First impressions are hard to forget.
I still remember that night. The harsh cold rain and the knock on my door that cut through the dark.
If I had known back then… how could I have known such a thing? Would any of it be any different if I had known?
I remember opening the door half asleep, only to meet a tall bald man with tattoos crawling up his face and dark circles sunk deep around his eyes. It wasn’t just his appearance that unsettled me; it was the way he stood there, too still, like he had been waiting for me longer than the knock suggested.
He didn’t say much. Just handed me a metal box and a letter. The job was simple, he said. Deliver it to a manor on a small island off the coast of Brunswick, Maine.
And then he smiled.
I still remember that smile.
It was wide. It didn’t feel like a smile at all.
Something about it was off. I knew that even then. But the letter had a cheque tucked inside, enough to cover more than just the trip. And I didn’t have the luxury of refusing work. My ex-wife had been on my back for days about the alimony. Bills don’t care if something feels wrong.
So I took it.
I slipped on my coat and wrapped a scarf around my neck. A few hours and a short boat ride out there to deliver the box and then back by supper.
Or so I thought.
