Lydia set a kettle on the hot stove, made strong tea, and took out some food. She sat at the cleaned table and ate slowly, studying the room. Outside, darkness came on fast, wrapping the little community in blackness.
The area was strikingly quiet. No traffic, no voices, no music. Just the fall wind in the apple trees and, once in a while, a dog barking somewhere far off.
Lydia got up and lit a candle. There was no electricity in the abandoned house, which was no surprise. Soft light flickered across the log walls, throwing long, shifting shadows.
She lay down and zipped herself into the sleeping bag. She was so tired her whole body ached. But it was the honest kind of tired that comes after a day of real work.
She closed her eyes and was almost asleep when she heard a knock. Quiet. Careful. Coming from the front door.
Someone was knocking on her house. Lydia sat up at once. She had no idea who would come by at eleven o’clock at night.
She got up quietly, went to the door, and asked who it was without opening it. For a moment there was only silence. Then a hoarse man’s voice said he was a neighbor and needed to speak with her right away.
He said he lived across the road. He kept insisting it was important and couldn’t wait. Lydia hesitated, but he sounded worried more than threatening.
She opened the door a crack, leaving the old chain latched. On the porch stood a tall, painfully thin old man with stooped shoulders. He wore a worn jacket and a knit cap.
His face was deeply lined. His eyes, set far back, studied Lydia with obvious concern. He leaned closer and asked if she was the new owner.
When she said yes, he glanced over his shoulder as if checking whether someone might be watching. Then he bent toward the opening and almost whispered that she should leave while she still could.
Lydia stared at him. She asked what he meant and why on earth she should leave. The old man repeated that this house was no place to live.
He said staying there was not safe. When she pressed him for a reason, he looked around again, uneasy. He said he couldn’t explain right then.
He urged her to pack up and leave first thing in the morning. Sell the place back, get what money she could, and go. Lydia told him she had spent everything she had on the house and had nowhere to go back to.
The old man shook his head sadly. There was real pity in his face. He said she had been badly unlucky in the deal, but at least he had done the decent thing and warned her.
Then he turned sharply and walked off into the dark. His stooped figure disappeared almost at once. Lydia stepped outside and called after him, asking him to explain.
But he was gone. Only the sound of her own voice carried down the quiet road. She shut the door and slid the heavy bolt into place.
She leaned against the cold wood, trying to steady herself. Her heart was pounding. She kept turning over the old man’s words, trying to figure out what exactly he had meant and why he had spoken in riddles.
Back in bed, she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep easily. Lydia lay there with her eyes open, listening to the silence. The old house creaked softly, and the floorboards gave off faint little sounds…
