The fog came in thick that night. It tasted of salt and rot. I left the gate open. I left it wide. I wanted the cold to take me. My name is Elias. I was born in this house. I died in this house. Or so I thought.

I was not the first to leave. My father left. He walked into the moor. He did not come back. The villagers said the bog took him. I did not believe it. I believed he simply wanted to be gone. I packed my bag. I took the iron key. I took the letter. I did not take the map. I knew the way. I had walked it a thousand times.

The house groaned behind me. It was old. Older than the trees. The stones were black with age. The windows were blind. I did not look back. Looking back is a weakness. I walked into the dark.

The road was straight. It cut through the heather. The heather was tall. It brushed my face. It felt like fingers. I kept walking. The wind died. The silence was heavy. It pressed on my ears. I heard a sound. It was a low hum. It came from the ground. It was the earth singing. I had heard it before. As a child. When the storms came. I had always been afraid of it. Now I did not care. I was tired. I was so tired.

I reached the crossroads. There were three paths. One went north. One went east. One went down. The path down was hidden. It was a hole in the earth. The stones were wet. The air smelled of iron. I stopped. I stood there. The fog swirled around my ankles. I felt a presence. It was not a ghost. It was not a demon. It was a memory. It was my father. I saw him. He was standing in the shadow. He was not smiling. He was waiting.

"Go on," he said. His voice was the wind. "Go on, Elias."

I did not speak. I could not. My throat was tight. I looked at the path down. It called to me. It was a pull. It was a hunger. I wanted to fall. I wanted to stop. I wanted to end the cycle. I reached for the iron key. It was cold in my hand. It bit into my palm. I bled. The blood dripped onto the stone. The stone drank it.

I turned to the path east. I began to walk. I did not look at the hole. I did not look at my father. I walked until the fog swallowed me. I walked until the ground disappeared. I walked until I was nowhere.

I woke in the kitchen. The fire was out. The clock struck three. I was alone. I was in my bed. I was in my house. I had not moved. I had not walked. I had been asleep. I sat up. My heart was pounding. It was a drum. It was a war. I looked at my hand. There was no blood. There was no cut. I laughed. It was a dry sound. It was a crack. I stood up. I walked to the window. The fog was still there. It was thicker than before. It was pressing against the glass.

I saw a figure in the yard. It was small. It was a child. It was holding a stone. It was throwing the stone at the window. I went to the door. I opened it. The cold hit me. I walked out. The child was gone. There was only the stone. It lay on the grass. It was black. It was wet. I picked it up. It was warm. It was alive.

I went back inside. I closed the door. I locked it. I sat at the table. I waited. The night passed. The light came. The sun rose. It was pale. It was weak. I made tea. I drank it. It was hot. It burned my tongue. I felt alive. I felt real. I was here. I was in the present. I was not in the past. I was not in the future. I was now.

But the stone was still warm. I put it in my pocket. I walked to the cellar. I needed to work. I needed to fix the roof. The leak was bad. The water came in. It ruined the floor. I took my tools. I went down. The stairs creaked. The dark was deep. I lit a lamp. The flame flickered. I saw the shadows. They moved. They danced. They laughed. I worked. I hammered. I nailed. I cut. I built. I was strong. I was capable. I was a man.

When I finished, I went up. The house was quiet. The sun was high. I went to the garden. I pulled the weeds. I cut the grass. I made it clean. I made it right. I was proud. I was content. I was home.

I ate my lunch. It was bread and cheese. It was simple. It was good. I watched the birds. They flew. They sang. They were free. I was not free. I was bound. I was tied. I was a prisoner. The walls were high. The gate was locked. I could not leave. I did not want to leave. I was safe. I was warm. I was dry.

The afternoon passed. The light changed. The shadows grew long. The house settled. It creaked. It groaned. It breathed. I felt it. I felt the pulse. It was the house. It was the earth. It was the cycle. I could not escape. I could not break. I was part of it. I was the stone. I was the root. I was the wall.

