The clock in the hall chimed three times, but the sound was swallowed by the thick, milky fog that clung to the house on all sides. It draped over the garden, tangled in the branches of the apple trees, slithered down the slate roof, and seeped through the cracks in the windows, making the world beyond the glass seem blurred and unreal. The wind, as if sensing it was unwelcome here, kept its distance. Only the occasional dry rattle of the shutters disturbed the heavy silence, a reminder that the house was still breathing.
Emily sat by the fireplace, clutching a cup of long-cold tea, her fingers trembling slightlywhether from the chill or anticipation, she couldnt say. Her gaze stayed fixed on the door, as if sheer willpower could hasten the moment. She knew hed come tonight.
Not because anyone had promised. Not because of letters or calls. She just *knew*the same way you know snow will fall when the air turns crisp, the stars too bright, and the silence too thick.
The old house always creakedfloorboards, beams, window frames. But tonight, the sounds were different: slow, deliberate, like careful footsteps in damp earth just beyond the walls, pausing now and then to listen. Emily told herself it was just her imagination, yet each groan of the wood brought him closerthe one shed waited for, and feared, in equal measure.
Three years ago, this house had been full of life. Laughter, arguments, the slam of doors, the whistle of a boiling kettle drowning out the radio someone always turned up too loud. The scent of fresh bread and pipe smoke drifted through the halls; a football thudded in the garden, and spoons clattered in the kitchen. Then, one by one, they all leftsome moved away, some simply vanished. The silence seeped into every room, the walls, the floor, the faded photographs. Only Emily remained. And the memories, heavy or sweet, with nowhere else to go.
Emily closed her eyes and heard his voice againlow, slightly rough, as if carried from far away. *»Ill return. But dont wait for me in daylight.»* Shed asked why. Hed tilted his head, smiled faintly, and said, *»Because by day, I wont be here.»*
A knock. One sharp rap, testing. Then anotherlouder, more insistent. Silence followed, broken only by the hammering of her own heart. Emily stood, set her cup on the mantel, glanced at the dying embers, and walked to the door. Each step made the floorboards protest. The handle was icy, slick with dampas if someone had already turned it. She gripped it and pushed.
A man stood on the threshold. His grey coat glistened with droplets, as if hed walked through relentless rain or the heart of the fog itself. His face was hidden beneath the brim of his hat, but his lipspale, tinged with bluewere just visible.
«You came,» Emily said, her voice softer than shed intended.
He nodded and stepped inside without removing his hat or wiping his shoes, as though carrying the cold with him. His presence pressed against the room, making the walls shrink back, the air grow dense.
«I knew youd wait,» he said, so quietly the words seemed to settle into the very air. «You always do.»
Emily didnt reply. Her eyes dropped to his handslong, slender, the skin unnaturally pale, like someone who hadnt seen the sun in years. They were perfectly still, yet there was something unsettling in their stillness, as if they remembered gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise.
«Why are you here?» she finally asked, her voice betraying her.
«You already know.»
He took a step forward, and the floor groaned under his weight. The fire flared, though she hadnt added wood. Shadows stretched along the walls, and for a moment, Emily thought she saw figures moving just beyond sight.
«I thought Id have more time,» she whispered, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
«Theres never enough,» he repliednot unkindly, just matter-of-fact.
They sat by the fire for what felt like hours, the flames flickering in his motionless eyes. He spoke of places where no light reached, yet the sound of water was constant, soothing in a way silence never could be. Of those hed taken, and those whod simply walked into the dark on their own. Now and then, he paused, and in those quiet moments, Emily heard only the crackle of the fire and the unseen wind stirring the fog outside.
His voice was calm, almost gentle, and to her surprise, Emily found she wasnt afraid. If anything, there was something hypnotic in his words, like listening to a story whose ending you already know but cant resist hearing.
«Are you ready?» he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Emily looked around. The cup on the mantel, the old armchair with its sunken cushion, the tarnished silver frame holding a faded photograph. Everything was exactly as it had been three years agoonly she had changed.
«Yes,» she said, her voice steady.
He stood, offering his hand. She took it. Cold as ice, but not bitingmore like a lullaby, whispering that fear could stay behind, left by the fire.
When morning came and no smoke rose from the chimney, the neighbours assumed Emily had gone away. The door was locked, the windows shuttered, the silence inside absolute. The last embers had burned out in the hearth, the ashes still faintly warm.
Only two cups remained on the tableone empty, with the ghost of lips on its rim, the other half-full, a whisper of steam still curling above it.
