His reckoning

The knock, when it comes, is timed to the very second. It's 11.53pm on Tuesday evening, exactly ten years since my first encounter.

My heart pounds in time with each thud on the door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I stand as slowly as I dare, and make the all-too short walk to the front door. The walk of the condemned.

There's no shape on the other side of the glass. No sign of anyone out there at all. But as I tread my way closer, the knock sounds again, loud and impatient.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

I speed up, despite the churning in my stomach. Mustn't keep Him waiting.

My trembling hand fumbles on the latch, but I manage to wrench the door open before the terrible knocking can sound again.

There's no one there.

I look around, searching up and down, but the street outside is totally deserted. Even the neighbour's cat has abandoned her usual post under the streetlamp on the corner.

The thud of my heart grows more intense.

This doesn't make any sense. Ten years, that's all He gave me. Not a second more, not a second less.

So where is He?

Try as I might, I can find no sign of His distinctive silhouette. Its like He's vanished, if He was ever here at all.

I should feel relieved, but my apprehension only grows. He promised me ten years, and He always keeps his promises.

It's only as I try to close the door that I spot it. There, placed neatly on the doorstep, is small package, wrapped in plain brown paper.

I freeze and stare down at it. I can't stop. My muscles refuse to move. It feels somehow as though the box is staring back up at me, waiting to see what I'll do.

But what else can I do? I dread to think what might happen if I ignore it, and there's no way in hell I'm going to risk finding out.

When I pick it up, the box is light - far lighter than I'd been expecting. It feels almost empty.

If only.

I carry the package back inside, turning it carefully between my fingers to inspect it. I'm holding it out at arm's length like I expect it to explode, but I know He'd never be so obvious.

The brown paper is perfectly wrapped and crease-free, with no label or message of any kind. Just His style. Impeccable and unknowable.

I'm going to have to open it, I know, but I stretch the walk back to the living room for as long as I can. He promised me an end, all those years ago, and this package must somehow be it. Even if it's not the one I expected.

I thought I was ready. He’s kept up his end of the bargain, and I was ready to keep up mine and embrace death. But this doesn’t feel like death. This feels like something new.

He always had a flare for the unexpected.

I hadn’t expected Him to turn up back then, when I was at my lowest ebb. Perhaps I should have. When people are down and desperate - what better time to strike a bargain?

But as I lay in the gutter ten years ago, desperate and destitute, I was startled to see those perfect shoes step into view. They were so impeccably polished, they hardly looked real.

I craned up my gaze, past the tailored black pinstripe trousers, the matching suit jacket and the neat grey tie, to the most incongruous thing of all - the bowler hat. Somehow the face beneath it was lost in unnatural shadow, completely impossible to make out.

And I tried, so many times. As He took me into the warmth of a nearby bar, as He bought me a drink, as He listened to all my many, many problems - I kept trying to see what lay under that bowler hat.

No matter how hard I searched, there was only darkness.

But His voice was smooth, as warm and comforting as the bar He had so kindly brought me into. He was so easy to talk to, despite the strangeness of his appearance.

He could make it all better, He promised me. He could make all my problems go away, give me everything I ever wanted.

For a price, of course.

The price was ten years. No more, no less. After that, He told me, in a voice as smooth as the beer in my glass, there would be a reckoning.

When you’re down and out, when you’ve truly hit rock bottom, the only way you can go is up. I’d served my time on the streets. I’d nearly died so many times, and done things I longed to forget for a chance of just one more day on this godforsaken planet.

Ten years felt like a lifetime.

I didn’t think twice before shaking that gloved hand. So deathly cold, despite the silk.

I don’t regret it, even now at the end. He kept all his promises. He got me off the street, into a job and a home. I met the love of my life and had three beautiful children.

He gave me purpose again. Meaning. Something worthwhile to leave behind. I’ll be missed.

So I won’t begrudge Him his reckoning. I’ve made sure my family are out of the house, as far away as possible. They’re safe. It’s time to pay my debt, whatever that might involve.

Hands trembling, I tear open the package. The box inside is as plain as the paper I just ripped away. No hint of what it might contain.

There’s nothing for it. I lift the lid and peer inside.

At first I don’t process what I’m seeing. I just stare down at it again, as I did when it was a package on my doorstep.

But then understanding washes over me. I know what I must do.

I strip off my clothes, and dress myself neatly in the shirt, tie and pinstripe suit from the box. They fit perfectly of course.

I slip on the silk gloves, then finally lift the bowler hat onto my head.

I look into the mirror. My face is lost in shadow.

A calm washes over me. It’s a big world, full of poor desperate souls crying out for help. There are deals to be struck. Reckonings to be had.

I have work to do.