Micro Monday - September 2, 2024

Visitation

Visitation

We used to drive up every October, but after Beth moved to Oklahoma and Frank and Jenny had their kid, I started making the trip myself. Sam’s house stood alone at the end of a long dirt road, black and empty and half-collapsed where the fire had gnawed the walls away.

I turned off the car and followed my flashlight to the front door. The cake had gone stale during the drive, but it didn’t matter. I set it on the kitchen floor and lit the candles. Nineteen of them - same as last year, and the year before that.

The lights danced for a minute or two until the wind snaked in and blew them out, and for a while I just sat there in the quiet. I thought of making a wish, but it was Sam’s birthday, not mine, and anyway there were certain wishes that never came true.

“Happy birthday, man,” I said to the empty room. No one answered. No one ever would.

I’d almost made it back outside when the house started to stir. Not the wind this time; the trees hung still in the yard. A line of footsteps creaked along the floorboards, and the chair in the kitchen slid half an inch across the floor.

Ahead of me, the front door swung closed. Not with any real force, not with anger, but gently, and I heard the question for what it was.

“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Yeah, I can stay a while.”