The silent ones

There was a small boy, face dirty, nose running, huddled into a corner. The woman sat on the floor by the window, her head resting against the pane, her eyes staring out into the darkness. She didn't say anything when we came in. The boy stared at us with fearful eyes, huge, wet, unprotected. I wanted to rush over to him, hold him, comfort him, but I knew better. He stood infront of me, his staff in hand, his coat hanging to the floor. The coat always seemed heavier on nights like these. A few candles shed shadows across the floor, against the walls. One of them hid the boy. The woman stirred, turned her face to Him and smiled a sad, sickly smile that would haunt me for many nights to come. They never shouted, these ones. Their pain was the silent type, the ones that He felt the most, the deeper, darker pains with silent screams locked into them. Her eyes moved to the end of the room, to a bed next to the boy on the floor. Something lay there. He walked over, I followed eventhough everything in me said to stay. When he pulled back the covers, the little boy began to cry, a small whiny sound, helpless, thin and annoying. On the bed lay another child, this one younger than the boy. He was brown....all over. The only thing that said he was human was the way he was lying. He covered the boy up. I looked into his face hoping to see something, understand what he was feeling. But his face never changed. "So you see you are late" said the woman. Her anger lashed around the room then died quickly as if that was all the energy she had left in her. He turned to the woman, bent down and cupped his hand, then rose, put the hand to his ear and finally put something unseen into the pocket of his long coat. "He is not the one I came for" he said.

The Beginning

I met him after my mother died. Maybe it would be more truthful to say my mother died just before he walked into our house. He was big, very big. The whole town had said he was coming. Everyone had put candles in their windows and no one was out in the streets that night.

"He'll be here soon."
My mother looked at me from where she lay. I wiped away the heat from her forehead, brushed back her hair and smiled at her. "You just need to hold on a little bit longer....he's coming"
She closed her eyes and moaned. Candles flickered around the room, throwing shadows against the brown walls. Knowing she wouldn't last much longer, I got up and went to the window to look for him. "Please come please..." My mother screamed. Her voice, black, thick and heavy fell to the floor, split and slithered in different directions. A piece slid under the door and disappeared into the night. Then there was silence. I didn't move. I didn't go to her.  I stood and waited but I already knew. The darkness slid to where I stood by the window, crept up to my feet and slowly climbed up, heavy, sticky and leaden. It rolled up my legs, wrapped around my thighs, tightening between my legs, spreading out across my stomach. The wind picked up outside, some candles went out and I felt my chest tighten. The darkness dove into me, grabbed my heart and crushed it. My father's voice, now gone some 8 years, his absence which I had hidden deep within the walls of my heart, oozed out. I couldn't breath. Taking one last look over the hill I closed my eyes and fell to the floor.
...

He came up over the hill, his coat long down to his heels. From where he stood he looked down at the flickering lights of the small town below. He counted. Not the houses but the sounds. Then he heard what he had come for. Leaning down, he cupped his hand then lifted it to his hear and finally put it into his pocket before beginning his descent.