There is a monster outside the door to my apartment.  It’s only half my height and its body looks like stone heated from the inside so it glows orange at the joints.  It stares at me with eyes of fire.  It never blinks.  It never breaks eye contact.  It’s always there, down the hall from my apartment door, peaking around the corner.  It’s always looking at me.  I wish it would stop.

I spied on the monster today.  It looks at everyone when they walk by, but no one looks back.  They never bump into it, though; I wonder why.  I would ask someone about it, but if I’m the only one to really see it…  When the people go away, however, the monster stares at my door and the fire in its eyes gets brighter.

I had to take the stairs back up to the apartment today; the elevator was broken.  I’ve never had to walk by the monster before; the elevator is down the other end of the building, but the stairwell is down the hall with the monster in it.  I went up the stairs as quietly as I could.  I came out of the stairwell expecting the monster to be facing away, but no.  It was staring at me as I stepped into the hall.  I froze.  It kept looking at me.  I backed up slowly.  It kept looking at me.  I quietly cursed and walked down the hall towards the monster.

As I got closed I could smell sulfur.  Each breath the monster made sounding like billows at a furnace; in between each squeeze of the bellows I could hear the faint grinding of stones as the monster’s head slowly moved to track me as I walked.  I was going to say something, but my nerve failed me.  I just kept walking.  I was almost by the thing, almost finally done with this little ordeal, when I noticed that it had something in its hands.  Charred and dented, a small tin cup was clutched between stone fingers.  The monster held it out to me the same way the beggars held out their cups out in the streets.  I paused.  I stared at the cup.  I though of all the times people walked by without noticing the little monster, like they couldn’t see it.  I thought of all the grifters I’d met and all the warnings I’d heard about giving money to beggars.  Then I thought of my change from lunch.  $1.42.  In what will forever be the most awkward moments of my life, I plunged a hand into my pocket like my life depended on it, trying to wring every cent out of my pants.  I shakily put the money in the cup as the monster stared.  It looked down at the cup for a moment and paused, then it looked back up at me.  It blinked.  Then, in a deep gravelly voice older than the sun, it said “thank you.”  I ran to my apartment and hid under in my bed for the rest of the evening.

The next day, two things happened: the monster was gone, and I had won the lottery.  I hadn’t even bought a ticket, but sure enough, there it was in the same pocket I had pulled the money out of for the monster.

Fifty-seven years have passed and I’m old and dying now.  The monster came to me a few times over the years, every time waiting within a short distance of the door to wherever I lived.  I never knew when it was coming, but by some odd coincidence whenever it did I had exactly $1.42 to put in its cup.  And I put that money in every time as soon as the monster appeared.  Each time it said thank you in that soul-rattling voice.  And each time, on the next day once it disappeared, something amazing happened.  I won couple contests for this and that.  I also escaped death by inches a few times; the most notable being when a piano fell off a building like you’d see in old comedy routines, thing missed me by a step.

My time has come, I think.  The monster is at the doorway to my room in the hospital.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, thing even found me on a vacation to Maui once.  The monster holds out the cup, but I can’t get up.  I shake my head at it and show that I can’t move.  It nods at me and starts walking slowly towards me, eyes ablaze.  By coincidence, I happen to have $1.42 from when my son was here earlier; he’d cleaned out his pockets trying to find a note from the doctor.  I don’t think it’s here for just the $1.42 this time.  I think, finally, that I may get to find out where the thing comes from.  It’s here for me this time.