a short story i wrote a while ago,

An Outlandish Night

Leslie was on the cusp of falling asleep, however she was burdened with the mundane housework after coming back from her twelve-hour shift at the nursing home. Although she would usually be sparked with rage, it did not seem to bother her that night. Even if she would’ve fancied a night out, the lofty rain had already enclosed her inside the peeling and drained pink walls. 

The ‘scree’ from the never-mended doorbell startled her, the tap water spilling on her worn uniform. The noise was endless: the person behind the door decided there should be no moment for tranquility on this already ear-splitting day. 

The door opened with a creak, revealing two elders, who she assumed were a couple. Their dainty teeth chattered in the same rhythm as the shivers that went across her body. The old man groaned and bellowed one cough after another while the woman’s handkerchief was rotten with snot. 

Leslie immediately hurried the two inside, ‘I’m Leslie, you can settle down on the couch’ she said as she gestured to the threadbare salmon-pink couch while simultaneously taking a hold of their inky and soaked umbrellas. It wasn’t until they settled that Leslie could get a good look at them. Their whole wardrobe that night was as black as the night sky, not one single patch was found that was another shade much less another colour. They looked as if they walked out of a photograph from the 1920s upper-class scene, from the man’s three-piece suit and a flat cap and the lady’s chic cloche hat and a tailored dress. The colour was a drastic contrast from their chalky skin and sunken light grey eyes. 

The old man, hunched like a vulture, sat stammering, showcasing no teeth, only tiny wisps of sound escaped from him. For the woman, it was a different story: it was as if she hadn’t talked in years and therefore stories of no substance gushed from her mouth. Her speech was expeditious, Leslie just could not keep up with her, only certain words such as “airport” and “poor boy”. She did make an effort to listen to her, for the sake of politeness. Leslie finally excused herself to go make the freezing guests tea. 

She came back with steaming green tea which the lady picked up with no hesitation. Her hands were so agile, it was a miracle they didn’t shatter into pieces. It wouldn’t in a million years, but there was something so inhumane with not only the lady’s hands but the existence of both of them. Whether it be the old fashioned clothes or the all-black attires. Was it their loquaciousness or the absence of speech at all? Leslie could not just pinpoint to one detail. 

Leslie took note of the man eyeing his cup with great desire but didn’t seem to make an effort to drink it, probably due to his feeble condition. Leslie picked up the cup and slightly tilted his jaw in order to pour the drink in his mouth, like she would to certain patients at work. As soon as a drop of the drink hit the tip of his tongue, it was as if someone set fire to a dynamite: the man started letting out hoarse screams and the tears that followed made Leslie get enveloped by guilt. The woman smacked the motionless Leslie’s hands from her partner. Leslie apologised again and again with no thought behind each word except panic. She felt idiotic over her actions. What was she thinking? 

Leslie cleaned up the disaster as the old couple, especially the lady, gave her an ugly stare. When she came back from the kitchen, her twenty-two year-old son had come home, closed his umbrella and popped the umbrella inside the holder, muttered a small evening to his mother and went straight to his room. She was dismayed by her ill-mannered son, but didn't dare scold him in front of the guests that already have some pessimistic thoughts about her. 

The rain stopped pouring, and the lady decided it was time for her and her partner to leave. The lady surprisingly thanked her for her service and left with their massive umbrellas. As soon as they shut the uneasy door with a slam, the son came out of his room with a change of clothes and was examining the calendar near the sink with a red marker. 

‘That was rude of you’ Leslie remarked as she approached him and continued washing the dishes. He looked puzzled and after a moment uttered. 

“Rude? When was I rude?” 

“When the guests were here.” 

“What guests?” his voice had a hint of irritation this time, the short temper he unfortunately inherited from his mother.  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know who taught you to not greet someone and go straight to your room when guests are here.” 

The son’s expression grew more perplexed than before. “There were no guests when I arrived mom, no one, it was just you on the stool in front of the battered couch.”. A series of phone beeps echoed through the thin walls, and he retreated to his cave.