The Faded Guest

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2026-08-20 17:23:35 -

The Faded Guest

The frost bit the windowpane. It spread in white veins. Like cracks in glass. Or ice on a pond. Old Silas sat in his chair. He watched it. The chair creaked. A low, groaning sound. He was a carpenter. Hands like knotted oak. Scarred and thick. But they trembled now. The house was cold. The stove had died. He hadn't fed it in hours. Outside, the wind howled. It sounded like a wolf. Or a man in...

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