Evening Glow

A woman is sitting in her old, shuttered house. She knows she's alone because every other living thing is dead.

The doorbell rings.

Celeste knows that the time has finally drawn near. The Evil that has been closing in around her arrives and rings the doorbell like an old friend. An ominous howl drifts in on the cool evening air, bringing with it the foul stench rising from the city below.

The light of the setting sun grows ever longer across the tattered, oriental rug, illuminating small specks of dust drifting carelessly across the room. Her eyes drawn along the path of floating particles, Celeste realizes the house is not ready for her guest. The black lacquered piano rests quietly in the corner with obvious signs of disuse.

Celeste takes the last sip of her coffee before slowly rising to her feet. It has a cold, bitter taste. In the chilly October morning she had been out of milk and sugar, but black coffee was more appealing than water.

She places the mug on the end table, which rocks under the shift of weight. The drawer slides open revealing the worn, leather cover of the Holy Bible. Celeste picks the book up. She can recite any passage by heart, but just looking at the words gives her a sense of comfort and belonging. Her mother gave the Bible to her when she was very young.

"This book is very special." She remembers her mother saying to her, "It contains the words of our Lord and savior. Celeste, I want you to read from it every night." This special book had lain in Celeste's closet for the next 3 years untouched. It was then that her parents had perished in an unfortunate accident.

Celeste returns the book to the drawer and closes it. That chapter of her life was long ago. She had found solace and hope in the book her mother had given to her, and that is why she is now the last.

The doorbell rings again.

But the house is not ready for guests! Celeste stands stricken, the dust swirling around her in the failing sunlight. She is torn between the calling of the Visitor at her door and the need to prepare her house for the guest. There is no time.

Now drawn by a sense of urgency, Celeste turns and walks towards the silent, mesmerizing call of the visitor at her door. She glides past pictures of her family and friends hanging in the foyer. The picture of her brother, John, is slightly tilted. She stops to straighten it. John had been the first member of her family to receive the company of this visitor, at his apartment downtown. She wonders if he had known who rang the doorbell? Was his home its usual mess?

The doorbell rings a third time.

Celeste, now satisfied the photo is hanging correctly, turns to the door. The sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the room is now lit only by the dusky glow of late evening.

Celeste reaches for the doorknob, and it turns. She is ready.