I’ve come here to write about what will either leave me scarred for life, or dead. I’ll start from the beginning.
I had came home late after work, at about 11:00 PM, tired I sighed. “Fuuuuuck Scott.” I said.
I went on my regular nightly routine, shower, work for a while, relax, sleep at 1:00 AM.
You wouldn’t believe it, right when I started to draw a curtain, I saw my tax collector stood outside my door. He waited for me, all that time. I know that how? I saw his shadow in the reflection of my bathroom window. In that moment, I thought, “Ah, Dimitri.” “Back again, I see.”
Dimitri is my landlord, he’ll show up every now and then, maybe at night, to do nothing but, hang around, somewhat. I wouldn’t worry about him, if he didn’t rearrange my stuff, but I get cheaper rent out of it.
Back to my tax collector. I opened the door, he stood there, still, at midnight! They never fail to come and ruin my day, no matter what, I thought at the time.
“Sir, your tax bill is due today, You owe it to society to finance the law. We’re running short on tax money, and we would appreciate it if you were diligent.” He went on before I could even open my mouth.
“Really? At midnight?” I said to him, staggered that he will not get off my behind. He went on normally, but then… “I’m Tony F. Hoffman, if you need further information, give me a call.” He introduced himself. “What?” I thought, shocked. “Why would a taxman introduce himself to me? Am I in trouble? Are they gonna seize my stuff?” Normally I make up a name for him, like Simeon or Todd, but now I know him. Pale skin, black suit and tie, black crew cut paired with middle age, somewhat slim yet tall, Anton Ford Hoffman.
I’ll give you a little backstory, my grandpa and my dad got their collection of jewelry seized by the Chilean Tax Authority (SII) while they lived there for a while. From that moment on, they would teach me to be very careful when dealing with a taxman, especially if they are looking into you specifically. Me, I own a small auto shop down in Santa Barbara, and I do not want to have it taken away by some taxman working for the government.
“I will decide to give you a call if I find it beneficial, thank you.” I stated. He proceeded to give me a number, and each form I had to fill out. “Thank you, thank you.” I shut the door. I read out a form. “Your business is currently being investigated for numerous cases of tax fraud.” I skipped a beat. I looked through my doorknob, I expected to see him turning around and leaving, but no. He merely stood there, like a vulture eagerly waiting for lunch to die off. Each eye not straying away from the door, I saw no sign of life in them, he had no soul. I finally drew the curtains. Now I’m starting to get freaked out, “What do you want from me?” I shook before the sight of the Boogeyman. I have a security camera by the door, I would originally look through it to check up on Dimitri, but now I have a bigger problem than ol’ Dimitri.
I looked through the camera, and I could swear he had been looking at it before I even began to turn on the app. He immediately went back to staring at the door afterward, like nothing even happened. I felt like a rat stuck in a room with a cat. I shouted through the window, “Are you not leaving?” He didn’t even twitch, no life in that man. I turn back to the form, I put it on the table. It read, “You are being investigated for…”
I did not do anything of that, I swear. I do not want to go to jail, and more importantly, I do not want to be rid of my name! So, I began to fill out the form ridden with conjecture rapidly, and every second now and then I would check the camera. He did not move a muscle. When I filled out about every form I had, I checked up on him again, and with no sign of ever getting out of the doorway, the tax collector was gone.
I am not only worried due to the fact that my tax collector may be some kind of Boogeyman or a creature with no soul created specifically to hunt me down for eternity, but of the fact that I may be locked away for life. I’ll follow up later on, if I don’t, then I am dead.