The train hissed into the station, a long exhalation of steam that smelled of coal and cold iron. Margaret pulled her coat tighter. The air bit. It was November, the kind of gray that sucked the color out of the world. She stepped off the carriage. Her boots crunched on the gravel. She was not alone.

Her brother stood by the ticket booth. Thomas looked thin. His face was pale. He did not wave. He just watched her. His eyes were dark. They were deep wells.

"Martha," he said. The name was wrong.

Margaret stopped. "It is Margaret."

Thomas blinked. He looked at her face. He looked at the platform. "Yes. Margaret. You are late."

She dropped her bag. The leather hit the ground with a dull thud. "I was on the previous train. I missed it. I had to wait here."

Thomas did not help her pick it up. He turned away. He walked toward the exit. She followed. They walked in silence. The station was empty. A few rats scurried under the benches. The lights buzzed.

They took a cab. The driver was an old man. He did not look at them. He looked at the road. The city was wet. The streetlights reflected in the puddles. Orange and blue.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"The Mill," Thomas said.

The driver nodded. He started the engine. The car moved. Margaret looked out the window. The houses passed by. Brick and stone. Dark windows. Some lights on. People inside. Living.

Thomas sat stiffly. His hands were in his lap. They were shaking.

"Why are you here?" Margaret asked.

Thomas did not answer. He stared at the back of the driver's head.

"I saw the letter," she said. "You said it was an emergency. I packed my things. I came."

"Good," he said.

The car turned. The road got narrower. The buildings got older. The Mill was on the edge of town. It was a large building. It looked dead. The windows were boarded up. The chimney was cracked.

They got out of the cab. The driver drove away. The sound of the engine faded. The silence was heavy. It pressed against Margaret’s ears.

Thomas opened the gate. It creaked. The sound was loud in the quiet.

"Stay behind me," he said.

"I am your sister. I am not a child."

Thomas looked at her. His face was tight. "The rules are different here. Listen to me."

They entered the building. The door swung open. It groaned. Inside, it was dark. The air was still. It smelled of dust and old paper.

Thomas lit a lantern. The flame flickered. It cast long shadows. The shadows moved. They stretched across the floor.

"Where is the rest of the family?" Margaret asked.

Thomas did not answer. He walked deeper into the building. The floorboards creaked under their feet.

They reached a door at the end of a long hall. The door was wood. It was heavy. It had no handle.

Thomas placed his hand on the wood. He closed his eyes. He waited.

"What is in there?" Margaret whispered.

"The truth," Thomas said.

He pushed the door. It opened slowly. A breath of cold air came out. It was icy. It bit into her skin.

Inside the room, it was darker. The lantern light barely reached the walls. There was a table in the center. On the table, there was a box. The box was black. It was made of metal. It had no lid.

"Sit down," Thomas said.

Margaret did not move. "What is that?"

Thomas sat down. He looked tired. He looked broken. "It is the thing that took Father. It is the thing that took Mother. It is the thing that took you."

Margaret felt a chill. "I am here. I am alive."

Thomas shook his head. "You are here. But you are not what you think you are."

He pointed to the box. "Look inside."

Margaret stepped forward. She looked into the box. It was empty. It was just a metal square. Nothing else.

"It is empty," she said.

"No," Thomas said. "Look closer. Use your mind. Not your eyes."

"I don't understand."

"Think about the train," Thomas said. "Think about the journey. Why did you come?"

Margaret frowned. "Because you called me. Because you were in trouble."

"Were you?" Thomas asked. "Did you feel the need to come? Or did you feel the need to stay?"

Margaret paused. She remembered the station. She remembered the platform. She remembered her mother’s face in the mirror. She had looked at herself. She had seen her mother. She had thought it was a trick of the light.

"I didn't think about it," she said.

"You did," Thomas said. "You always did. You always chose the dark. You chose the silence. You chose to disappear."

The air in the room grew colder. The lantern flame shrank. It turned blue.

"Thomas," Margaret said. Her voice was soft. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that you are not here," Thomas said. "You never were. You are in the box. You have been in the box since the day you died."

Margaret laughed. It was a dry sound. "That is not true. I am warm. I am cold. I am afraid. I am real."

"Are you?" Thomas asked. "Or are you just a memory? A habit of the mind?"

She looked at her hands. They were pale. They were thin. They looked like the hands of a ghost.

"I am Margaret," she said. "I am your sister. I love you."

Thomas stood up. He moved toward her. His face was hard. "Love is not enough. Love is a chain. You are chained to this place. You are chained to me. You are chained to the dead."

He reached for her hand. She pulled back.

"Let me go," she said.

"You cannot go," Thomas said. "There is no outside. There is only here. There is only the box. And there is only the memory of what you were."

The lights went out. The dark was total. It was thick. It was heavy. Margaret could not breathe. She could not move. She could only hear Thomas.

"I will free you," Thomas said. "I will close the box. I will seal it. And then I will leave. And you will be alone. Forever."

"No," Margaret said. "Don't do it."

"I have to," Thomas said. "It is the only way. To end the pain. To end the waiting."

She could feel him moving. She could feel the cold. She could feel the weight of the air.

"Thomas," she said. "Please."

"Goodbye," he said.

There was a sound. A click. It was small. It was final.

Then, silence.

Margaret was alone.

She was in the dark. She was in the box. She was in the memory.

