Knocking at the Door

The life-shattering knocking at the door!

Stan (or as his grandmother called him, Stanislov) was sitting at his desk in-putting this and in-putting that into his computer. He was on the verge of nodding off. He felt like a robot.

Then, as he glanced out of the corner of his barely-awake eyes he noticed the clock on the shelf to the right of his desk. It read 4:59 pm.

Stan bolted into full consciousness. He immediately saved all his work and put his computer into sleep mode. Jumping up from his desk he began turning off every light in his apartment. He turned off the air conditioner so that its hum could not be heard.

Very carefully peeking out of his window he saw that there was no car at the curb. But he knew that they would be coming at any minute. They always showed up between 5 o’clock and 5:30; every day like clockwork.

Stan’s apartment was dark and silent. Quietly, he lit a cigarette — something he always did when he was nervous. With ashtray in hand, he stood motionless in the hallway being as quiet as he could. Luckily, smoking was a very silent activity.

Halfway through the cigarette it came; the rapping, the pounding at his door. Anxiety and fear raced through his body. He barely caught his breath. He was shaking. They knocked and knocked and…