiet house like a mournful song.

I approached the door and peered through the peephole, half-expecting to see nothing but a void. Instead, I was met with the sight of a stranger, a man of indeterminate age and an air of dishevelment that hinted at recent misfortune or misfortunes. His clothing was rumpled, as though he had been living out a suitcase for days. I could not discern his features clearly; the peephole offered only a limited view—a distortion of reality that matched the disorientation I felt.

Against my better judgment, I opened the door.

The man stood there, his face partially obscured by the brim of a weather-beaten hat. He greeted me with an unsteady smile, revealing a set of teeth that seemed to have seen better days. "Good evening," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper that seemed to scrape the edges of my composure.

I hesitated. "Can I help you?"

He did not immediately respond, as though the question required more thought than it deserved. Instead, he continued to regard me with that unnerving smile, which began to unsettle me more than I care to admit. The air grew thick with an uneasy silence, and it was then that I noticed the strange smell emanating from him—a peculiar mix of musty earth and something more akin to mustard gas used in the trenches of World War 1.

"I don't mean to intrude," he said finally, his tone imbued with an unsettling sincerity. "But I seem to have lost my way. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

Surprising myself, once again against my better judgment, I stepped aside and allowed him entry. What harm could a brief conversation with a lost traveler do? I told myself that it was a gesture of goodwill, a simple act of kindness.

As the man crossed the threshold, I couldn't shake the feeling that his arrival was not entirely random. There was a purposeful air to his movements, a deliberate pacing that suggested a familiarity with the house, though I could not fathom how. He seemed like a dog that was lost and now had found its way home.

"Please, have a seat," I offered, gesturing towards the armchair that had only moments before cradled me. He obliged, sitting with an ease that seemed almost too practiced. As I took my place on the sofa, I noticed that his eyes darted around the room with a peculiar intensity, as though he were cataloging every detail.

"You must forgive my intrusion," he began, “but I find myself in need of assistance. You see, I am searching for something—an... item of great value, if you will."

I was taken aback by the abruptness of his request. "And what exactly are you looking for?" The thought crossed my mind as well, and why would it be in my house?

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It's going to sound quite odd, just to forewarn you.” A nervous yet curious smile came across his face. “It's an item of jewelry, a ring that is very precious…”

I nodded, though the whole conversation felt increasingly surreal." I am afraid I don't have a ring. Perhaps you might be mistaken."

His gaze fixed on me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something akin to desperation in his eyes. "Are you certain? I have reason to believe that it may be here. There’d be an reward you know?”

Ah yes, the very likely homeless man has a very big reward to offer me does he? I couldn't prevent the sarcastic smile on my face. “Oh? A very bid reward I imagine?”

He held up a finger, “The biggest.”

Please, stop teasing me. “And what pray tell might that be?”

He seemed to return the sarcastic smile back to me. “Your life.”

“My… Life?”

Before I could respond, the man rose abruptly and began to move about the room, his movements becoming frantic.

He rifled through drawers, examined the shelves, and even peered under the furniture. It was like watching a movie in fast forward. I watched, a mix of confusion and concern bubbling within me.

"Stop!" I exclaimed, rising from my seat. "You cannot ransack my home. I think I will call the police—"

He turned to me with a wild look in his eyes, "The police will be no help to either one of us, trust me. You must help me find the ring!"

“Trust you…?” I was at a loss for words. The situation had taken a turn for the bizarre. "You must leave. Now."

The man hesitated, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that I found almost hypnotic. It was then I noticed that his eyes were black. A pool of darkness like a blackhole. I felt a chill finger its way down my back. "Very well," he said finally, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Just know if you go down, I go down." He walked until his nose nearly was brushing against my door, he cocked his head towards my direction. "The echoes of silence often carry the heaviest burdens; when they break, the world will tremble."

With that wildly ominous statement, he left. The door closed behind him with a resounding finality. I stood there, bewildered, and chuckling to myself trying to make sense of the encounter. The house, which had seemed so tranquil only moments before, now felt foreign and unsettling.

