The Visitor
The scent of sterile linens and chamomile tea wafted free through the air; a welcoming smell, a pleasant smell.
Outside, the last rays of the autumn sun was weakly trying to pierce the blinds, casting stripes of tired yellowish-orange across the room – here, Sarah lay very still on the high white bed; she was old, overwhelmingly so and the silence of that room, which had been a comfort in her youth, had become a profound aching of burden in these final hours.
There was no one waiting, no hands to hold – it was simply silence; she took in a slow, sad inhale, though, she felt it then, a shift in the air.
The whisper of fabric brushing past wood as a dark hooded figure eased his way through the gap in the open door, moving to gently place himself onto the very edge of the bed.
His clothes were a dark wool, a simple travellers coat that seemed to have been caught in a sudden cold snap, his hood casting a shadow over his face, yet, he wasn’t frightening – he simply was – he looked profoundly solid, utterly still and more patient than anything Sarah had ever known.
She knew who it was.
“Hello” she whispered, her voice a soft, dray rasp
The figure leaned forwards slightly – a movement as gentle as the folding of a shadow, his voice was low, deep and surprisingly warm, like the sound of the earth turning over in spring “Hello Sarah; I apologies for the intrusion, I merely wished to sit with you for awhile”
She gave a simple light chuckle – weak, but genuine, her lips simply curved upwards “I feel you’re a little late” she joked
There was a moment of pause as the visitor went silent for a moment, the shadow of his hood tilting in acknowledgement “I am here now; and shall remain so until you are ready”
He didn’t speak of judgement, sin or destiny; he spoke of comfort, of time – not as a dwindling resource, but a vast, rich ocean.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice soft
“Only the pain of letting go” she admitted; her eyes gently drifting to watch the pattern of the sunlight and dust motes “It’s lonely work this…., ending”
“It need not be lonely” he replied softly “I know the weight of the years you’ve carried, the sorrow for what has been lost, the joy for what was held; it is all heavy, and I am here to help you set the burden down”
Sarah closed her eyes, feeling an extraordinary peace settle over her – the small, frantic fear she had been battling, the fear of being the only person to witness her own final moment; it vanished, she had a companion.
“Tell me Sarah” the visitor murmured, his voice softening further, blending to her soft inhales and exhales “Tell me the clearest memory you hold, the day when everything felt right”
Sarah thought; dipping back into the shimmering pool of her past, she bypassed her weddings, births, the great accomplishments, instead, found a moment fifty years ago where she sat on a low wall in a pleasant summer evening whilst eating an orange – juice falling down her chin, the scent of clean, fresh air, her best friend laughing about something utterly trivial, pure simple existence.
She described the orange, the laughter, the heat of the stone beneath her legs – the Visitor sat still, listening to each word, not once interrupting her; his presence a still, deep acknowledgement of her joyful moment.
“That” he said once she had finished “Is the weight you keep; the rest is just casing Sarah, we can shed the casing now”
The light in the room had begun to fade – strips of yellowish-orange replaced by a blue wash of twilight, Sarah felt each breath grow shallow, a distant echo in her chest – she couldn’t feel the sheets beneath her, only the incredible profound stillness emanating from the figure beside her.
She trembled – instinctively reaching her shaking hand for something warm.
The Visitor met her gaze – or at least where his gaze should have been beneath the shadow of his hood, he did not touch her first, respecting the boundary of her final choice, when her fingers brushed the heavy wool of his sleeve, he gently enveloped her hand with his own.
His touch was neither hot nor cold; it was simply final it felt like the perfect quiet of the deepest winter, a comfort beyond fever and struggle.
“Thank You” she whispered, words dissolving halfway from her lips
“My pleasure Sarah” he replied; for the first time, she thought she saw a faint, tender glimmer beneath the shadow, a smile perhaps, or merely the kindness of an endless cosmos “You are not alone; you have never been alone”
With that final assurance – the tight knot of pain and existence with Sarah’s chest loosened, her breath released in a sigh that was barely a tremor, a soft, profound liberation.
The Visitor sat perfectly still for another minute, holding the newly slack hand until the last of the warmth seeped away; then gently, as he separated himself, lay her hand down upon the white sheet.
He stood, the movement effortless; like dust settling upward, with a slow drift of his gaze, he looked around the room, the cherished memories – a room that now held a sense of deep quiet, a sacred peace; his purpose fulfilled.
He pulled his hood a little lower, adjusted the simply dark traveller’s coat and walked slowly towards the door, just before he passed through he paused – Sarah’s journey was done, the world though, that remained vast, and so, he would make one final stop for her – it would be early morning that Sarah would be discovered by a relative who’d received that ‘feeling’ that something had happened.
And as was usual for the Visitor; he would hover by the cemetery on the day of her burial – standing silent, fingers curled around the railing, he would remain until the very final mourner would leave before he too would depart.
Written By: Westley H.
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