Mr. Nix II: Terribly Sorry

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From Daily Quordle 373 (2/1/23): AVIAN, THICK, NINTH, EXCEL

He wasn't dumb. David knew that if it was quiet in the house – and Kevin was home – absolute silence was never a good sign. But as he was very comfortable on the couch with his throbbing leg propped up to alleviate the swelling, he resigned himself to allow future David the chance to clean up later. Besides, it had taken him all of fifteen minutes to achieve the perfect balance of pillows on the ottoman. He was very certain he'd never get the same tower stacked the same way again. Decisions made, he laid his head back against the couch and sighed with a slow, calming breath. "Peace, no matter what the cost, is at a premium in this house," he muttered.

His hand blindly slapped the cushions next to him. He found the remote and began flicking through the channels with the TV on mute. Various programs shuttered by until he settled on a peaceful-looking show about birds. The guide on the lower half of the screen read 'Avian Sunsets: An Introspective'. Different birds – both nocturnal and diurnal – spent equal time on the screen and gave the audience a glimpse into their everyday lives as their parts of the world turned to night. The premise of the show spoke to the peace-seeking side of David. His mouth quirked up into a small grin. 

This is nice.

The tapping on the glass behind the couch woke him up with a start and the tower of pillows crumbled. His leg slammed into the floor at an awkward angle, and he grimaced. He glanced around. The light from the day had given way to the blue tint of night. The channel he had chosen moments ago was now showing some exposé about the lives of miniature schnauzers. A flash of orange light illuminated the room briefly then something tapped again on the glass. David sat up and twisted to see who was knocking on the window.

The silhouette of someone wearing a narrow-brimmed hat and a suit stuffed with shoulder pads stood out against the deepening blue night. The person's hand was still on the window and the hat slid back as the person's face was pressed against the glass. "Hello," its muffled voice called. "I'm afraid I need your help." From where the voice sounded, he guessed the man was slightly taller than the hedges outside.

David sat still, his mind trying to take in all the details of what was going on around him. Behind him, the TV continued flickering its muted colors of animal programming. One scene with a mostly white background came on and, in the glow, the features of the person leaning against his house were framed for three seconds. It was the face of a dehydrated-looking man. His nose was bulbous and wrinkly, and it spread like a ball of dough against the window as he leaned in. Under the thick nose was a smoothly combed moustache that looked as if it was painted on. It was hard to see the individual hairs with the way it was flattened against the glass. What David focused on however (and what stayed burning in his brain long after the white light gave way to a schnauzer-colored glow) was the way the man's eyes had reflected the light in a fiery orange. Memories of the embers of the last campfire he and Kevin...

Kevin.

"Kevin!" David turned on his leg and ignored the small lancing pains as the various briar wounds pulled at his skin. "Kevin, come down here."

"I'm afraid he's not needed right now," the man said through the glass.

David was sure he had heard that wrong. He darted into the foyer and wrenched open the front door hard enough to send it slamming into the wall. A fear that shrank his gut and pulled at his lungs ignited a rage he had never felt. He stalked into the bushes and snatched the man by the coat's lapel. The man didn't move. He jerked again, causing the figure to turn smoothly to face him. At least he thought he caused the man to move. It had felt much more voluntary than forced. "Where is my son," he yelled, his fist crumpling the velvety material of the man's coat.

The man was now facing him and with a grace and strength that was at odds to his height, he removed David's hand from his lapel. His eyes peered up from the brim of his hat. An orange glow bled from the whites, making the irises black and impossibly deep. "David, I presume." Clear of the glass, he could hear a rich, European accent. It was almost English, he thought.

David tried again to grab the man with curled fingers but the being in front of him faded. The shadow of the man's frame fell into dust that passed through David's fingers. A polite clearing of a throat came from behind and he whirled. Orange-lit eyes stared at him from three feet away. And the man seemed taller. The glowing circles were now shoulder height to David. "Who... no, what are you?"

The thing stared at him for a few moments before bowing slightly and holding out its hand to show a collection of envelopes. "I'm, uh, afraid I've started off on the wrong foot, David. Please, here's your post." It shook the proffered bills until David took them with hands that were starting to feel a bit numb. This was a dream, right? He was still asleep in the den while visions of animals danced in front of him.

Had to be.

"I didn't mean... well, I guess I did... I certainly made the mistake of mentioning your son. Oh, bevel's ashes, is he even your son? You could have been calling your husband. I didn't mean to assume... I'm sure you and your husband are very happy." The thing's body language had become less statuesque as it spoke. The doubt it had in its voice was seeping into its posture and as it stopped talking, it glanced up sheepishly. Its inner light flashed with a renewed flame. It cast an aura of flame-colored light between them. David saw the thing shrug. "I'm terribly sorry."

"Who are you?" David waved the mail between them in a vague threatening gesture. "I'm not going to ask again. I'll call the cops if you don't explain yourself. Right now."

"Right! Terribly rude of me, of course." The thing swept its hat off its head and bowed. "My name is Nix." It straightened and offered its hand to shake David's. David declined to grasp it. It rubbed the empty palm on its coat's side. "Mister Nix if you'd like. And you're the ninth house I've been to tonight to ask if I can keep my things under your home. And, well, believe it or not, this time spell is rather taxing to maintain and I don't excel at chromoetry. Could we – perhaps – take this conversation inside where I don't have to keep a magical bubble up?" 

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