Mr Moonlight

This actually happened:

Three in the morning , the babies are tucked up safely in bed. I am writing a silly little screenplay about zombies. It's going well. I don't think I'll ever produce it, but it's a nice little writing exercise. it's funny, it's a bit scary. I reminds me of all my favourite zombie films. But then:

Knock knock.

On the window.

What the fuck is that? It's gone three.

Knock knock knock.

Shit.

I gingerly approach the door.

Tap tap.

Who could it be at this hour?

Bang bang.

Alright alright. I grab the door handle fustrated that they'll wake the babies. Not thinking now. I let it fly open.

What?

And he's there, standing over me. He's six-foot four. His skin is blacker than the night. His hair sticks up from his head in short, crimson-tipped dreads . His eyes are also red. The whites. Red.

It is a nightmare.

He stands for a while staring at me with emploring eyes. Please, he says, please help me.

Is he the devil? I think. He's the devil.

Please help me. Please.

What? How?

I don't know where I am. Its raining I'm cold please help.

I don't have any money in the house. How do I help? What do I do? I don't know.

Let me in. Please let me in.

No. I say no - but am I being racist in this decision? He's in need. No, he's six-foot-four. Its the dead of night. Besides he's the devil. I know this, I've seen him in films.

Please let me in. I'm lost. I'm from Uganda.

This changes matters. The devil is not from Uganda. I'm fairly sure of this matter. I read it somewhere.

Please let me sleep on your floor.

What.

Sleep. I need sleep. Let me sleep on your floor.

I can't the babies are asleep. My partner is in bed. Besides, I like my surround sound system very much.

I'm lost. Nobody cares. No one will help. It's raining. I'm cold please help me. No one will help. Who do I turn to.

I'm starting to think I am in a parable. I could be the bad Samaritan or the stupid dick who got his stuff nicked when he invited the devil into his home.

Please.

He is shivering. Is it an act?

Please...

What...

I'm cold.

I...

Please...

All I can offer you is this coat. I'm sorry. I cannot invite you in however this will keep you warm. Take it. It's yours. I'm sorry I cannot offer anything else. I am not in a position to help further. Take this though, it is warm. I'm sorry.

Thank you. Thank you. There are good people. Thank you very much. Thank you.

I close the door, have another drink and continue writing.



Ten minutes later:

Knock knock.

What now?

It doesn't fit!