The Stranger
“Marge, put the kettle on will you?”, a kindly voice grunted from underneath the house. Attentively, Marge stood and strode over to the kitchen, enjoying the pleasant sensation of her plush new rug underneath her feet. This was a good purchase. He was a good man for all the little luxuries he’d given her over the past forty years. As Marge waited for the kettle to boil, the front doorbell rang. The tones of Greensleeves echoed throughout the spacious hallway, reverberating off the many picture frames, 1990’s style photos of little children peeking out from oval casings, next to more modern photos of grandchildren, captured on iPhones and printed cheaply online. The faces watched her as she strolled to the front door where through the glass pane, she could see a tiny, stout old man wearing a top hat, a very unusual choice for a hot summers’ day in Sydney. She paused at the door as the stranger gestured frantically for her to open it. As a flicker of suspicion ran across her shoulder bla...