My Midnight Visitor
by Milan Smith

 

It was midnight, and a gust of wind blew through my room, ruffling the blankets and chilling me awake. I groaned, yawned and rolled over, then tried drifting back to sleep. Another gust came through, and though I knew the windows were closed, I was too tired to care, so I pulled the blankets tighter and ignored the cold. Then I noticed the stench of something dead hanging in the air, and shivering, I turned over, opened one eye, and saw him standing by the bed.

Startled, I sat up, and stared in the face of Rand Oppenheim, my old “friend.” There were no lights on, so the room was black, yet I could see him clearly. He was pale, sick-looking, and still dressed in the suit he was buried in three days earlier. Leaning forward, I looked down and saw his bare feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

“Rand?” I said.

He held out his hands, palms up. “Yes Terence, it’s me.”

“But Rand, you shouldn’t be here.”

He smiled and nodded once, a mere bow of the head. “Yes, I shouldn’t. I should be far away, in another, happier place. But, I’m not. I’m here with you, and now we have much to talk about.”

“Like what?” I was confused. I’d known Rand all my life, but I thought I’d be the last one he’d want to see.

“I’m afraid you have much to atone for.”

 

 

“I do?”

“Yes Terence, you do. And my spirit cannot rest until all wrongs are set right.”

“But, what’s that have to do with me?”

“Ah, did you forget already? Did you forget that it was you who killed me, you who put the arsenic in my whiskey?”

“No,” I said. “How could I?”

“You can’t. You’ll never forget, it’ll haunt you forever.”

“Haunt me?” I said. “I think you’re confused, Rand, I’m actually pretty proud of it.”

“Proud?”

“Well yes, it was brilliant. I wish I’d thought of it years ago. But you know, now that you’re dead, you should stay dead. I went to a lot of trouble getting you buried, and I wanted you to stay that way.”

Now a long silence followed. I think he expected shame and remorse, but I felt none. “Terence,” he said, “I can’t leave.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Really you can. Just turn around and go back to hell where you belong.”

“But, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because of you, Terence.”

“Why me?”

“I’m bound to roam the world until you admit your crime—”

And here I fell back laughing. I laughed so hard I banged my head against the wall, but I didn’t stop. I kept laughing until I coughed and choked while thrashing in the blankets. My chest heaved and nearly cracked as my body shook, and Rand stood there silent, watching. He must have been shocked, because in life, no one had ever laughed at him.

It took a long time before I could breathe again, and when I could, I sat up once more and faced him. “There’s no chance of that, Rand. Wouldn’t that be really stupid of me to pull off the perfect murder, and then admit it?”

“But, unless you do, I’ll walk the earth, restless and hopeless, crying and unheard.”

“Good. You were a real bastard anyway. You cheated all your friends, you slept with their wives, you conned old women out of their life savings. Why shouldn’t you wander the world sad and miserable?”

“But, was any crime of mine worth my death?”

“Well, yes. Any of them were. You had 16 people threaten to kill you, and two actually tried. Remember that? After the funeral, everyone crowded the nearest bar and threw a party. That alone was worth your death. Rand, you’ve never seen so much human happiness in one place. I wish you could die everyday just so people could know what heaven was like.”

“But Terence, what about your conscience?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I slept pretty well until you woke me up. And if you leave now I can get in another six hours.” I turned and fluffed my pillow, just to make the point.

“You feel no guilt?”

 

“Guilt? For what? For bringing joy to vast numbers of people? For granting their fondest wish? Rand, I’m like an angel making miracles. Everyone’s happy you’re dead. No one said anything nice at your funeral. Except your kids, and what the hell do they know? Surely not you.”

“But, you will admit your sin, or I’ll prove it was you.”

“Really? How? The police ruled it a suicide, and since you’re dead, what the hell can you do? Show up at a seance? I don’t think that’s admissible in court.”

“There are things I can do to make you speak,” Rand said, and the air grew colder as he drifted closer to the bed.

“Meaning what?”

“You know me, Terence. You know what I’ve done, and what I could do. I’ll make you remember the worst of it. I’ll twist your dreams to nightmares, and fill your days with bloody visions. I’ll appear to you as a beast crawling from the pits of hell. You’ll suffer things no man should ever feel, you’ll know what it means to die a living death, and then you’ll admit your crime to buy peace!”

“No,” I said, “you’ll go away forever, or I’ll make you suffer.”

“And how can I suffer more? You, Terence, you took my life. And now I’m forced to wander the world forever, alone and lost.”

Now I was getting bored, and wanted to end this quick. “If you don’t go away, Rand, I’ll make your death worse than any death should be. I’ll make it a misery that makes hell seem sweet.”

“How can that be? What can be worse than eternal wandering? Worse than this never-ending suffering?”

“A lot of things.”

“What things?”

“Well Rand, you always wanted people to remember you, you were obsessed with your legacy.”

“So?”

“So, remember how the society put your name on the new concert hall? That’s supposed to keep your name alive forever, isn’t it? Now, wouldn’t they love to know you paid those donations with laundered drug money? I wonder how long it’d take to rename the hall?”

Rand bowed. “I don’t care, my crimes should be known. Cleanse my soul with the truth. I deserve worse.”

“Cleanse your soul? Okay then, what about your church? They love you so much they named the new school for you. I’ll send them pictures of you with your mistress. What was her name? Oh, yes, the Mrs. Reverend John Ellis —”

“I’d deserve it,” Rand said, “and worse! I don’t deserve to have anything named for me, and I know it. And what good is being remembered when I’m still here? Here, where I’m lost and alone, not living, not dying, just waiting for an end that never, never comes.”

“That’s fine, but don’t forget, I was your accountant. I’ll tell your ex-wife—the third one, the one who slept with your son—where you hid your assets at the divorce, and how to get them, so she’ll live high off your money while you rot away. Isn’t that a sweet thought? I wonder how many young blond gigolos she could hire with that kind of money? Your lovely hateful ex-wife laughing on your grave and drinking champagne, instead of scraping by in near-poverty as she deserves.”

Silence. The room grew brighter, and Rand faded a little.

“Nothing to say, Rand?”

“But, my wanderings?”

“Doesn’t affect me. Go get someone to exorcize you, but do it somewhere else, because I just don’t care. I’m done with you. Finally and forever, I’m done with you. Now I need sleep, so go and don’t come back, or I’ll call your ex.”

“Oh, Terence—”

“Goodbye,” I said. “I’m sure you know the way out. And Rand, have a nice death. Or don’t, I don’t really care.”

A moment later Rand faded away, and I felt the air grow warmer. When I was alone again, I lay back in bed and pulled up the blankets. I was happy now, I’d said things to Rand I never had the courage to say while he lived, and now he was more miserable than I’d ever been. And that thought—Rand’s misery—gave me pleasant dreams as I rolled over and fell asleep.