Despair of an imaginary presence

      People don’t believe in ghosts, but they certainly suffer from them. Not from flying white sheets with slits under the eyes, but from phantom empty shells, so deeply woven into the skin that they become one with their bearer, an inseparable part. And it would seem that by their presence they should save mankind from the torment of loneliness. However, they only elevate it to a special stage, from which it is impossible to descend without breaking. Day 1.       All at once, and all in a circle. Disbelief, shock, devastation. The abruptly begun and then endless dance of the end. An end that brings with it a total mayhem from which there is no recovery. Never.       “Shutome?”       “Hello, darling. How are you? It’s been a long time. We’ve missed you all. Will you come for the holidays?”       Empty inside, empty outside: all-encompassing loneliness.       “Shutome, are you alone?”       “No, Kyoko visited today. Is something wrong, yome?”       How can you have the strength to bring down on another person’s world a boulder that recently crushed your own?       “You should come… All of you.”       An unrelenting tremor in the body. A throat that’s scratchy from crying. Snappy voice.       “Yome, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Are you all right?”       Where do you get your strength from if there’s nothing else inside?       “Shutome…” A breakdown. Tears. A pounding heart. A still-beating heart, despite everything and everyone. “He’s gone.”       “Who’s gone? Yome, I don’t understand.”       “He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.”       The phone that was about to fall out of my trembling fingers.       “Ho—” Will it ever be possible to say his name as easily as before? “He’s dead, shutome.”       Words spoken aloud for the first time. The silence of denial on the other end.       “My son is dead?! My boy!”       A frantic scream. Disbelief, shock, devastation. All at once, all in a circle.       Loneliness, brought to its apogee, is identified with emptiness.       They say a new year begins with winter. So be it. But a new life begins in autumn.       The faint rustling sound of a gel pen running across a blank sheet of paper with a small coffee stain. The table was illuminated only by a single lamp with an orangish glow, the other closest one was at the other end of the room. The fireplace, in which the already burnt-out wood crackled quietly, filled the patch of darkness in the centre of the room with its glow. The faint rustle of hair from already tired fingers running through it. The sound of a cup placed on the table, leaving behind another stain. The quiet indignation and subsequent scrabbling at the paper with a fingernail in an attempt to salvage the situation.       Rain.       An impenetrable wall of water, so dreary and drowsy and utterly unwelcome. Droplets were tearing at the door, at the windows, at the walls. Tried to reach the house owners through gaps in the corners and holes in the roof. So desperately, but so vainly. They hit the window and slowly dripped to the floor, turning into a puddle of plain water. Cold, wet and sullen, which was quite fitting for the recently arrived autumn.       A knock, at first mistaken for another attempt by the droplets to sneak into the house. But the knock, too sharp and frequent, shattered the rest of the harmony that reigned in the room, interrupting the usual course of events.       It was as if the person standing outside the door was not confused by the rain clearly enveloping him, trying to press him to the floor to turn him into a mere puddle as well. A man had to stand up from the desk to save the stranger from such a sad fate: no one deserves to become just a puddle.       A complete stranger, soaked through, with a bag over her shoulder, hesitantly climbed up onto the terrace to escape the merciless drops. “I’ve been carried away,” she thought, her mind racing. “I had to break down in the middle of nowhere, where I couldn’t even get a signal. How will I get there now?” The motion-sensor light above her lit up, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed the bell and, stopping the trickles of water, ran the back of her hand over her chin, then her forehead. The door opened.       The man who appeared in the crack of the ajar door was a little surprised and embarrassed by the appearance of the sudden visitor. “Is there anything I can do for you, miss?”       He looked at her coldly, expecting an answer, though somewhere beneath the learned calmness lurked sympathy and kindness. He was like a man accustomed to speaking politely and courteously, even when circumstances tended to the contrary.       “Oh, I’m so glad you opened,” she said quickly, wiping the drops from her face again. