Building 11 “Stranger at the Door”

“It is hard to make friends around here. It is just the sort of place this is. People are rather open to strangers, but not to one another. No matter what the relationship that people have during the day, when the night comes the doors close tight and the shades are drawn. Outsiders are welcome, but our neighbors are not to be trusted. It can be lonely, so shortly after coming here I got a dog to keep me company.

His name is Uriel. When it comes to dogs, I prefer the larger breeds. Even a kind dog is enough to drive most people away if it is large enough. In a place like this, such a thing is valuable. So when I went to make my choice, I picked Saint Bernard. I do not know why he had such a strange name, but what interested me immediately was his age. He was three years old.

I know that older dogs aren't adopted as much. People want puppies, something they will grow up with. But I don't care about stuff like that. He was very friendly and instantly came to his name. He obviously had some training, but that was about all the good that could be said about the previous owner. He was missing patches of fur and seemed to have a slight limp. However, the thing that stood out most was his eye; he only had one.

I was told he had been abused, that his previous owner had been crazy. I didn't need to hear much to know what happened. I had already made up my mind. Within a couple of minutes, I had filled out the paperwork, and within a week he had become part of my flat.

Months passed, and I became used to coming home to him. When night closed in, him and I would sit down on the couch while I would work on my writing. It was nice having him around, when the nights became quiet. The only thing peculiar about him, besides the missing eye, was the way he sometimes would just stare off into space, for sometimes upwards of a half an hour.

It was late one night, around October, that I heard a knock on my door. I had just settled in, and the sound of the knocking startled me. I had never had anyone visit me, during the day or late at night. Most especially at night. I hesitated, only to hear the knocking again. I quickly headed over to the door, unsure as to what I was to expect. Turns out my confusion wouldn't stop with the opening of the door.

The light fixture above the steps is old, and doesn't exactly use the brightest light bulb. From what I could make out, he was rather small and thin, the type that a passing breeze could push over. His clothes were wrinkled and spotted with stains. But his most obvious feature was he missing an eye. His face was unshaven, and his hair was stringy and long.

I resisted the urge to close the door.

“May I help you?

His voice told me everything I needed to know about him. It was deep and guttural, like his throat had been damaged. “I heard you found my dog.”

I felt anger rise up in me. Next to me, Uriel was rather silent, and when I looked down at him, I saw his gaze was fixed on the man, his nose flaring but otherwise not moving at all.

“I didn't find your dog,” I said. “I adopted him after you cut out his eye.”

“I had to start somewhere.” he said plainly.

I felt the urge to drive my fist in his face, but I resisted. Instead I stepped back and went to close the door. Before I could, he lunged at me, a knife in his hand. It felt like I had been hit by a linebacker. I dropped to the ground hard, and within a moment he was on top of me. He pinned my arms with his knees...and drove the knife into my eye. I can't remember screaming, though my neighbors assure me that I did. I tried to move him, but I couldn't. I squirmed and struggled, as I felt the knife dig deeper, then curl, then get drawn off as my eye went with it.

I heard the man shriek in pain as he was suddenly pulled off of me. There was a sound of tussling. Then I heard his calls going away, becoming fainter, until suddenly they stopped. I looked out the door, trying to see if the man was nearby. I was trembling with pain and fear, and I pulled out my cell phone. It took a few attempts before I managed to dial 911. My blood was smearing the touch screen.

I managed to tell them something, though I can't remember what. I stood up, and grabbed a towel, pressing it against my socket. I called out to Uriel, but he didn't come. Panicking, I ran outside, calling out frantically for him. I found him on my lawn, sitting on top of the man's chest, staring off into space...The man's throat had been torn out.

The ambulance arrived within minutes. One of my neighbors offered to watch Uriel while I went to the hospital. Though they were able to recover my eye from the tip of the knife there was too much damage to fix it. The man had recently been released from prison after serving three years for animal cruelty. He had removed his own eye a couple of weeks before he attacked me.

I have gotten used to the use of only one eye, though it has taken some doing on my part. Since the incident the neighbors have been a lot friendlier. It has been hard walking around with only one eye, but thankfully most people are understanding. I have considered getting a false eye, but I couldn't when Uriel has to walk around without one.

I try not to think too much about that night. I frequently have nightmares, which causes me to wake up in a cold sweat, my socket aching. Even worse, sometimes I think I see something out of the corner of my eye. On the side with the empty socket. At first I thought it was just the trauma of the experience messing with me. But over time that has changed. One day I thought I saw something again. But somehow I felt comforted when I realized that Uriel was looking in the same direction.”

I have done further investigations into the knife, and have discovered that it is very old, probably even ancient. Though there is not a lot of research on it, there are a few things known. It is called “The Pharaoh's Blade.” It is asserted that the blade has the power to allow the user to see the dead, and was used by a variety of the Pharaohs of Egypt to view the hereafter, and thus better plan their second life. The text that is used to support these claims has been unable to be substantiated, nor has it become commonly accepted as a hoax. Shortly after the completion of the case, the local police donated the knife to the Wellington Street Historical Society.