The Homecoming
Edward fastened his seatbelt and absently adjusted the seatback. He flew oftentoo often, if he were honest. Once a month, sometimes more: conferences, meetings, brief business trips that left his head spinning worse than cheap whisky. This time, it had all been particularly routinetwo days of negotiations, signatures, a dinner with associatesand then back to London.
The only difference was the destination. The plane wasnt heading to Germany or Manchester, but to a small town in the South where hed been born and from which hed fled twenty years ago. Hed only returned twice sincefor his fathers funeral, and later to stand at his mothers grave. Both times, hed longed to be backto the noise of city traffic, to his projects, to a life too busy for reflection.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Last night, hed sat in a pub with colleagues, arguing over some presentation. Someone had drunk too much and strummed *The Wild Rover* on the guitar. Funny how that tune had stuck in his head, humming now beneath the drone of the engines. He almost smiled.
“Would you like juice or water?” the stewardess asked, bending slightly toward him. Her smile was practised, polished.
“Water, please.”
She handed him a plastic cup, and he nodded. The water was lukewarm, as if left in the sun. But he drank anyway.
His neighbour to the right muttered something, flipping through a magazine.
“Mad prices, eh?” the man said, glancing up.
“Always have been,” Edward replied. “Theyre selling watches here for the price of a flat.”
They both chuckled, and for a moment, it felt easyalmost like home.
The plane flew smoothly, barely swaying. Somewhere ahead, a baby cried, but its mother hushed it quickly. Someone clicked the overhead light switch, chasing the glow. A girl across the aisle giggled at her phone, the screen casting her face in a ghostly pallor, making her look younger than she was.
Edward turned to the window, expecting to see the faint glow of a village below, the streak of a motorway, the flicker of a star. But outside was only an even, depthless darkso thick it might have been black matte film pressed against the glass.
“Dark out there, isnt it?” his neighbour said, peering over his shoulder. “Black as pitch.”
Edward shrugged. “Well its night.”
But something sticky and unpleasant stirred in his chest. Night breathes. This was emptiness.
He checked his phone out of habit. The screen flashedno signal.
Right. The plane. What had he expected? He always forgot. Still, the reflex remained: reach for the screen, hope for a message from his son. *Couldve at least sent an emoji*, he thought, smirking to himself as he locked the phone.
“Youve got no signal either?” the neighbour asked.
“None,” Edward said. “Shouldnt expect it up here.”
“Right,” the man replied, turning back to his magazine. This time, he lingered on an advert for expensive coats, tracing the glossy page as if he could feel the fabric.
The plane dipped slightly, as if nudged by a gust. Nothing unusualjust turbulence. But the water in Edwards cup trembled, ripples spreading too evenly, as if tapped by an invisible finger.
From the row behind, a womans voice:
“Are you sure theyll meet us?”
“Of course. They said theyd be waiting right by the gate,” another replied.
The word *waiting* clung to Edwards thoughts. He pressed his forehead to the window. Still nothing. No glimmer, no streak of light. Just black fabric stretched tight around the plane.
Suddenly, he thought of his motherthe one whod lain in the old churchyard for over a decade. He remembered standing at her grave in his black overcoat, the strangeness of staring at dirt while her laughter still echoed in his memory. Now, staring through the window, he nearly heard it again*Eddie*and flinched as if shocked.
“Everything alright?” his neighbour asked.
Edward blinked. “Just remembering something.”
“Ah,” the man said. “Well, best not to think about turbulence.”
He tried to read, but the words slipped away. Sentences blurred, letters smudged, and he found himself staring not at the page but at the dark glass beside him. Outsidenothing. Just ordinary night. He dismissed it. Night was night. What else was there?
His neighbour turned a page and snorted.
“Six grand for a watch. Could buy a used Mini for that.”
“Yeah,” Edward said, smiling politely despite the lack of humour.
Across the aisle, a womans voice:
“She said, *Wait for us by lunchtime*.”
Then another, higher:
“Mine said the same*Wait for us by lunchtime*.”
A coincidence, surely. Just two passengers repeating a phrase. But that *wait* sent a chill through him, as if a door had opened somewhere, letting in a draft. He stared back at the window.
The dark glass reflected his facepale, tired. No clouds, no lights below. Only perfect black, so dense it felt like reaching into it would make his fingers vanish.
“Dark, isnt it?” his neighbour repeated, peering again. “Black as pitch.”
“Night,” Edward replied. “Same as always.”
He said it aloud, but inside, the words twisted: *Night is alive. This is dead.*
He set the book aside, took another sip of tepid water, and rolled his eyes. Full flight, yet it felt like sitting in a cellar.
The trolley rattled past again. The stewardess leaned toward the next row.
“Coffee or tea?”
The woman across the aisle lifted her cup.
“Tea, please. And lemon, if you have it.”
Her companion added with a chuckle:
“Tea for me too with lemon.”
Both spoke with identical inflection, as if rehearsed. Edward wondered if hed misheard, but the girl in headphones giggled and mimicked in a singsong voice:
“*With lemon, with lemon*”
His neighbour stopped flipping pages, frowned, but said nothing.
The plane shuddered slightly. The water in the cup trembled again, ripples fine as mesh. Edward touched the surfacefor a second, it stilled, like glass. Strange, but he dismissed it. Just fatigue.
***
Captain Harris glanced from the instruments to the windscreen. Nothing. Even on moonless nights, there were gaps in clouds, a horizon, the dim glow of stars. Nowjust a black void, as if the cockpit had been towed into a hangar and left in the dark.
“Maybe were in cloud cover,” he said aloud, his voice uncertain.
“At this altitude?” The co-pilot looked up. “With no turbulence? And radars blank.”
“Electromagnetic storm,” Harris suggested. “Solar flares, plasma layers it happens.”
“Thered be static.”
“There is.” He tapped the live radio, where only silence hissed.
He knew he wasnt convincing. This wasnt like any malfunction hed seen in twenty years.
The co-pilot leaned to the side window, pressing his forehead to the glass.
“Could it be snowfields below? Maybe we just cant see them.”
“Snows not like this,” Harris said. “Snow glows faintly. This is black.”
They double-checked the instrumentscourse steady, altitude stable, fuel normal, engines perfect. Everything worked except the world outside.
“If it were a storm, Id understand,” the co-pilot murmured. “Or an ocean. But this isnt night. Night breathes.”
“Breathes,” Harris agreed, staring into the void.
He told himself theyd lost bearings, that the beacon would guide them down. But the words rang hollow, as if the emptiness outside muffled thought itself.
Finally, he reached for the mic. He couldnt say *alls well*.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said flatly, “we are continuing our flight. Navigation systems are temporarily unavailable, but the aircraft is functioning normally. The crew has the situation under control.”
He released the button.
Silence hissed in his headset. Outside, the black wall held them, waiting for the fuel to run out.
***
The PA clicked off. For a moment, silence hung thick as cellar air. Then something crackednot in the systems, but in the people.
The neighbour snapped his magazine shut, shoved it into the seat pocket. His face was drawn, eyes gleaming.
“*Under control*hear that? What does *navigation unavailable* mean? Are we lost?”
No one answered. But heads turned.
Across the aisle, the girl in the rabbit-patterned jumper stuffed her phone into her bag and crieddry, shaking sobs. A stranger beside her offered a tissue. She took it, crumpling it in her fist.
Three rows ahead, a man in a tailored suit jabbed the call button. When the stewardess came, he spoke too loudly:
“Explain *temporarily unavailable*. I
