A simple knock at the door leads to something far more terrifying.
Greetings, boils and ghouls! Blog Keeper here once again, listening to Bernard Herrman scores on vinyl in my dilapidated crypt . Hope our first and second stories didn’t send you fleeing in fear. Our third and final twisted tale centers on a mysterious salesman who won’t take no for an answer. I call this titillating terror…
The Uninvited
The doorbell rang. It was another solicitor, but this one was different. He wouldn’t leave.
“What does he want?” I asked my wife, watching the view from our doorbell camera.
She had no answers, only to ignore him. The solicitor leaned his back against the wall and waited. Most of the time, we had dopey kids handing out flyers or trying to sell solar panels.
This was no kid. It looked like a man in his late 30s, dressed in a suit and tie. He held a briefcase, wore horned-rimmed glasses, and donned a fedora.
The doorbell rang again, causing uproar among our dogs. I had just gotten home from work and was in no mood to talk to anyone. Watching him through the camera, it became evident he wasn’t going anywhere.
“That’s it,” I said, storming out of our bedroom. “I’m going to give this jerk a piece of my mind.”
Inches from the door, I waited in silence. Perhaps he had left. I turned toward the kitchen, ready to make a sandwich as a loud pounding came upon the door.
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted, startled.
I glanced at the camera feed from my phone and saw him still outside. Five minutes had passed, and he hadn’t taken the hint.
I spoke through the doorbell camera. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The man looked around confused and then leaned toward the camera. “Greetings, sir. I’m Russ Goldman, salesman extraordinaire.”
“Not interested,” I said. “Leave.”
He smiled and nodded. “But I can’t leave, sir. Not until I make a sale.”
“Get the fuck off my property before you get shot,” I said. “Final warning.” I called my wife to bring my silencer pistol, prepared to make a stand.
“But I was shot, sir,” he continued, unphased, “right on this doorstep, fifty years ago, to the day. My soul won’t be at rest until you purchase something.”
I swung open the door and fired five rounds in succession. But there was no one there.
Further down the driveway, my truck exploded into a fiery ball. I flew back into the foyer, landing with a thud as debris swept over me. Somehow, I heard the salesman laughing.
His maniacal joy echoed through the neighborhood and into the night.
Looks like that couple got souled an unfortunate fate. If only their ghostly salesman had learned the right way to get a head in advertising. Until, next time, fiends, this is the Blog Keeper signing off.
Hope your spooky season is filled with toxic treats.
Happy Halloween!
Shawn McKee 
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