Stranger Things Have Happened

Entry for Writer’s Cramp contest
Prompt: Write a short story or poem about a stranger showing up at your front door, dressed in formal evening wear, expecting a lavish party at your address!
Word Count: 891

I just wanted to lounge around on the couch, watch television, and try to forget the rest of the world existed. After spending four days straight with my loving, yet chaotic family for Christmas, I craved peace and quiet, which is why I had treated myself by sleeping in and doing nothing but enjoy the silence of my apartment for the rest of the day.

Why is it that everyone gets so crazy this time of year? They get all dressed up and run around from party to party. It’s exhausting. I had stretched the truth to my family about having to work over the holiday just so I could avoid the round of obligatory gatherings. I can think of no better way to ring in the New Year than being alone and comfortable, curled up with my favorite blanket and the soft sound of the televised celebrations in the background. People might claim it was more exciting actually being a part of one of those massive crowds, but they can’t fool me.

Lazily clicking the remote to the London countdown without bothering to burrow my hand out of its warm, chenille nest, I groaned as my doorbell rang. Obviously, I wasn’t expecting anyone – company would only ruin my carefully-crafted plans. As the bell sounded again, I sighed with irritation before throwing off my blanket and standing up. I only spared a brief glance at my second-best pajamas, immediately deciding that I didn’t care what my unwanted guest thought of my appearance.

Padding to the door, I wrenched it open, taking out my annoyance on the hinges, only to have some of it drain away as I found a man on my doorstep. The fact that my visitor was male wasn’t surprising – it was, after all, a fifty percent chance. The surprising part was that he was dressed in a coal black tuxedo, complete with tie, vest, and spit-polished shoes. Cue the movie soundtrack.

Intrigued in spite of my current no-company policy, I studied him. He wasn’t exactly attractive, although I wouldn’t say he was unattractive either. It was obvious even at a glance that he wasn’t used to the fancy outfit. The tux fit him all right, but he looked uncomfortable, as if he was longing to trade it in for a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His brown hair was in need of a cut, and he seemed exhausted rather than ready to dance the night away.

My appearance not meeting his expectations, the man frowned. “Isn’t this where the Cordells live?”

I shook my head. “Not unless they sublet my closet without my permission.”

Although he seemed a little amused at my joke, he was too busy digging out a piece of paper from his pocket to reply. “211 Falstaff Street?” he asked.

“This is 211 George Road. Falstaff is one over.”

“Damn,” he muttered before collecting himself. “I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t help it. I smirked. “I find cursing is normal this time of year. I’ve been doing it a lot the last few days.”

That finally got a grin out of him. “Tough holiday season?”

I liked his grin. It wasn’t devastating or anything, just pleasant. “You could say that. You seem to be having one too.”

He sighed. “Company party. My boss’s house. His wife is an alcoholic and she has a thing for glass cats.”

My recent holiday woes didn’t sound quite so bad. “Could be worse,” I observed. “Could be glass pigs.”

“And piglets,” he added without hesitating.

I liked his humor too. Running a self-conscious hand down a fleece pant leg, I stepped back, preparing to shut the door. “Well...good luck.”

“Uh...” His stammer stopped me. “You know, I’m not an axe murderer or anything.”

Narrowing my eyes, I stared at him, wondering a bit belatedly if I was taking a chance talking to a stranger on my doorstep. “That’s nice to know.”

Registering my caution, he ran his fingers through his hair, disrupting it even further. “I mean...uh...I don’t really like parties, especially on New Year’s Eve.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I hate glass cats,” he continued. “You don’t have any, do you?”

“I have a glass lighthouse my mother gave me for Christmas,” I informed him for no apparent reason.

He cocked his head to the side. “Just one?”

“Just one.”

“I can accept that,” he said gravely.

I knew what he was saying. He wanted me to invite him in. Recognizing that this situation was more than strange, I bit my lip as I stared at him. No smart girl who lived alone let a guy she didn’t know into her apartment, but my instincts were telling me he was harmless. He was just someone like me who didn’t think celebrating meant being surrounded by an anonymous crowd. It was much better alone - or maybe with one other person around to appreciate my droll comments about the unlucky revelers in Times Square. Besides, I had decided my New Year’s resolution was to be more spontaneous. This definitely qualified.

“I don’t have any champagne,” I said, standing aside. “Just coffee.”

As he walked inside, he attacked his tie, wrenching the knot loose with a relieved sigh. “Two sugars please.”

I shut the door and led the way towards my kitchen. “By the way,” I asked over my shoulder, “what’s your name?”