FreeWrights Peer Review™

Late on a summer’s afternoon, the time of year when twilight seems to hang forever in the hills,
we were just about to have supper when there was an unexpected knock on the door. I opened it to find a young man standing there. He was dishevelled and unkempt.

"Can I help you?"

He didn’t look directly at me but rather his gaze seemed to be fixed at some unknown point around my ankles.

“I want to walk around your property," he answered.

Instantly annoyed, I said, “No, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave right now!”

I began to close the door then pulled it open again, "And just why do you want to walk around our place?”

He lifted his eyes to meet mine and all I could see were pools of liquid misery.

"I grew up around here," he said. “Born and raised. My parents used to own all this country; we lived in that big yellow house back at the corner. Mum and dad ran a dairy herd, then milk prices collapsed and the bank took over; they sold it to some developer who did all this sub-division.”

He went on, “We moved away so dad could find work, then we had this car crash.”

His voice began to falter, "Everyone was killed, everyone died, mum, dad, everyone. The doctors put this steel plate in my head, but it doesn’t work, nothing works anymore. The happiest days of my life were spent around here; I just want to be somewhere with happy memories.”

“Listen mate,” I said. “Walk around as much as you want, but it’s getting dark and there’s no moon tonight, just wait a moment while I find you a torch.”

"No,” he said. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I know this land so well, and thank you very much, I won’t be any trouble."

He began to move off.

“Is that big swimming hole still on the river or has it silted up?” he asked.

"It’s still there,” I answered. “There is even a big sign attached to a tree. It says, “Paradise Pocket.”

A smile almost broke out across his face. "My dad put that sign there when we were little; I thought a flood would have washed it away by now.”

“Hey listen," I said. “We were just about to have supper. I’ll put a plate aside for you, come back to the house when you’re ready. I even have some cold beers in the refrigerator, maybe we can have a drink together."

“Fine, fine, I won’t be any trouble,” he repeated, obviously not hearing me anymore. “I’ll just look around for a while then be gone.” He disappeared into the gloom before I could say anything else.

He didn’t come back to the house; I called from the veranda a few times but there was no response.
In the morning before breakfast I went down to the river looking for signs of him. I couldn’t see anything at first, but then I noticed a single pair of shoe prints leading to the water's edge.

"Please no, please no, no please."

I stripped down to my underwear and waded into the water, swam about for a short while then emerged on the other side of the river. There in the sand were the same shoe prints, leading off into the bush towards the main road below a small hill. I scrambled through the bush and up to the road, but saw nothing.

After making my way back home I rang the police and told the officer what had happened and asked him if he could help find out who this bloke was. The policeman was new to the area and couldn’t help me but did promise to make some inquiries.

I called into the station at lunch. "Well," said the officer, “it took some digging and a few phone calls, but it seems this fellow’s name was Darold Coates, no criminal record and no known current address. He did live out your way years ago, and yes, his mother, father, younger sister and older brother were all killed in a motor vehicle accident. It seems our friend was the only survivor.”

I thanked the officer and walked back to my car, thinking, "No, Darold never survived that car crash at all."

The years have rolled by and sometimes late in the day when shadows are long, I think about Darold and wonder, did he ever find a place where he could be happy again?

Nice story. A few little techical things, but this is something I think you could polish a bit and submit to some places.

Bluejay, Another belated thank you.