The banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and old wood. Candles guttered. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of perfume and anxiety. Margaret sat at the head of the table. She wore black. It was not for mourning. It was for authority.

Her men stood by the walls. They wore dark suits. They looked like shadows. Their hands rested near their belts. They did not look at the guests. They looked at the door.

Margaret’s eyes swept the room. They were cold. They were dry. She had seen many rooms like this. She had seen many lies. She knew the weight of a lie. It sat on the chest. It pressed the air out.

The guests laughed. It was a polite sound. It was thin. It echoed off the high ceilings. They ate. They spoke of nothing. They spoke of the weather. They spoke of stocks. They did not speak of the house. They did not speak of the thing in the walls.

Margaret knew what was in the walls. She had felt it. It was a hum. A low vibration. It traveled up through the floorboards. It entered her bones. It made her teeth ache.

Her deputy, James, stood to her left. He was young. He was pale. He looked nervous. He adjusted his tie. He swallowed.

"Margaret," he whispered.

She did not turn. "Be quiet."

"They are afraid," he said.

"Good," she said. "Fear is useful."

The door opened. A draft entered. The candles flared. A man walked in. He was tall. He was broad. He wore a gray coat. He carried no weapon. He smiled. It was a sad smile. It was a tired smile.

It was Thomas.

Margaret’s hand tightened on her glass. The glass did not break. It was strong. She was strong.

Thomas walked to the table. He bowed. It was a slight nod. It was respectful.

"Margaret," he said.

His voice was soft. It was rough. It sounded like gravel under water.

"Thomas," she said.

He sat. He did not take a fork. He did not take a knife. He placed his hands on the table. They were open. They were empty.

"I came to talk," he said.

"You came to be found," she said.

"I know."

The room went silent. The laughter died. The eating stopped. The eyes turned. They all looked at Thomas. They all looked at Margaret.

Margaret looked at Thomas. She saw the lines on his face. She saw the gray in his hair. She saw the fear. It was there. It was deep. It was old.

"You were my best man," she said.

"I was," he said.

"You betrayed me."

"I did."

The word hung in the air. It was heavy. It was sharp. It cut.

Margaret felt the hum in the walls. It grew louder. It was a song. It was a warning. It was a call.

She looked at James. James looked at the floor.

"Bring him," Margaret said.

"Margaret," Thomas said. "Please."

"Bring him," she repeated.

James moved. He moved quickly. His hand went to his belt. He drew his weapon. It was a pistol. It was black. It was cold.

Thomas did not move. He sat. He watched. He did not blink.

"James," Margaret said. "Do not shoot."

"Margaret, he is dangerous."

"He is not armed."

"He is a traitor."

"Arrest him."

James stepped forward. He pointed the gun. His hand shook.

Thomas sighed. It was a long sigh. It was a final sigh.

"I am not a traitor," Thomas said.

He stood up. He moved fast. It was not a human speed. It was a blur. It was a flash.

James fired. The shot rang out. It was loud. It was final.

Thomas did not fall.

The bullet passed through him. It hit the wall. It made a small hole. It made a small cloud of dust.

Thomas was still standing. He was unharmed. The hole in his chest was not bleeding. It was empty. It was dark. It was a void.

The guests screamed. They scrambled for the doors. They ran. They fell. They climbed over each other. They fled.

Margaret did not move. She sat. She watched.

James fell to his knees. He dropped the gun. He covered his face. He wept.

Thomas walked to Margaret. He stopped before her. He looked down.

"You know," he said.

"I know," she said.

"You built this house."

"I did."

"You knew what it was."

"I knew."

"It feeds on fear."

"It does."

"It is alive."

"It is."

Thomas looked at her. His eyes were black. They were deep. They were infinite.

"I tried to stop it," he said.

"I know."

"I failed."

"I know."

"Will you stop it?"

Margaret looked at the wall. The hum was loud now. It was a roar. It was a demand. It was a voice.

She stood up. She walked to the wall. She placed her hand on the plaster. It was warm. It was pulsing. It beat like a heart.

She closed her eyes. She listened.

She heard the whispers. They were many. They were many voices. They were the voices of the dead. They were the voices of the lost. They were the voices of the hungry.

They wanted in. They wanted out. They wanted to be free.

Margaret opened her eyes.

She looked at Thomas.

"No," she said.

Thomas nodded. He did not look surprised. He looked sad.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I am the gate," she said. "If I open it, I am gone. If I close it, you are gone."

"I am already gone," Thomas said.

He reached out. He touched her face. His hand was cold. It was dry. It was like stone.

"Let me go," he said.

"Let me keep the peace," she said.

The room shook. The plates rattled. The candles went out. The darkness came. It was total. It was absolute.

In the dark, she saw him. He was a shape. He was a shadow. He was a memory.

"I loved you," he said.

It was a lie. It was true. It was both.

"Keep the peace, Margaret," he said.

He faded. He disappeared. He was gone.

Margaret stood alone. The hum continued. It was steady. It was strong. It was hers.

James was still on the floor. He was silent. He was still.

Margaret walked to him. She knelt. She touched his shoulder.

"Get up," she said.

He looked at her. His eyes were wide. His eyes were empty.

"It is done," she said.

"What is done?" he asked.

"The war," she said.

"We lost," he said.

"No," she said. "We held."

She stood. She walked to the window. She looked out. The night was dark. The stars were out. They were cold. They were far.

The house was quiet. The hum was low. It was a whisper. It was a promise.

Margaret turned. She looked at the empty chair. She looked at the small hole in the wall. She looked at the dust.

She picked up the glass. She drank the water. It was cold. It was clear.

She set the glass down.

She walked to the door. She opened it. The cold air entered. It was sharp. It was clean.

She stepped out. She closed the door. The lock clicked. It was a small sound. It was a final sound.

She stood in the hallway. The walls were dark. The floor was cold.

She felt the hum. It was in her chest. It was in her heart. It was in her soul.

She did not fight it. She did not fear it. She accepted it.

She was the gate. She was the key. She was the lock.

She walked into the dark. She did not look back. She did not stop. She walked.

The house breathed. The house waited. The house watched.

And Margaret kept the peace.