Uninvited

Uninvited

It was a winter weekend, a well-awaited break from the frenzied office, confused mass of shouting colleagues and yelling bosses.

I was lying lazily on the couch, watching my favorite program on TV. The natural light outside was waning, the sun kissing goodbye to the horizon promising to shine again tomorrow without fail.

The living room was dimly lit. I was in the centre of the room pouched by couch. The carpet instilled some warmth to my soles in the crispy evening. I was all set to spend the evening at my will and enjoy it thoroughly, refueling to fight against the agony in the office-battlefield next week.

Quite unexpectedly, the cuckoo-voice doorbell came to life.

I rushed to the door to wrap things up quickly with whoever was at the door. I heaved the wooden door open. A man, clad in formal attire, stood in front of me. His head was haloed in front of the sinking sun. His presence was massive and for a moment I thought my irksome boss had dropped in.

My lenses slowly adjusted to different wavelengths. I was relieved to figure out he was not my bully. The feeling that he was a stranger made my brain relax.

“Hey, buddy. Having fun? Huh..! Where’s John? I’m so happy for him,” he said with a vigor and chirp as if he had come to a party.

John who? I thought. My name is Jay, you Mr. Disturber. Before I could react, he squeezed his way in. After observing the aura of my living room, he was awestruck with his mouth ajar and tongue tied as if he had seen his girlfriend cuddling with John, whoever he was.

“What?” I asked.

“There’s no party!” he said with the unique bewilderment of his own.

“Who’s throwing the party?” I stepped closer to him.

“John. Who else?” he said, the last two words tuned like there’s no one else in this world who could throw a party.

“This is not John’s house,” I insisted. “Please leave, I have other plans.”

“What do you mean this is not John’s house?” His expressions turned sour, despite the fact he was ruining my evening.

“I’m Jay Virani and this is my house, mister.” I raised my tone high enough to scare him and low enough not to sound mad.

“What crap are you talking about, mate?” He was still incredulous. “Okay. Let John come. He’ll clarify the doubts. I’ll wait.” He said calmly and planted his bottom on my couch.

“You leave my house right now or I’ll call the cops.”

The man was not replying. He raised himself from the couch. With his back toward me, he fished in his jacket pocket to find something.

He turned and I quickly scanned out what that object was.

“Don’t force me,” he said, pointing his gun at me. “He lives here and I’m damn sure about that. Now, we’ll both wait here or you want me to wait alone.” He jerked his finger on the trigger to indicate he did not mind pressing it.

I was dumbfounded. Sweat broke from my temples and trickled down my red-turned cheeks.

“Come sit.” He waved his gun towards me and a chair by the couch.

I sat there thinking how funny or gruesome it is to be held a hostage in one’s own house. The television was telecasting my favorite program. I did not pay attention as I had other more serious matters to ponder upon. John was not to come home, but I was vulnerable to leave this world.

He was enjoying the program on my television, in my house, holding me at gunpoint.

An hour passed. He switched the television off and started talking.

“You know, John and I started shooting people years ago. I really admired him for his skills. He regularly provided me with tips about at which body part to shoot.”

My eyes grew wide in shock. This man’s a serial killer or an assassin. And his partner lives here…!! His tone made me tremble more than his words, because his tone was so calm as though he was talking about shooting photos in a studio.

“Is there anything to load the belly?” he asked.

“Yeah. There’s a packet of bread in the refrigerator,” I replied, mustering all the politeness I had.

“Okay, I’ll take it. You don’t move.” He stood up and moved to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he came back.

“Is this twenty zero seven?” he asked.

“No.” Finally, it seemed he realized he was at the wrong place. “This is twenty…Just twenty.”

“What?” He was perplexed. He looked at the surroundings. “You gotta be kidding me. This is not twenty. Television was invented in twentieth century. You have one here and you’re telling me it is just twenty.”

“What are you talking about?” Now it was my turn to be perplexed.

“The year. What year is this? Twenty?”

“Twenty is my block number. The year is two thousand and nine.” My head was spinning now. This guy needed to consult a psychiatrist for sure.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, man. Twenty zero seven. I need to be there in two thousand and seven,” he said and moved toward the door to leave.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m from the future. I wanted to relive the party at John’s house in 2007. He must have sold this house after the party. Damn, I’m in the wrong year,” he said in a hurry.

I followed him out of the house. He got in his car or time-machine or whatever it was. With some flashes of light, he disappeared along with his vehicle.

I apprehended the reasons behind this horrendous turn of events. He was a time-traveler who missed his target by couple of years. I purchased this house just a year ago, so I really didn’t know any John. The guest was uninvited. Initially I thought he was at the wrong place, but actually he was in the wrong time.

Word Count: 998