I went to the bedroom. I lay on the bed. I closed my eyes. I dreamed. I dreamed of the fog. I dreamed of the road. I dreamed of the crossroads. I dreamed of my father. He was waiting. He was smiling. He was kind. He said, "You are home, Elias."

I woke with a start. I was sweating. I was shaking. I was afraid. I looked at the clock. It was three. The clock had not moved. It was still three. It had been three for hours. It would be three for days. It would be three for years. Time was stuck. Time was dead. I was trapped.

I got up. I went to the window. The fog was gone. The sky was clear. The stars were out. They were bright. They were cold. I saw a light in the distance. It was far away. It was small. It was a house. It was a fire. It was a life. I wanted to go to it. I wanted to join it. I wanted to be there.

I could not move. My legs were heavy. My body was stone. I was fixed. I was rooted. I was part of the ground. I was part of the house. I was part of the past. I could not leave. I could not change. I was the same. I was always the same.

I thought of my friend. His name was Thomas. He was my brother in all but blood. We had grown up together. We had played together. We had dreamed together. He had left. He had gone to the city. He had written letters. He had promised to come back. He never did. I waited. I waited for years. I waited for days. I waited for hours. I waited for minutes. I waited for seconds.

I loved him. I loved him more than life. I loved him more than breath. I loved him more than fear. I wanted to see him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say, "I am here. I am still here. I have not gone. I am waiting for you."

But he was not coming. He was gone. He was lost. He was free. He was in the city. He was in the light. I was in the dark. I was in the house. I was in the fog.

I wept. I cried. I sobbed. I screamed. No one heard. No one came. The house was empty. The house was silent. The house was dead.

I stopped crying. I was dry. I was calm. I was still. I sat on the bed. I looked at the wall. The paint was peeling. The plaster was cracking. The house was dying. It was falling apart. It was returning to the earth. It was becoming dust. It was becoming nothing.

I was nothing. I was no one. I was a ghost. I was a shadow. I was a memory. I was a dream. I was a lie.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I opened it. I stepped out. The air was cold. The air was sharp. I breathed it in. I filled my lungs. I felt the burn. I felt the life. I felt the end.

I walked to the gate. I unlocked it. The lock was rusted. It stuck. I pulled. It opened. I walked out. I walked into the night. I walked into the dark. I walked into the fog.

I did not look back. I did not turn. I did not stop. I walked. I walked. I walked.

The road was straight. The heather was tall. The wind was high. The earth was singing. I heard it. I felt it. I knew it. I was part of it. I was the song. I was the sound. I was the voice.

I reached the crossroads. The three paths. The north. The east. The down. I stood there. I was alone. I was free. I was lost. I was found.

I looked down. The hole was there. The stones were wet. The air smelled of iron. I saw my father. He was there. He was waiting. He was not smiling. He was sad. He was old. He was tired.

I looked at him. I saw his eyes. They were mine. They were my own. I saw my face. I saw my hands. I saw my soul.

I understood. I knew. I saw.

I was not leaving. I was returning. I was not going to the crossroads. I was coming from it. I was not walking to the house. I was walking from it. I was not the first to leave. I was the last to stay.

I was the house. I was the wall. I was the stone. I was the root. I was the fog. I was the dark. I was the silence. I was the wait.

I did not go down. I did not go north. I did not go east. I stood there. I stood still. I stood firm. I was the crossroads. I was the center. I was the heart.

I closed my eyes. I let go. I let go of the key. I let go of the letter. I let go of the map. I let go of Thomas. I let go of my father. I let go of myself.

I fell.

I did not fall down. I fell in. I fell into the earth. I fell into the stone. I fell into the fog. I fell into the night.

I was gone.

I was here.

I was always here.

The fog lifted. The stars shone. The house stood. The gate was closed. The fire burned. The clock ticked.

Three o'clock.

Three o'clock.

Three o'clock.