The Last Guest
The clock in the hall struck three, but the sound was swallowed by the thick, milky fog that shrouded the house on all sides. It clung to the apple trees in the garden, dripped from the slate roof, and seeped through the cracks in the windows, rendering the world beyond the glass faint and unreal. The wind seemed to avoid this place, as though it, too, sensed it was best not to linger. Only the occasional dry creak of the shutters disturbed the heavy silence, a reminder that the house still breathed.
Eleanor sat by the fireplace, her fingers trembling slightly around a cup of cold teawhether from the chill or anticipation, she couldnt say. Her gaze never left the door, as if she could will the moment closer. She knew he would come today.
Not because of any promise. Not because of letters or calls. She simply knewjust as one knows snow will fall when the air turns crisp, the stars too bright, the silence too deep.
The house was old, and it always groanedfloorboards, beams, windowsills. But tonight, the sounds were different: muffled, drawn out, as though someone moved cautiously through the damp earth just beyond the walls, pausing now and then to listen. Eleanor told herself it was her imagination, yet each creak brought him nearer, the very thing she had both awaited and dreaded.
Three years ago, this house had been full of life. Laughter, arguments, the slam of doors, the whistle of a kettle drowning out the radio someone always played too loud. The scent of fresh bread and pipe smoke lingered in the halls, a football thudded in the garden, and spoons clattered in the kitchen. Then, one by one, they leftsome by choice, others by fate. Silence settled into every room, seeped into the walls, the floors, the old photographs. Only she remained. And the memories, inescapable, whether bitter or sweet.
Eleanor closed her eyes and heard that voice againlow, rough, as if carried from a great distance. He had told her then, “Ill return. But dont wait for me by day.” She had asked why. Hed tilted his head slightly, smiled with just the corner of his lips, and said, “Because by day, I wont be here.”
A knock. One, short, testing. Then anotherlouder, insistent. Silence followed, broken only by the hammering of her heart. Eleanor rose, set the cup on the mantel, glanced at the dying embers, and walked slowly to the door. Each step echoed in her chest. The handle was icy, dampas though touched by another. She turned it with effort.
A man stood on the threshold. His grey coat bore droplets, as if hed walked through relentless rain or fog. His face was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, but his lipspale, tinged with bluewere just visible in the shadow.
“You came,” Eleanor said, her voice quieter than shed intended.
He nodded and stepped inside. He didnt remove his hat, didnt wipe his boots, as though he carried the cold with him. His presence filled the room, pressing the walls back, thickening the air.
“I knew youd wait,” he murmured, each word sinking into the silence. “You always do.”
Eleanor didnt answer. Her eyes fell to his handslong, slender, the skin too pale, like one whod gone too long without sun. His fingers were still, yet their stillness unnerved her, as though they remembered gripping her shoulders with a force that left bruises for weeks.
“Why are you here?” she finally asked, her voice betraying her.
“You already know.”
He stepped forward, and the floorboards groaned beneath his weight. The fire flared, though shed added no wood. Shadows stretched along the walls, and for a moment, Eleanor thought she glimpsed figures moving soundlessly behind them.
“I thought Id have more time,” she whispered, refusing to look away.
“Theres never enough,” he replied, neither accusing nor comfortingjust stating a fact.
They sat by the fire for what felt like hours. The flames danced in his motionless eyes as he spoke of places without light, where the sound of water soothed more than silence ever could. Of those hed taken, and those whod gone willingly, as if sensing his approach. When he paused, the crackling logs and the unseen wind beyond the walls filled the quiet.
His voice was calm, almost gentle, and Eleanor realized she wasnt afraid. If anything, his words held a strange pulllike a story one must hear to the end, even knowing its conclusion.
“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Eleanor looked aroundthe cup on the mantel, the old armchair with its sunken cushion, the photograph in its tarnished silver frame. Everything was as it had been three years ago, as if time had stopped here. Only she had changed.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steady.
He stood, offered his hand. She took it. Cold as ice, but not bitingsoothing, almost, as if promising she could leave her fears behind by the fire.
When morning came and no smoke rose from the chimney, the villagers assumed Eleanor had gone away. The door was locked, the key missing, the windows still shuttered. The silence inside was heavier than before. In the hearth, the last embers glowed faintly, ashes still warm to the touch.
Only two cups remained on the tableone empty, the rim stained with lips; the other half-full, a wisp of steam still curling upward.
