The Unexpected Guest

You step off the train into the damp evening air, the collar of your coat pulled high against the chill. The platform is empty, save for a single flickering streetlamp that casts long, warped shadows across the concrete. You check your watch, realizing with a sudden spike of adrenaline that you are exactly an hour late. You curse under your breath. A slip of paper flutters out of your pocket, and as you reach down to grab it, you link you hear footsteps echoing right behind you. You whip your head around to see the branches of a small tree tapping on a nearby station window. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes from your lips.

You’ve never been to this part of town before, and you pull your coat tighter against yourself as you examine the slip of paper under the street light that is fluttering in time with your nerves. 

176 Maple Grove Ave

Your feet feel heavy on the cobblestone, weighted with anticipation as you exit the train station and turn right, and then left, following the directions he’d given you over the phone only the day before. Another right and you find yourself on Maple Grove Avenue. Just a couple more blocks now and you’ll be at the door. Your breathing is faster now though your pace has slowed, your mind imagining the moment you see his face again. You trace the outline of his smile in your mind and it entwines with the memories of that long ago winter - the electric kisses blanketed by icy snow. 

When you finally reach his door you notice that it is as cherry red as your flushing cheeks. With one deep breath you reach for the gold door knocker, and on the exhale, tap it three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. 

As you wait for the door to open you rock back and forth on your heels, cursing yourself, again, for being late. The handle turns, lock mechanisms clicking along with the squeak of well-used hinges. Your breath catches in your chest, ready to gush the tidal wave of a hello you’ve been rehearsing since dawn. But just as the H begins to pass through your lips you realize it isn’t him who has answered the door. It’s a thirty-something brunette woman with sea green eyes and a razor thin smile. The rest of your breath escapes with a deflated huff. 

“Isn’t this 176 Maple Grove?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowed into a confused inquisition. 

The stranger smiles wider and replies with a simple yes. 

“Is John here?” You ask, your tone laced with subtle annoyance. 

“Oh he’s just upstairs getting ready, but I know he’s been expecting a guest for dinner. You must be her. I’m Sara. He asked me to entertain you for a while and to apologize for running late. Come in, come in.” 

She ushers you into the door and offers to take your coat while you examine the gorgeous dark would entry way and slate tile floor. It feels as if you have stepped into another world in a way that is cozy and antique where the walls of the house know all the secrets of centuries past. It almost puts you at ease despite the unexpected stranger standing where John should be. You wonder why he is running late when he is the one that invited you in the first place, but count it as lucky since it also excuses your tardiness. 

“I would have been here earlier but I missed the 5pm train” you find yourself muttering, trying to make small talk without interrogating who Sara is and what she is doing in John’s home. You’d rather hear the details from him when you catch up over dinner. 

Sara leads you into the dining room, the long wooden table set for 3 on one end. You find yourself pouting a bit. She’s obviously staying for your dinner. You notice how well she seems to know her way around the house as she pours you a glass of wine from a crystal decanter. The deep red looks inviting against the dim romantic light of the dining room. You take a slow careful sip. 

“John and I go way back.” Sara offers as she pours her own glass. 

A polite “Oh?” escapes your lips. You want to seem curious in a way that isn’t prying amid the awkwardness. 

Sara smiles softly, cutting slices of a baguette and placing the pieces in a bread basket, her eyes focused on her task, but her face is washed with a candlelit far away look. “Oh yes. I’ve known him for years. You could say we’re rather… tied to each other.” She smirks. 

You can’t help but feel uneasy at the way she said ‘tied together’. While you’re mulling that over you hear a thump from upstairs and your eyes immediately look up to the ceiling. 

“Oh that cat!” Sara exclaims, brushing off the sound with a nonchalant laugh. 

“A cat?” You ask, confused, still looking at the ceiling. You remember that John is very allergic to cats. You look back at Sara, she’s still smiling at you, knife still in her hand. You can feel an unmistakable tension fill the room and begin backing away slowly towards the doorway.

“John?!” You call up the stairs. Sara takes a slow step towards you, the knife glinting in the candle light.

“I told you.” She says through gritted teeth, “He’s still getting ready.” 

“John!?” You call again - torn between rushing out the front door or bolting up the stairs towards the ‘thump’ in search of John to make sure he is okay. You damn your self-preservation and rush up the stairs, calling his name. You don’t look to see if Sara is following behind you, you can’t. Fear is electrifying your skin and the butterflies you felt in your stomach earlier now feel like a turbulent ocean. Reaching the top of the stairs you pause, unsure of where to go. You hear a creak from below and know that Sara must have reached the bottom of the stairs. She is following you. You notice that all of the doors are open except one at the end of the hall. You sprint towards it and fling it open. 

The room is dark but bathed in moonlight pouring in from a far window, and you can just make out the shape of someone sitting against a far wall. It’s John. He’s tied up, blindfolded, and gagged.

An ‘oh my God” escapes your lips as you run towards him and begin removing the restraints. You take off the blindfold and the gag first before turning to the knots around his wrists.

“You need to leave!” He says, “Get out of here, save yourself. She’s crazy. She’ll kill you!” he shouts at you. 

You rest a hand on the side of his face, trembling, trying to reassure him and yourself. “I’m not leaving without you”. 

The knots are tight - expertly tied. You’re struggling and you can hear Sara’s footsteps on the stairs slowly ascending towards you. You cannot get the knots untied. John is begging you to leave, tears streaming down his face. 

A light flicks on in the room and you see the silhouette of Sara in the doorway, and for the first time you can see, strewn across the floor photos of John, and.. of YOU. Letters whose envelopes say “return to sender” in John’s handwriting. A piece of hair, tied with a ribbon. 

Sara steps into the room, twirling the point of the knife on the pointer finger of her left hand, smirking. “Oh sweetie, John and I are just SO excited to have YOU for dinner.”