• A dim light swung slowly, back and forth, casting shadows along the wooden floor. The cracks between the paneling were wide. Plants and moss crept up into the chilly room. The windows were cracked and broken, but long since had the shattered remains of glass been carried away by the birds of the day, and the rats of the night.

    A quiet shadow leaned left, then right with the motion of the swinging light. It clung to the black boots of its owner. The boots were scuffed and worn, their years showing proudly. The laces were strung up tight. A man, no louder than his shadow, leaned down to finger the rims of the boots. Within the dark crevices, between leather and wool, a rusty old knife hid. The man's index finger traced along the handle, reassuring that the blade would be ready, should he need it. Once satisfied, he stood and straightened out his coat, smoothing the creases along the front.

    The creaky door opened and shut. The house was but a helpless victim to wind and erosion. Spiders busied themselves along the ceilings, and a cockroach crawled up from out of the cracks in the floor to stare up at the man.

    "Well, hello there," the man said. He grinned down at the bug and scratched his scruff. "Nice night for a walk?"

    The cockroach twitched its antennae.

    "She'll be coming soon," the man assured it. He nodded his head and pulled out a yellow cigarette. He twirled the rolled tobacco between his fat fingers. They were covered in callouses with snagged fingernails.

    "Once she comes, it'll be time for a smoke." He held the cigarette up to his nose and gazed at it longingly. "Not had me one of these in fifteen years, now. Been waiting a long time." He laughed, a gravelly, glottal noise, and looked back down at the bug.

    But the bug was gone.

    "Huh," the man said, his features falling back into a comfortable frown. He pocketed the old cigarette and cracked his knuckles. The wind whistled outside, and the house creaked and cracked. Branches scratched at the windows and the light swung with more vigor than ever.

    The man's nerves were on edge. He lifted a battered old hat from his head and pulled his long, greasy hair back behind him. He blinked his eyes in the dark and checked every corner. Was she already there? He leaned down and placed the hat beside him. The creaks and cracks were beginning to sound an awful lot like footsteps.

    "Carol?" the man called. "Is that you?"

    The footsteps slowed.

    "It's been a long time, Carol," the man called out to the empty room. The door slowly swung open, then closed again. The hinges were nearly falling off, and the far edge of the door scraped along the floor as it moved. The hallway beyond was pitch black.

    "I knew you'd come eventually," he whispered.

    The wind quieted down, and all the house's groans stilled. The darkness. The silence. The emptiness was enough to drive a man mad. But Ethan had already been there. He watched the black hallway and could make out the faintest glint of two eyes staring back at him. Two sparkling gray eyes. The eyes of his love. He picked up his hat and stood, placing it with the brim down low over his face.

    "Come in, Carol. It's been a long time."

    The eyes didn't move. They didn't blink.

    "Carol, it's been so long. Come inside. We'll talk about it," Ethan said. He took a shaky step forward, holding out his hand, but the eyes only stared at him unforgivingly.

    Ethan stopped and scowled. "Carol, don't do this. Haven't I been through enough?" he called out to the old house. It creaked and groaned back at him as the wind picked up, and the eyes turned away. Rejection. It was too much for the old man.

    "Fine!" he screamed, his brow wedging itself deep into the crevices of his face, carving further away at the wrinkles of his skin as the wind did to the shingles of the roof above. He reached down for his boot, unthinking, and swept his hand out to throw the knife straight toward the center of where those two beautiful eyes had taunted him.

    A crashed echoed loudly throughout the hall. The sound of shattering glass. Ethan rushed forward, pushing open the door and pulling out a lighter from his coat pocket. He flicked it on, and the flames gently bathed the dark hall in an orange glow. It took a moment to make out what was in front of him.

    His knife was wedged firmly into the back wall. Ethan reached forward to pull it out and slip it back into his boot. Below, What was once an old, cracked vase was now shattered to pieces on the ground. Ethan turned around to look behind him at an open window at the other end of the hall. Beyond, an old road passed by the house. Ethan began to laugh.

    "It wasn't Carol at all! It was just a reflection! A reflection of a car passing by, no doubt," he chuckled, looking down at the old vase and kicking a piece of it off to the side. "Of course. My Carol would never..." He trailed off and sighed.

    The hour was late. It was time for Ethan to moving on. But he would return again the following night to wait, just as he had done for the past fifteen years. Just as he had done since the night Carol had left. She said she was going out for a pack of cigarettes. Ethan had been glad, as he'd only had one left. He decided that he would wait until she returned to smoke it. They'd smoke together, and share a few laughs. Just as soon as she returned.