[ WP ] An enthusiastic salesman comes up to your door , trying to advertise a `` wonderful product '' Said product is a bottle of cyanide pills .

It was a bright clear day in 1957, the year of change as they called it. Fast automobiles sped down newly constructed highways, jazz tunes swung out at every nightclub you could find, and the women looked as pretty as a rose. 
 
 I remember the year differently. It was n't the clear year, or the happiest year of my life. But, they were right. It was a year of change. 
 
 It was the year that salesman came around in our swanky new cul-de-sac, named Richmond Port. 
 
 I lived in a small home, inside Richmond. The cars were always polished with that antique shine, the gardens had the flowers sprouting out all over, ( old Mr. Baisly's garden was always the first that sprang up ), and the houses were all new. Well, of course they were. Richmond opened up only a year before, and not many people lived here, limiting the rate of pollution. It was a pleasing difference from the big cities, that's for sure. At least, for me. 
 
 I moved in from the rat-infested city to Richmond, a few months after it was finished. With my wife Patty, we got the house on 223 Richmond Ave. It was a medium size dwelling, with clear windows and a beautiful kitchen. The walls were painted slightly yellow in a summer tint, and the house overall was just shingles painted blue on the outside. But, it was our home. A new place, new neighbors, and no need to worry about that gosh darned salesman. 
 
 I suppose I should explain him as best I can. Really, I ca n't explain much. But i'll lay the basics down. For two years, this... stalker, ( the best way I can put it ), has followed us to every apartment we had in the city. When we ask the hotels to stop any salesman from wandering near our room, the man seemed to spring up out of nowhere. We would complain, yet the hotel will deny any knowabouts of seeing him even come in. He was like a ghost. A charming, but psychopathic spirit. That is to say, I never thought he was. I always assumed he was some crazy man obsessed with my wife, as he seemed to appear as soon as I married her. That changed after we decided to split, as her stress levels became a all time high. We were n't divorced, thank god, but she decided to move back to the city, while I stayed here. When the salesman left, we could begin to live again. But the salesman did n't follow her back. He stayed with me. Of course he did. 
 
 Every day, when I awoke from slumber, the doorbell would ring. I would throw on my dark blue robe, and walk over to the front door. I could already see his joyful expression on his face in the peephole, as his hands held a box of medicine. The man never left until I or Patty used to open the door, and listened to his plea. 
 
 `` Ah, Mr. Ottersbone! What a joy to see you here, on this clear sunny morning!'' 
 
 `` I told you to leave me and my wife alone. Do n't make me call the cops again.'' 
 
 `` I do n't remember such comments. Please sir, listen to my plea, and i'll be right out the door. No need for any gumshoes to get involved. Besides, do I look like trouble to you?'' 
 
 The man was wearing black business attire, his hat covered with a bowler cap. His skin was pale and white, no doubt European, his accent comparable to London folk. His shoes were classic black dress shoes, tied neatly. The most distracting thing about his features were his eyes, which seemed to glow brightly like a fireball. I always attributed it to the lights reflecting off his pupils. 
 
 I did n't allow the man into my house, of course. I do n't trust him that much, or even at all. But I decided not to kick him off my property, which must've been a benefit to him. 
 
 `` Tell me sir, do you ever get tired of living?'' 
 
 `` I did n't before you got here.'' 
 
 `` Aha, hah, good joke! Clever!'' 
 
 `` Look, just tell me what's you're selling, and get away from my house.'' 
 
 `` Oh, cut to the chase eh? I'll be happy to!'' 
 
 The salesman set down his box, and pulled out one of the medicines inside. It was a pill bottle, stubby and closed tight. The wrapper said `` *cyanide*''. 
 
 `` What kind of joke are you pulling here? What the hell is wrong with you?'' 
 
 `` This is n't a joke my good man, no siree. I'm not here to pull your leg, or any of your body parts. Trust me, this product is better then you think.'' 
 
 `` It's cynaide. It kills people. I'm not dumb. Get off my damn property. ``, I said, as I began to shut the door in his face. He extended his foot out, stopping the door for just a crack. 
 
 `` Please sir, just one more moment! Let me explain, and then I wo n't bother you again.'' 
 
 I should n't have believed him, but he was so convincing. I ca n't describe it. It was like he was supernatural. I stopped trying to close the door, letting him pull his foot out. 
 
 `` Now, let me explain. Cyanide is n't as bad as you think-'' 
 
 `` That's a laugh.'' 
 
 `` Now sir, have you ever tried it? Or do you always listen to those big shots up on the social chain? The same men who sent your father into the Allied forces, leaving you without a dad?'' 
 
 `` How the hell do you know that? ``, I asked, the man suddenly going quiet. 
 
 `` I've been around.'' 
 
 This salesman was beginning to freak me out. Beside the door, out of his line of sight, was a lamp. It could probably knock him out if I hit him on the temple. I kept my sights on it at all times. 
 
 `` Continuing on: what's life but a bunch of disappointment? Would n't you want to see the pearly gates faster then you can say `` Christ'', instead of waiting until you're a bag of bones? The pill can help with that. Safe, affordable, and small. Perfect for the man who knows better.'' 
 
 `` I have a loving wife, who've I been married to for a year now. You're wasting my time.'' 
 
 `` Loving, my good man? From the sights in the city, your wife gets around. ``, the man said, winking. 
 
 That fucker. I grabbed him by the collar, raising him to my height. The bottle slipped out of his hands, and fell to the ground. 
 
 `` Do n't you dare talk about my wife that way, you bastard.'' 
 
 `` Wait, wait! I have proof, I have proof! Let me down!'' 
 
 If he did n't have proof, I was about to beat his ass down the Mississippi. Setting him down, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a photo. He handed it to me. 
 
 `` See? Do you believe me now?'' 
 
 It was Patty, with some man with a slick mustache. They were kissing outside our old apartment. In her hand, was roses, no doubt from the man. 
 
 `` Patty...'' 
 
 `` Looks like your gal is n't so loyal after all. Does that look like a woman with morals?'' 
 
 `` How the fuck did you get this photo?'' 
 
 `` Oh, trust me friend, I have lots of connections. Being a salesman with a platinum smile gets you far.'' 
 
 I set the photo down on the table. The man seemed to be smiling again, with his teeth this time. They were white and gleaming. 
 
 `` How much for the pill?'' 
 
 `` Tell you what: you can have it for free. Just say it's a little gift from me. Do n't worry, no tricks up my sleeve. ``, he said as he handed the bottle to me, placing it in my hand. 
 
 `` Now, I must be off. Take care now, and be careful! You never know who's out there.'' 
 
 The man began to walk off, his light steps echoing on the pavement. I saw him walk right down the sidewalk, when a sudden breeze blew the bowler hat off his head. He caught it in the air, and placed it back on his head. There was only one problem however. 
 
 I swear, I could see the outlines of devil horns on his head. 
 