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to bother you, and of course, I understand if you refuse my request, but… My car broke down, and this downpour, damn it, came on so suddenly. And I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to let me wait out the rain.”       She was visibly shivering due to her soaked clothes and irritation at yet another surprise from fate but forced herself to pull a charming smile from her arsenal in an attempt to put the stranger at ease.       “Yes, yes, of course, come in.” He took a step to the side, opening the door all the way and letting the girl inside. “You’re soaked to the skin.”       She suppressed her genuine surprise and her desire to look at him as a complete lunatic for letting a stranger into her home so easily and smiled gratefully as she crossed the threshold.       A completely different world appeared before her. A glance at the furnishings was enough to realise the importance of its owner.       “I can’t help but notice that you have a very beautiful home,” the stranger said, looking around.       “Thank you. Let’s go somewhere warmer so you can warm up. Follow me.”       They passed into the drawing-room, to the fireplace, in which the wood was almost turned to coal. “What long hair,” she thought, keeping a little distance from him. “Red, too. A witch… Witcher,” she bit her cheek, holding back a smile. He led her over to a couch with a low table half occupied by two small vases.       “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked off somewhere in the back of the house, leaving the girl alone with the hearth.       The girl set her bag on the floor and stepped closer to the fireplace and stretched out her arms, soaking up all the warmth that was still coming from the wood. “Where did I get to?” She pondered, watching the logs shimmering in the fire. “He doesn’t look like a maniac, but he’s so… polite. Some big shot? And the house is huge. The fireplace alone.” She looked around again, making sure she hadn’t imagined it. The leather sofa, the antique vases, the ornate hanging chandelier in the centre of the room. All the walls were wood, carved wood, and there was a thick embroidered rug on the boardwalk floor. “It’s like anything you touch, you’ll get a streak of dust on your finger, and they’ll make you pay for it.” She shivered, whether from the soaked clothes or the atmosphere of desolation in the house.       A few minutes later, the shuffling of house slippers against the floor was heard behind her. She turned around at the sound and saw a steaming cup of tea and milk, a spoon and a small, obviously unleavened scone.       “Oh, you really shouldn’t have.” She shook her head and waved her hands, showing the excesses of his actions.       “You’re cold and wet. It’s not an excess, it’s a necessity. Have some tea,” he handed her a cup and set the saucer on the table.       “Thank you.”       A girl in a uniform that looked a lot like a maid’s clothes, rubbing her eyes tiredly, came over and whispered something in his ear. The guest observed her with interest. “A servant…?” she thought, sipping from her cup. “Damn, I know better than drinking tea served by the first person I see. I’ve completely lost my mind.” She stared at the brown liquid, as if trying to see if something was in it, and sighed. “But I’m so cold.”       The young man gestured for the maid to lead the girl upstairs to the bathroom.       “Atala, please escort your guest upstairs and give her some dry clothes. Thank you.” Atala nodded and walked towards the stairs. “You’re dripping,” he remarked, frowning slightly.       She glanced at the floor. Indeed, a small puddle had managed to form beneath her. The rain had managed to get into the house after all.       She pressed her lips together guiltily, glad she hadn’t taken the risk of standing on the carpet.       “You’re so kind to me, and I didn’t even recognise your name.”       “Einar. My name is Einar Brandt. What’s your name, miss?”       “I’m Nemi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”       “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nemi,” he smiled. “You can take a hot shower to warm yourself up.” He glanced at the maid, who waited patiently for her guest to follow her upstairs.       “Thank you.”       He nodded back at her and followed Nemi and Atala’s gaze as they left for the first floor. While the girl fiddled in the bathroom, washing herself and changing into clean, dry clothes, Einar returned to the business he had left behind, sitting down at the table again. “Shes’s definitely not from around here,” his mind was spinning. “From Azumashiyo? But there’s something about the facial features that sticks out.” The coffee stain had already completely soaked into the paper and dried, leaving no chance of success. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s like she didn’t walk in the rain, she swam a kilometre. And where’s her broken-down car?” He sipped the already-cooled coffee, this time placing the cup away from the leaf. Nemi walked into the living room. Her damp, towel-dried hair fell over her shoulders and back, leaving small wet marks on her T-shirt.       “If the clothes don’t fit you, Atala can look for something more appropriate.” Tearing himself away from the papers, Einar looked at her coming down the stairs.       Standing up from the table, he gestured to the couch. Nemi hesitantly sat down on it, Einar taking a seat beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder encouragingly, trying to be polite and not too intrusive. She tensed but allowed herself to be touched. He smiled weakly.       “The clothes fit, thank you.”       His unexpected, such a simple gesture took Nemi by surprise. Normally she was someone who always held herself with confidence, but now she felt completely out of place. Perhaps in part from the fact that she thought she’d still have to pay for everything.       “How could a stranger worry about a stranger?” she blurted out.       Einar nodded slightly after Nemi’s words, stood up and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against the wall and looked at the dying flames with a few wood added to them. It was about a minute before he answered her:       “I think anyone is capable of doing a good deed. You don’t even have to have a good heart to do it. And you don’t seem like a bad person.”       His hands were in his pockets and his face and body were turned slightly to the left. He watched her with interest, trying to read something in her face. His words made her tense up slightly.       “I guess you’re right. I guess I’m just not used to the kindness of strangers.”       She shifted her gaze to the window and frowned.       “Oh, it’s still raining…”       “Yes, and it will likely continue to rain all night,” Einar thought for a moment, remembering something from the past. “Do you have somewhere to stay for the night?       “Do buses run here? Any transport? I have no reception here whatsoever, the map won’t load, and I can’t get my bearings at all.”       “We’re near Iparraldeco, about fifteen kilometres away.” Nemi opened her mouth, but couldn’t turn her emotions into words. “There’s transport, but it’s a twenty-minute walk to the nearest bus stop. And it’s after midnight, and the buses aren’t running.”       Nemi leaned her elbows on her legs, hiding her face in her palms. She rubbed her temples, not sure what to do.       “I have a hotel room booked. But I guess the reservation’s been cancelled now that the new day’s here,” Nemi grumbled. “I got a little lost in the neighbourhood when the car stalled, and then it started raining… I’m in a field, the road is barely lit, there’s no one around, it’s late evening. Perhaps it would have been better to spend the night in the car, but I was afraid that because of the rain a passing car might not notice mine and crash into me. So I decided to try my luck, look for houses and hope for the goodwill of the people here. Walked along the road for about ten minutes until I saw your house nearby. At least I got lucky today, I guess.” Nemi shrugged and smiled languidly, raising her eyes to Einar, who was still staring at her.       Their gazes met, but his calm gaze hadn’t changed, now, however, he was looking at her with more compassion.       “A very unpleasant set of circumstances indeed.” Einar stretched out, and then, in a slow but determined voice, continued. “You may use the guest room where you showered. Unless, of course, you’re going to walk the fifteen kilometres to town in a downpour.” Nemi had hoped to hear the offer, not even a suggestion but more of an affirmation, but she didn’t dare ask for such a favour. She had no other options. Unless she hitchhiked, but she didn’t want to do that in the rain in the middle of the night.       “I don’t even know what I can do to thank you.” Nemi jumped to her feet in an impulse to hug her saviour, but sat back down immediately, pulling herself together.       “No need, I don’t need anything in return, you’re my guest and the house is full of empty rooms.”       He offered her his hand.       “Let me help a man in a difficult situation.”       “Thank you very much again.” Nemi placed her hand on his and smiled gratefully.       His hand was cold and a little rough while holding her palm firmly but gently. Einar smiled politely and, after helping her up, sold Nemi her bag with her belongings and moved towards the stairs. Nemi followed him into the now familiar room.       “'I’ll leave you to it then,” he said as Nemi walked into the guest room. “'Good night.”       “Thank you again,” she thanked him again.       Einar bowed elegantly in response, then turned and left, closing the door behind him. A few moments later, Nemi heard footsteps moving away from her. She was alone, alone in a strange room, in a strange house, with already slightly more familiar people.       Perhaps today wasn’t so bad after all.