The Visitor — a short story for English reading and speaking

I was at home. It was late in the evening. And I was wasting time scrolling through total nonsense on my phone.

And just as I forced myself to stop doing that and go to bed, there was a knock at the door.

Not so much a knock as rapid banging on the door.

I ran to the hallway and tried to peer through the frosted glass to see who it could be. I was about to ask who was there when a voice called out.

“I can see you. I need to talk to you.”

I opened the door, just a crack, to see who it was.

Outside stood a man — slightly stocky build, shaved head, pale face. No one I knew.

The man looked at me, a nervous look in his eyes.

“I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Sean. We were at college together.”

I shook my head, trying to process what was happening.

Sean? Sean who?

Then, in a series of flashbacks, it came to me.

Sean Blackwood.

Of course.

I could see it now.

He had put on some weight since we were at college. His hair was now much shorter than it was back then. Before, he had long hair.

But I could see the familiarity in his face. The same expression there.

“Sean!” I said. I smiled back at him. But he was not smiling.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

The urgent look on his face, his dishevelled clothes. Something was wrong.

I stepped further out, blocking the doorway. I let the door swing closed behind me, leaving a smaller gap between my house and this man that I had not seen for so many years.

“What is it, Sean?”

I tried to keep the friendly, positive beat in my voice. I smiled.

He looked down the street and my eyes followed.

Nothing there. No other people on the street. No police lights.

“Could we — could I come in for a second?”

There it was.

At college, Sean had always been kind of quiet. He kept himself to himself. Then in the third year, he disappeared.

He just didn’t come back.

People mentioned it a couple of times, but that was the end of it. They had their own things to deal with, and so Sean was forgotten.

I was his only real friend at college. And that was because we were roommates in the first year. We were thrown together.

“Sean, I can’t let you in right now,” I said. “The kids have just gone to bed. It’s late…”

I shook my head. A clear no.

And I put one hand behind my back to pull the door closed.

He saw it and came nearer. His face very close to mine.

I could see the fear in his eyes. The sense of urgency. The glint of something unbalanced in his personality.

“You have to let me in,” he said. “Please.”

He was around the same height as me. But he was carrying more weight. And even back in college, he always struck me as being strong.

Plus, he looked desperate.

“I can’t do that,” I said. The tone in my voice gave me away.

He was clearly at an advantage.

He shoved at me, trying to get a grip on the doorframe. To get into my house.

My kids were upstairs. My wife too. No way I could let this man who I had not seen for so long into my house.

“You have to let me in.” His voice was now threatening. “I have something I need to show you.”

I managed to push back.

Then, from behind me, my wife’s voice.

“What’s going on? Who are you talking to?”

My heart jumped into my throat. I didn’t want her to see this. And I didn’t want this man — a stranger to me now — to see her.

“Get back!” I called out to her over my shoulder.

Now, he was struggling hard with me. The two of us scuffling on the doorstep.

With one final push, I managed to shove him away from the door. It took all my strength. He was much stronger than me.

He took a few steps back and faced me.

I waited for him to come running at me. To try and barge his way into our home.

My wife was right behind me now. I could feel her there.

Without looking, I yelled at her.

“Get indoors! Shut the door!”

But I knew she would not do that. She would want to stay with me and try to help.

This man I had not seen for so long — Sean Blackwood — screamed at me.

“Please. You need to see this,” he said, fumbling in his pocket.

I took one step closer to him, preparing myself for him to rush at me.

Then, the sound of sirens. Blue flashing lights bouncing off the houses in our quiet little street.

Within seconds, uniformed police were at the gate.

“Don’t do it, Sean!” one of them yelled at his back.

I fully expected him to come at me. But he didn’t.

Instead, he crumpled to his knees.

I stood, helpless, watching this man I had not seen for twenty years being dragged away by the police. My wife behind me, her arms holding me in a reassuring grip.

The following hour, we sat in our living room, two uniformed police taking statements, asking me how I knew this man, Sean Blackwood.

And as I faltered and choked out my words, my mind filled with the two of us at college. His smiling face making jokes and laughing.

“What happened to him?” I asked the police. But they just glanced at each other, knowing everything but giving nothing away.

They left, and my wife made a cup of tea. Tea. The universal calming agent at times like this.

Hours later, the street all dark, I opened the door again.

That slight paranoid thought in my head that this man — Sean Blackwood — would be standing there.

But nothing.

I was about to close the door, when I saw the light reflecting off something on the ground.

I bent down and saw a USB memory stick. Cold to the touch.

I slipped it into my pocket without a word.