A Night Visit(Elwyn Hughes) THE NIGHT VISIT


Alfie Cruz climbed into his small single bed. He had already said goodnight to his mother, getting a kiss on his forehead for his troubles, before climbing the stairs and into his warm bed.
He looked around his room like any 12 year old boy might do before he went to sleep. There were his football posters on the wall, his digital clock on his dresser flashing 10:31pm, and his name in bright blue letters on a red background that his Dad had painted, rather unprofessionally, on the wall.
He looked at the window directly in front of him to check that his dark blue curtains were fully shut. He turned to his left, switched off his bedside lamp, and lay down on his back with his head resting on his pillow, hoping sleep would take him quickly tonight.
He lay with his eyes shut. Nothing. Sleep was not on his side tonight, even though he was allowed to stay up late. He opened his eyes.
The reason Alfie wanted to, but couldn’t, fall asleep tonight was because today was the day of his Grandfathers funeral. A reason enough for a 12 year old boy not to be able to sleep you might think. But that’s not all. You see, Alfie was with his Grandfather the very moment he died at the weekend.
In fact, Alfie was the only person with him when he died.

Last Saturday, Alfies Mother had a hair appointment that she “simply couldn’t miss” and, with his Dad at work at the local butchers there was nobody else left to watch him than his Grandfather. His Grandmother had died some years before, and his Grandparents on his Fathers side were over in Spain, enjoying their retirement.
It was no great secret that He didn’t like spending time with his Grandfather. Nobody knew why he didn’t like spending time with him, not even Alfie himself. He just knew there was something creepy about the old man. The way he looked through people when he spoke to them, or the way he spoke to himself when he was alone in a room. Not just muttering, but an actual one sided conversation.
He also thought his Grandfather wasn’t too keen on him. He never bought him anything for birthdays or Christmas like he did with Alfies cousins. He never invited him, or his Mum and Dad, over like he did with other members of the family.
At a quarter to two on Saturday, Alfies mum dropped him off at his Grandfathers pokey one bedroom flat.
“Gotta run, dad.” She said to the old man. “Be good, Alfie.” She followed those words with a stern look at the boy.
After the front door closed, Alfie stood next to the couch opposite his Grandfather.
“Sit down then, boy.” The old man said, rather harshly. Alfie sat.
There was stone silence. His Grandfather didn’t have a television in the flat so they couldn’t even watch that to pass the time.
Alfie looked up out of the curtainless window, then to the old man. His Grandfather was staring at him with a frown, so he put his head down.
“Come over here, boy.”
Alfie got up and stood in front of the old man, head still down.
“Take off your coat.” He said abruptly.
It was freezing in the flat, it always was and Alfie didn’t want to take off his coat but he reluctantly did, putting it on the couch.
“Come sit on my knee.” Alfie thought this strange as his Grandfather had never wanted to be in touching distance usually.
He walked closer to the chair and climbed up onto the old man’s skinny, bony lap.
Alfie could smell his Grandfather. He smelled of smoke, and had a tobacco stained grey moustache. He looked up at his grandfather. His Grandfather looked back with his pale, yellowing eyes. He ran his hands through the boys messy blonde hair.
“I’ll be with her soon, you know?”
“With who?” Alfie said, confused. He put his head down to think.
“I’ll be with her soon.” He repeated. “Thanks to you.”
He was now tugging the boys hair. Alfie did nothing. He tugged harder.
“Ow, Granda. You’re hurting me”. He said, but the tugging continued.
Alfie looked up to see his grandfather clutching his chest with his other hand and spittle running out of his mouth.
“Granda, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” The boy jumped off his Grandfathers lap but was jerked back by his hair. He fought the pain and tugged his head. He tugged harder, his Grandfather making strange noises now, some sounded like words, other like gargling. Alfie pulled his head one more time and broke free of the vice like grip. He fell to the floor.
Alfie turned his head towards the chair and saw a lifeless old man slumped back with his eyes closed and one hand still reaching out. He ran for his mobile phone his mother had given him for emergencies and dialled her number.

He lay in his bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling. His eyes had got used to the darkness in the room and he could make out vague outlines of things, helped by his bedroom door being slightly ajar. In the far corner of the room was his karate trophy that he had won when he was 6 years old. In the corner near the window was his Les Paul guitar that his dad insisted he learned to play.
He pulled the covers over his head, before closing his eyes and trying again for that elusive thing called sleep.

