The Visitor

A clinking noise in the kitchen roused Sally from her bed. Probably the ice maker. Or maybe a dish settling in the sink. The cat—yes, it must be Whiskers, licking the melted remnants of her nightly bowl of ice cream.

She slipped on her fuzzy robe and slippers, wondering she had been asleep at all. The growing stack of bills and yesterday’s lackluster job interview consumed her thoughts whether she was asleep or awake. The job would be horribly boring, and it paid much less than her old position. Should she hold out for a better offer? She was already two months behind on her mortgage.

“Whiskers? Here kitty kitty!” Sally yawned and retied her crooked ponytail.

She trudged out of her room but immediately skidded to a stop. At the end of the dark hallway, the entrance to the kitchen glowed bright with a cold white light.

“What the--” Heart thudding, she inched forward. “Whiskers?”

Inside, the freezer door stood wide open, cold air spilling out.

“Get a grip, Sally.” She needed to take a deep breath, to pay attention. What if she had forgotten to turn off the stove’s gas burner?

She closed the door, plunging the room into blackness, and felt her way to the sink. She reached for the light switch. Flick. Nothing. She flicked the switch again. No lights. Had a fuse blown out? An electrician’s bill was the last thing she needed right now.

She started as something flitted by and landed on the floor with a bump.

“You are going to be the death of me, cat.” Hands shaking, she rifled under the sink for the flashlight. Whiskers rubbed against her backside, purring.

“Found it! Let’s check the fuse box.” She clicked on the flashlight, sending a beam of light across the linoleum floor and onto a human silhouette standing in front of the refrigerator.

Sally screamed, the flashlight dropped with a clatter, and Whiskers skittered into the corner, hissing.

“What? Who--” She fumbled behind her on the counter for something to use as a weapon. Her hand wrapped around a cold metal butter knife. The translucent figure stood silent, holding a bowl of mint chip ice cream. It shuffled forward on dingy slippers.

“Stay right there!” Sally pointed the useless knife. “What do you want?”

The figure—a woman, Sally could now see—smiled and licked her spoon.

“Don’t worry. I’m just visiting.”

The woman straightened the belt of her worn bath robe and smoothed her white-streaked ponytail.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

Sally eyes widened. The robe, the slippers, the ponytail… Could it be?

“I’m you,” the woman whispered, “and you need to take that job.”

Whiskers crept toward her, sniffing the hem of her robe.

“And you should know: you’ll make it through the pandemic—”

“Pandemic?” Sally cried. “What pandemic?”

“One more thing—"

“Wait—I don’t understand—”

“Buy stock in Zoom, Sally. As much as you can—”

And with that, the woman and the bowl of ice cream disappeared, leaving Sally and Whiskers alone in the pitch black night.