She waited.

The darkness was warm. It was soft. It was like a blanket.

She closed her eyes.

She was Margaret.

She was safe.

She was free.

The train hissed into the station. A long exhalation of steam. It smelled of coal.

Margaret pulled her coat tighter. The air bit.

She was not alone.

Her brother stood by the ticket booth. Thomas looked thin. His face was pale.

"Martha," he said.

Margaret stopped.

"It is Margaret," she said.

Thomas blinked. "Yes. Margaret. You are late."

She dropped her bag. The leather hit the ground.

"I was on the previous train," she said. "I missed it."

Thomas did not help her. He turned away. He walked toward the exit.

She followed.

They walked in silence.

The station was empty.

The rats scurried.

The lights buzzed.

They took a cab.

The driver was an old man.

He did not look at them.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The Mill," Thomas said.

The car moved.

The city was wet.

The streetlights reflected in the puddles.

"Where is the rest of the family?" Margaret asked.

Thomas did not answer.

They entered the building.

The door swung open.

It groaned.

Thomas lit a lantern.

The flame flickered.

"Where is the rest of the family?" Margaret asked again.

Thomas did not answer.

They reached a door at the end of a long hall.

The door was wood.

It was heavy.

"Stay behind me," Thomas said.

"I am your sister," Margaret said.

"The rules are different here," Thomas said.

They entered the room.

It was dark.

There was a table.

On the table, there was a box.

The box was black.

It was made of metal.

"Sit down," Thomas said.

Margaret did not move.

"What is that?"

"The truth," Thomas said.

He pushed the door.

A breath of cold air came out.

"Look inside," Thomas said.

Margaret looked.

It was empty.

"No," Thomas said. "Look closer."

"I don't understand."

"Think about the train," Thomas said.

Margaret frowned.

"Did you feel the need to come? Or did you feel the need to stay?"

Margaret paused.

"I didn't think about it."

"You did," Thomas said. "You always did."

The air grew colder.

The lantern flame shrank.

"Thomas," Margaret said. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that you are not here," Thomas said.

"Are you?" Thomas asked. "Or are you just a memory?"

She looked at her hands.

They were pale.

They were thin.

"I am Margaret," she said. "I love you."

"Love is a chain," Thomas said.

He reached for her hand.

"Let me go," she said.

"You cannot go," Thomas said.

"I will free you," Thomas said. "I will close the box."

"No," Margaret said. "Don't do it."

"I have to," Thomas said.

"Goodbye," he said.

There was a sound.

A click.

Silence.

Margaret was alone.

She was in the dark.

She was in the box.

She waited.

The darkness was warm.

It was soft.

It was like a blanket.

She closed her eyes.

She was Margaret.

She was safe.

She was free.

The train hissed into the station.

A long exhalation of steam.

It smelled of coal.

Margaret pulled her coat tighter.

The air bit.

She was not alone.

Her brother stood by the ticket booth.

Thomas looked thin.

His face was pale.

"Martha," he said.

Margaret stopped.

"It is Margaret," she said.

Thomas blinked.

"Yes. Margaret. You are late."

She dropped her bag.

The leather hit the ground.

"I was on the previous train," she said.

Thomas did not help her.

He turned away.

He walked toward the exit.

She followed.

They walked in silence.

The station was empty.

The rats scurried.

The lights buzzed.

They took a cab.

The driver was an old man.

He did not look at them.

"Where to?" he asked.

"The Mill," Thomas said.

The car moved.

The city was wet.

The streetlights reflected in the puddles.

"Where is the rest of the family?" Margaret asked.

Thomas did not answer.

They entered the building.

The door swung open.

It groaned.

Thomas lit a lantern.

The flame flickered.

"Where is the rest of the family?" Margaret asked again.

Thomas did not answer.

They reached a door at the end of a long hall.

The door was wood.

It was heavy.

"Stay behind me," Thomas said.

"I am your sister," Margaret said.

"The rules are different here," Thomas said.

They entered the room.

It was dark.

There was a table.

On the table, there was a box.

The box was black.

It was made of metal.

"Sit down," Thomas said.

Margaret did not move.

"What is that?"

"The truth," Thomas said.

He pushed the door.

A breath of cold air came out.

"Look inside," Thomas said.

Margaret looked.

It was empty.

"No," Thomas said. "Look closer."

"I don't understand."

"Think about the train," Thomas said.

Margaret frowned.

"Did you feel the need to come? Or did you feel the need to stay?"

Margaret paused.

"I didn't think about it."

"You did," Thomas said. "You always did."

The air grew colder.

The lantern flame shrank.

"Thomas," Margaret said. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that you are not here," Thomas said.

"Are you?" Thomas asked. "Or are you just a memory?"

She looked at her hands.

They were pale.

They were thin.

"I am Margaret," she said. "I love you."

"Love is a chain," Thomas said.

He reached for her hand.

"Let me go," she said.

"You cannot go," Thomas said.

"I will free you," Thomas said. "I will close the box."

"No," Margaret said. "Don't do it."

"I have to," Thomas said.

"Goodbye," he said.

There was a sound.

A click.

Silence.

Margaret was alone.

She was in the dark.

She was in the box.

She waited.

The darkness was warm.

It was soft.

It was like a blanket.

She closed her eyes.

She was Margaret.

She was safe.

She was free.