He opened his eyes, head still under the duvet cover. Had he been to sleep? He slowly lifted the covers partly away from his head. It was freezing.
Even if his parents switched the heating off it was never this cold. He could actually see his breath.
Alfie looked over towards his digital clock to see the time. He’d been to sleep alright. The clock showed 2:01am. He put his head back fully under the covers and tried to get back to sleep.
He couldn’t. It was ice cold. He reluctantly brushed the duvet aside so he could get his dressing gown to wear, but before he could get up he saw that his curtains weren’t only open, they were actually off the rail.
Alfie froze, not from the cold, but from fear. A trickle of cold sweat ran down his right arm. He turned towards the door and saw that it was completely closed. The only light coming into the room was from the cloud covered moon through the window. He looked at the curtains on the floor. His first thought was to put them back up, but he didn’t want to go near the window so he grabbed the duvet and pulled it back over his head.
Still sitting in the upright position, he folded his arms across his body to get some body heat. Once that failed, he breathed onto his hands to at least get them warm. That worked for a couple of seconds but seemed pointless.
He wanted so badly to call for his parents but he couldn’t. He was too scared to even make a sound. Too scared, because he needed answers.
Who pulled the curtains down?
Why was the room like an ice box?
What was that smell?
That smell? He’d just noticed it. That wasn’t there a second ago.
He couldn’t quite place it, but it was familiar.
It was a terrible stench and it was getting stronger.
He thought he felt the mattress move. Sweat was now trickling down both arms. The mattress definitely moved this time. Like something heavy was on it. Something or someone.
The odour was now overpowering, attacking his nose with vengeance.
He remembered where he had smelled it before. It was a stale, pungent, Smokey smell.
Alfies throat went dry.
What was on his bed?
He slowed his breathing down so he could listen. He was sure he could hear slow uneven breathing.
“Go away”. He whispered so quiet that he could barely hear himself. “Go away”. He said again.
He felt something on his head. It was very faint, but very real. It felt like a hand. He was using all his concentration on trying not to wet himself. He was succeeding for now but wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up.
The faint tapping on his head continued.
“Go away.” He said. “Go away go away goawaygoawaygoaway.” Each time getting louder and louder until....
The faint tapping on his head stopped, the air seemed to get warmer instantly, and that smell? It went away. It was replaced by a much warmer smell. He’d never experienced it before, but it seemed familiar.
Alfie was still too scared to look out from under the duvet. He lay back on his pillow, closed his eyes and, despite badly needing to use the toilet, he fell asleep.

Alfie awoke in the morning, instantly remembering the night before. His head was poking out of the covers. He turned to look towards the window, fearing the worst, but saw that the curtains were on the rail and they were shut.
Sitting upright, he looked toward the door to see it slightly ajar.
He thought that he must have had a bad dream. It was so vivid and real. He could feel the cold, he could smell the odours. It must have been a dream, he thought.
He looked over to his bedside table and saw an object. He recognised it instantly and picked it up.
In his hand he held his Grandfathers medal from world war two. It wasn’t the only medal he had been given in the war, but it was Alfies favourite, and his Grandfather knew it.

At the breakfast table that morning, Alfie told his parents about what happened during the night.
“It was just a nightmare”. His mother said. “Probably because of the funeral, and the fact you stayed up so late.”
She looked at him. What’s wrong?” she asked him.
He looked back at his mother. “Why did Granda hate me?”
She almost choked on the tea she was sipping. “He never hated you. Where would you get an idea like...”
“Stop lying, Mum.” He interrupted. I’m old enough now and it’s pretty obvious he didn’t like me”.
His mothers gaze looked from his eyes down to his hand. “Where did you find that?” she said pointing at the medal in Alfies hands.
“Found it.” He replied, “Now tell me.”
His mother sighed. “Listen, Alfie. I just want you to know that it’s not your fault.”
“What?” he shouted.
His mother held his hand with the medal in it. “your Granny? She died while trying to save you from the sea when you were younger. She got you out, but got swept away with the current.” She held his hand tighter. “Your grandfather blamed you and held a grudge against us ever since.”
She brought Alfie toward her and hugged him tight. “I love you.” She said. “now let’s put that medal back.”
She led Alfie by the hand to her bedroom and opened the closet. In it she pulled out a large box and opened it. Alfie immediately smelled a lovely aroma. The one from the night before.
“What’s that smell, Mum?” He asked.
She pulled a small glass bottle out from the box. “That’s your Grannys perfume. You like it?”
“Yeah.” He replied, taking the bottle. “Yeah, I do.”
His mother looked at him. “Keep it.” She said. “Keep the medal too”.

Alfie went back to his bedroom with the perfume and the medal and put them on his bed.
He held the medal up to his lips and kissed it.
“Have you forgiven me, Granda?”

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