Before roads knew our names,
before stone bore witness to the burden of walls,
a few souls would convene
where the fire could still coax the dark
to leave it be.
Outside the circle of its glow,
more fires responded.
Miniatures of suns in the trees.
Other hands.
Other mouths.
Other hearts questioning
who lingered in the light nearby.
Among them walked a solitary being.
He emerged from the night
without footsteps,
without age,
his visage etched into the face of millennia
long since unable to count itself.
He did not beg.
He merely stood
in the shadow of warmth
and waited.
A spot near your fire,
if you will accept me.
His voice was ancient enough
to mimic silence.
Yet children cowered.
Hunter's hands reached for stones.
Mothers looked away.
The response was consistent.
No.
Thus he roamed.
The fires grew into villages.
Villages expanded into kingdoms.
Kingdoms yielded to cities.
Wood yielded to bricks,
bricks yielded to glass,
glass yielded to steel.
Yet,
he walked on.
Anyone who welcomed him in
discovered only an insubstantial guest.
He would sit,
eat with them,
thank them,
and depart before dawn.
That was all.
Those who refused him entry
woke up to find abandoned cribs,
moldering crops,
charred planks,
joyful laughter turning into sorrow.
He never lifted a finger.
The world simply fell apart
around anyone
who refused him warmth.
Maybe vengeance
becomes patient
when nourished
for millennia.
Tonight,
he knocks.
You see him
peering through the frosted window-pane.
His flesh looks like discarded fabric.
His eyes hold all the loneliness of each century.
His mouth opens,
but no sounds emerge.
Just patience.
You shut the door.
When morning breaks,
your spouse is disgusted at your sight.
Your offspring address you
as if you had been dead for years.
The bank seizes your home.
Friends become strangers.
All photographs fade away
until all there is left just your face.
One by one,
anything that ever murmured
you belong here
silence falls from them.
Many months later,
the house stands desolate.
Your neighbours wonder
why no lights return.
They fail to notice
the old man
leaving the house at dawn.
Neither do they see
the rope
still swinging gently
from the upstairs window.
He finds another door to knock upon.
He only asks
to be let inside.