The Faded Guest
The bell rang. It did not chime. It struck. A dull, wet thud against the iron tongue. I looked up. The dust motes danced in the shaft of light that cut through the window. They were gray. They were thick. They tasted like old paper. My name is Elias. I am a watchmaker. I fix time. I catch it in gears. I trap it in springs. But today, the time was wrong. The door opened. The wind came in. It...
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