The encounter by Jorge Aldegunde

Picture taken from Pinterest


Just like every other day, she’d pay attention to the old lady’s stories about the souls that inhabited the mansion. On that morning, she looked very restless; her keen eyes –like those of a naughty lass– showing deep contrast with a grey hair and a wrinkled countenance. As she lay prostrate in the dimly illuminated bedroom, the caretaker finished feeding her and checked her clock.

“Would you like me to stay, Mrs. Sallow?”

“No, my dear. Have you not listened to me? If you linger here, he’ll refuse to come. And, my dear, I don’t have much time left. I’d rather meet my grandfather in this world”, she said in a calm, collected tone.

She sighed, resigned, and yet surprised at the intense look of Theresa Sallow. She left her a boiling cup of tea and got ready to leave. The weather out there was cold, damp and miserable. As with Theresa, there was something so uncommonly persistent in the pouring rain, like a will of its own. The lights in the chandelier flickered; the echo of a thunder resonated in the distance.

Down the gravel path, she looked back one more time. The impressive façade dominated the view. She held her umbrella even tighter when she realised a motionless, watchful figure up in Theresa’s bedroom window. She stood petrified and caught a glimpse of it leaning slightly and tipping its hat brim in salutation.

She walked out of the garden and saw, beyond the gathering clouds, a reddish gleam in the horizon.


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