The Stranger Will sat quietly at his kitchen table. His chair layered with paint chips on the well worn oakwood. It creaked a little as he shifted in the butt grooves, and thumbing the next page of today’s paper. The sun’s rays cast a dusty hue across the old wooden floor. Sparkles streamed past the steamy coffee mug. Without blinking an eye, he knew in an instant that someone had arrived at his kitchen screen door. Usually the snap and creak of the rusty hinges gave strangers away as they approached. But not this time. This time Will just knew. He glanced up over the edge of that morning's paper. “You’re just a little early, aren’t you?” He stated as his attention drifted back to his paper. This stranger began to visit more frequently lately. Each time its presence deeper, colder. This particular morning Will decided it was time he took control. The old floor boards creaked as he made his way across the kitchen and out onto the verandah. Looking out across his fields he could see the mist rising up from the lake just beyond. A chill brushed over is shoulder and down his overalls. The hair in his arms was electric. His cranky old Ford pick-that had lasted him years had seen better times. It sputtered as Will turned the starter with a few twists of his wrist. "Who's crankier this morning, you or me", he muttered. Each weekend Will would wander into town and sell his crops at the local Farmers Market. But this time was different. ©2017