Fiction: The Wanderer, a short horror story

The Wanderer

A short horror story, by Erik Engström, 2024-07-20

“Find him.”

This command had echoed within my mind the past week as the voice had grown louder.

I did not recognize the voice, but at the same time it felt like a voice I had heard somewhere before.

This fact gnawed at my sanity, I needed to know, but how? I was here for another reason though, my mind was too occupied with the task at hand to pursue the truth behind the voice.

This town was familiar to me. In this moment it was if it was all I had ever known. Nothing before, nothing after it. The moment was at its purest clarity, and the voices demanded that I had to find him. It was as if the unknown presence was guiding me, all to bring him home. Wherever that is.

They had sought him for so long and the task was mine to finish.

A gentle breeze swept through the trees as I walked down the neighborhood. It was a beautiful day to the unknowing, all who were out to enjoy the day. People in the gardens tending to their plants, children playing in the street and the occasional cyclist riding by.

By the side of the road I stopped a woman and asked, “excuse me, I am looking for a Mr. Lotti, does he live here?”. She eyed me suspiciously for a moment, finally pointing further down in the same direction I had been walking. 

“Try there” she said as she took a step away from me, before walking away.

“Thanks.” I replied and continued on.

A few minutes later after having rounded a bend I noticed an older man standing by his mailbox on the same side of the road. When I got close enough for him to see me, his mouth closed and he tensed up in worry. 

“Are you here for me?” He asked with a trembling voice.

I looked at my wrist watch, while shaking my head as an answer to his question. 

“It is not time. I am looking for Ryan, does he live nearby?”

“Yes, I saw one of his kids playing in the street earlier. Maybe he knows if Mr. Lotti is home.” The man replied, trying to hide his relief.

“Thank you. Until next time.” I said and nodded.

Just as the man had finished replying I heard the sound of laughter not much further away, it was the young son of Ryan. I made my way over there to ask about his father.

“Hello, what is your name?” The child asked me before I could say anything.

"Well, hello there, I am Saul Atoke, I am a friend of your father, is he here?”

With big eyes the young kid dropped the stick that he was playing, “he is at home”, he said cheerfully and pointed at house number 13, a lightly teal colored house at the end of the street, framed between two large oak trees with leaves rustling in the wind.

“Thank you” I said and waved.

I was nearing the end and stood just outside the house for a moment. Was it always going to be like this? Would he know why? 

The voices whispered to me in a maniacal rhythm “take it, take it, take it, we demand it”. 

I could see the child with his red sweater running past me, into the house, clearly caught up in an imaginary world as he forgot to close the door behind him. A minute passed and a hand pulled the door shut again. To them this was just an ordinary day. To me, it was also an ordinary day.

I braced myself as I entered the gate, I never got used to this but there was nothing to be done now. 

“Ryan E. Lotti, this must his place”, I thought to myself as I read the sign next to the door. 

I reached to knock. A moments silence was followed by a thud and footsteps getting closer to the door. The door handle turned and the door opened up.

Our eyes met for a moment. If he really was afraid of me his face did not reveal that secret, it was as if he already knew who I was, and more importantly why I was there. It was time to take him home.

The unspoken conversation between me and him was broken by a sound behind him. It was the kid I had seen before. His eyes spoke of confusion, as he remembered me from earlier. Unlike his father, he did not know who I was.

The masters’ words echoed in my mind. These damnable voices that I had heard for such a long time. As long as I remembered. They reminded me that the man in front of me had to pay his debt. His time was long overdue and the job of collecting was mine.

Just as my hand reached through what felt like an infinite distance to claim his soul there and then, I felt time slowing down. My hand slowed down to a complete halt, even the man and his son stood still, light no longer reflecting in their eyes. Darkness flooded the corridor in his house like a wild river washing over rocks. The ambiance from the street outside went silent, cars stopped and darkness covered every corner as if the sun had suddenly gone missing.

Silence, darkness and then it was over.

More silence.

More darkness.

Until a tiny sharp light glared at me.

“I’ve seen enough, this is the perfect candidate, we have what we need.” Said a faceless man, with a voice muffled by a surgical mask.

“Will he survive the process?” Asked another, just as faceless woman, holding a scalpel.

“It does not matter. We have extracted the mind and created a fully functional model. It will be used elsewhere. Our mortality has controlled our lives, but now even Death will serve us.” Replied the man as they walked away from the table.

The End.