The clock in the hall chimed three times, but the sound was swallowed by the thick, milky fog clinging to the house like a shroud. It sprawled across the garden, tangled itself in the apple trees, dripped from the slate roof, and seeped through the cracks in the windows, turning the world beyond the glass into a blur. The wind seemed to avoid this place altogether, as if it knew better than to linger. Only the occasional dry creak of the shutters disturbed the heavy silence, a reminder that the house still breathed.
Emily sat by the fireplace, clutching a cup of cold tea, her fingers trembling slightlywhether from the chill or anticipation, she couldnt say. Her gaze never left the door, as if she could will the moment closer. She knew hed come today.
Not because anyone had promised. Not because of letters or calls. She just knewthe way you know snow will fall when the air turns crisp, the stars too bright, the silence too thick.
The old house always creakedfloorboards, beams, window framesbut today the sounds were different. Muffled, drawn-out, like someone treading carefully on wet earth just beyond the walls, pausing now and then to listen. Emily told herself it was her imagination, but every new groan of the wood brought him nearerthe thing she both longed for and dreaded.
Three years ago, this house had been full of life. Laughter, arguments, doors slamming, the kettle always whistling over the radio someone had turned up too loud. The smell of fresh scones and pipe smoke drifted through the halls, a football thudded in the garden, and someone was forever dropping spoons in the kitchen. Then, one by one, theyd all gonesome moved away, others simply vanished. Only the silence remained, soaking into the walls, the floors, the old photographs. Only Emily. And the memories, heavy or sweet, with nowhere else to go.
She closed her eyes and heard his voice againlow, rough, as if carried from far away. *Ill return. But dont wait for me by daylight.* Shed asked why not then. Hed tilted his head slightly, smiled that crooked half-smile, and said, *Because by day, I wont be here.*
A knock. One sharp rap, testing. Then anotherlouder, impatient. Silence followed, broken only by the pounding of her own heart. Emily rose, set the cup on the mantel, glanced at the dying embers, and stepped toward the door. Every footfall on the creaking floorboards echoed in her chest. The doorknob was icy, dampas if touched by another hand. She turned it with effort.
A man stood on the threshold. A grey overcoat, droplets clinging to his shoulders as if hed walked through a downpouror the fog itself. His face was hidden under the broad brim of his hat, but his lips were visiblepale, tinged with blue, unsmiling.
You came, Emily said, her voice quieter than shed intended.
He nodded and stepped inside. No removal of his hat, no wiping of his shoes, 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 said softly, each word settling like dust. You always do.
Emily didnt answer. Her eyes dropped to his handslong, slender, the skin unnaturally pale, like someone who hadnt seen the sun in years. His fingers were still, but there was something unsettling in their stillness, as if they remembered gripping her shoulders hard enough to leave bruisesdark, tender marks that lingered for weeks.
Why are you here? she finally asked, hating how her voice wavered.
You already know.
He took a step forward, and the floorboards groaned beneath his weight. The fire flared without her adding wood. Shadows stretched along the walls, and for a moment, Emily could have sworn other figures moved just beyond sight.
I thought Id have more time, she whispered, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
Theres never enough, he repliedno judgment, no comfort, just fact.
They sat by the fire for what felt like hours, the flames dancing in his motionless eyes. He spoke of places where light never reached, yet the sound of lapping water soothed more than silence ever could. Of people hed taken, and those whod gone willingly, as if sensing his approach. Sometimes he paused, and in those lulls, Emily heard only the crackling logs and the wind stirring the fog outside.
His voice was gentle, devoid of threat, and she realized she wasnt afraid. If anything, there was something hypnotic in his words, like listening to a story whose ending you already knew but couldnt resist hearing.
Are you ready? he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Emily looked aroundthe cup on the mantel, the worn armchair with its sunken cushion, the photograph in its tarnished silver frame. Everything was exactly 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 icebut not biting, more like a lullaby, a promise that fear could stay behind, right there by the fire.
When morning came and no smoke rose from the chimney, the neighbours assumed Emily had left. The door was locked, the key missing, the curtains still drawn tight. The silence inside was absolute. The last embers in the fireplace had burned to ash, their warmth fading.
Only two cups remained on the tableone empty, a faint lipstick stain on the rim, the other half-full, a whisper of steam still curling above it.