I began to pick up the mess the strange man had left. Clothes were tossed, drawers open, and my dining table overturned? I hadn't remembered the man doing so, yet there it was, on its side. I resigned and surrendered to my sleepyness and decided to hit the hay instead.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though sleep eluded me despite feeling it in my bones. I found myself constantly checking the locks, peering out the windows, and listening for any sounds that might suggest another intrusion. But the night remained silent, save for the occasional creak of the house settling.

__________________________________________________________

In the day that followed, I could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. After a cup of tea I began to clean up the mess. I hadn't realized the extent of his reach. It was as though the entire house had been rummaged through.

It was when I saw a glimmer of light beneath a pile of newspapers that I felt a plummeting sickness in my stomach. My knees cracked as I knelt to the ground, I felt like Gollum of Lord of The Rings lore holding the diamond ring in my fingers.

It was golden and embossed with an intricate design. The ring was not my own, I had never seen it before in my life. Surely I would’ve remembered something like this in my own home. Was this the ring the stranger was looking for?

The sickness in my stomach continued, and filled with more dread as I heard an aggressive knock on my front door. Was the stranger back? To my surprise the answer to my question was far more alarming. As I approached another pound of the door was followed by the words. “Police search warrant!”

I froze but for a moment, I imagined the mess of my house becoming that much messier with them kicking in the door.

“Coming!” I hurried to the door, preparing to open it right away. Before opening it, I was overcome by a force that I could not explain as my own. I opened my mouth; and tucked the ring against my cheek.

I was greeted by several nondescript but firm faced police officers, who entered my house with the same vigor and comfort as the stranger from the night prior. The officer who seemed to be in charge forced a piece of paper in my face with the title: Search warrant and affidavit. My eyes frantically searched the scribbles and legal jargon. I saw it, suffocated beneath the items that were listed on said warrant, there it was, 0.9 carat, gold embroidered ring.

I nearly choked on said ring in my mouth as my tongue flipped it on its side.

In my desperation to understand, I turned to the authorities. Who in short order patted me down against the wall. I asked one of the officers what this was all about. He gave me a once over with a quizzical look. “You fucking kidding? Cus if you're kidding it's a weird thing to joke about.” The other officers paused mid search and glanced at me with either concealed or not so concealed looks of disgust.

I felt a sense of shame but I didn't know what for. The officer shrugged and shook his head. His face gave a drop of sympathy.

“Well if my wife had just gone missing, my house would probably look like a shit show too. For what it's worth I understand.”

I felt as though I were staring into oblivion as my mind raced. Just gone missing?

It was as if my tear filled eyes were suddenly opened. I saw it now. The house was covered in dust and grime. The officers were not pulling couch cushions and various items away, they were simply moving what was already on the ground and discarded. I covered my face from the smell of garbage that had long sat near the pile of dishes that filled my kitchen sink.

I thought perhaps to tell them about the man who had come in the night, and rummaged through my house in search of the ring. That he was maybe the cause of my wife's disappearance.

But as I stood there, the ring pressed against my cheek watching them go through my house, I knew better. I knew that me bringing up the stranger, or the mere mention of the ring would make me even more of a suspect.

And so, here I am, recounting this tale to you, a tale that is as much a mystery to the police as it is to you or myself. I cannot say with certainty what has transpired with me, or my wife.

Perhaps you will conclude, as I often do, that the truth is simply an illusion, shaped by our own fears and perceptions. Perceptions that I choose to believe, I know I am not alone in that regard.

Oftentimes I wish I had never opened my door to the stranger. But then I realize the man who came to my door was not merely a stranger but a harbinger of a truth too terrible to comprehend. He opened my eyes to a truth that I may have overlooked or hidden from myself. A truth that perhaps saved me.

Either way, at this point I am sure this is a mystery that I wish to not open my door to. For as I have learned, some doors are best left unopened.