The clock in the hall struck three, but the sound drowned in the thick, milky fog clinging to the house from every side. It sprawled across the garden, curled around the apple trees, dripped from the slate roof, and seeped through the window cracks, turning the world beyond the glass into something hazy and unreal. The wind seemed to avoid this place entirely, as if it, too, sensed it wasnt welcome. Only the occasional dry creak of the shutters disturbed the heavy silence, a reminder that the house was still breathingjust barely.
Emily sat by the fireplace, clutching a cup of cold tea, her fingers trembling slightly from the chillor perhaps from anticipation. Her eyes never left the door, as though she could will the moment to arrive sooner. She knew hed come today.
Not because anyone had promised. Not because of letters or phone calls. She just knewthe way you know snow will fall when the air turns sharp, the stars too bright, the quiet too thick.
The house was old, always creakingfloorboards, beams, window framesbut today the sounds were different. Muffled, drawn-out, like careful footsteps in wet earth just beyond the walls, pausing now and then to listen. She tried to convince herself it was just her imagination, but each new groan of the wood brought him closer, the one shed been waiting forand dreading.
Three years ago, this house had been full of life. There was laughter, arguments, doors slamming, someone always putting the kettle on, its whistle cutting through the radio blaring in the background. The smell of fresh scones and pipe smoke lingered in the corridors, a football thudded in the garden, and spoons clattered in the kitchen. Then, one by one, they all leftsome moved away, others passed on. Silence seeped into every room, soaked into the walls, the floors, the old photographs. Only Emily remained. And the memories, heavy or warm, with nowhere else to go.
She closed her eyes and heard his voice againlow, slightly rough, as if carried from a distance. Hed told her then, *”Ill come back. But dont wait for me in the daylight.”* Shed asked why. Hed tilted his head, smiled faintly, and said, *”Because by day, I wont be here.”*
A knock. One, shorttesting if she was home. Then another, louder, more insistent. 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 walked to the door. Every step on the creaking floorboards echoed in her chest. The handle was cold as ice, dampas if someone had already touched it. She turned it with effort.
A man stood on the threshold. A grey overcoat, droplets clinging to his shoulders as though hed walked through relentless rainor fog. His face was hidden under a wide-brimmed 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 hat removed, no shoes wiped, as if he carried the chill with him. His presence filled the room, pushing the walls back, thickening the air.
“I knew youd be waiting,” he murmured, so soft yet every word sank into the walls. “You always wait.”
Emily didnt answer. Her gaze dropped to his handslong, slender, the skin too 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 bruises, dark and feverish to the touch.
“Why are you here?” she finally asked, her voice betraying a tremor.
“*You* know.”
He stepped forward, and the floorboards groaned beneath his weight. The fire flared brighter, though she hadnt added wood. Shadows stretched along the walls, and for a moment, she could almost hear quiet footsteps behind them.
“I thought Id have more time,” Emily whispered, forcing herself to hold his gaze.
“Theres never enough,” he repliedno blame, no comfort, just fact.
They sat by the fire for what felt like hours, the flames flickering in his motionless eyes. He spoke of places without light but filled with the sound of water, a rhythm more soothing than silence. Of people hed taken and those whod gone willingly, as if sensing his approach. Sometimes he paused, and in those gaps, Emily heard the logs crackling and the wind outside rolling unseen waves through the fog.
His voice was gentle, unthreatening, and to her surprise, she wasnt afraid. If anything, it was mesmerizinga story she wanted to hear to the end, even knowing how it would finish.
“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 photo. Everything was just 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. Icebut not burning, more like a lullaby, promising she could leave her fear 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, no key to be found, the curtains still drawn tight. The silence inside felt heavier than before. In the fireplace, the last embers faded, a thin line of ash barely warm.
Only two cups remained on the tableone empty, a faint lipstick mark on the rim; the other half-full, a wisp of steam still curling from it.
