Work Text:
Night falls on the village, covering it with a deep blue blanket. Slowly streetlamps start a competition against the stars, their glow showing villagers the way back home. Those alive brighten up the main road, their laughs are filled with sugary snacks as they share stories to scare children off. They’re blind to the invisible eyes following them from the shadows, the whispers of the dead falling to deaf ears.
A traveller comes to town with a dark envelope in hand, a mysterious invitation to a party no one heard of. Locals recognise the address but refuse to give them indications to get there. In the midst of celebration, an old lady approaches the new face to warn him.
“Be careful, love. That place has been abandoned for centuries. It’s said to be home of a long-gone cleric.”
Behind worn out curtains and crumbling walls, a silhouette of blurry purples and whites walks through the rooms. Shapeless shadows fly around him, leaving a trace of feathers disappearing in thin air. Candles turn on and off as they pass by, a long table waiting for guests that won’t come.
“It’ll be short this year,” as every year has been, as every year will be.
The table is set and the chairs are taken by hidden companions. Paintings on the walls had been torn apart by claw marks, past result of a rage episode – those pictured in them were no longer recognisable. And the host of the party sits down to look at his hard work: a dinner that no one would eat, a bunch of people that only he could hear.
Silence can drive people mad, or so it is said. A spirit that refuses to leave his place can only find company in phantom birds and delusions carried from a lost life. When the door opens and the stranger comes in, envelope in hand, the atmosphere grows colder.
“Welcome in, we were waiting for you,” the silhouette greets them as they enter the dining room.
Moonlight gets inside through the windows, candles that should’ve melted centuries ago illuminate every corner. Wary of their surroundings, the traveller looks at the empty chairs and the pale man, almost as pale as his platinum blond hair. No word leaves their lips but the host knows exactly what they think.
“Are you not going to introduce yourself to us?” He stares at them with eyes devoid of light, eyes that were once magenta and aquamarine now faded to colourless orbs. “Don’t tell me” he asks, smug, a smile eerily charming, “you can’t see them either?”
Sun rises, bringing with its shine a brand new day. Celebrations are over, villagers clear the streets and open the shops to go back to regular schedules. Children count their treats and share their tricks while their parents get ready for work.
And no one wonders why the traveller is nowhere to be seen, leaving town with nothing but a silent scream to his name.