The Faded Guest

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 23:30:10 -

The Faded Guest

I am ten. Or twelve. It is hard to say. The fog in the cellar does not care for years. I sit on the cold brick. My knees are up. My hands are between them. I wait. The air is thick. It smells of wet stone and old iron. A single bulb hangs from a wire. It flickers. It buzzes. A low, dying hum. I hear footsteps above. Heavy. Slow. They stop. I look up. The ceiling is dirt. Packed hard. A shadow...

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