The Guest

Marian plodded along the muddy path with her two younger siblings, who giggled and zig-zagged about behind her. They were late for class and were only halfway to the wooden school. With one hand pulling her long cape and the other juggling her school books, Marian felt it would be a troublesome day. She disguised her annoyance by smiling and greeting the villagers who passed by.
In the town square, vendors prepared for the day by either chopping meat, loading up produce in wooden troughs, or pushing out the accumulated rain on their overhead tents. Marian and her brother and sister pressed on, and she could hear the final school bell sounding off. 
“Come along, Broden and Elizabeth! We’re almost there,” Marian said.
The children dashed ahead, kicking up a bit of mud. They climbed the short steps two at a time, and then the double doors closed. Marian jogged, forgetting about her cape, which kept getting stuck in the ground. She paused before the doors, her face flushed from the exercise and embarrassment. Gently, she opened the door and entered.
Everyone snapped their heads back at her, including Mrs. Grame, whose eyes nearly bulged out of her sunken sockets. She wore a long black mourning dress, and her graying hair was set up in a bun. Marian wanted to pull her bonnet over her face. 
Stepping around the massive desk, Mrs. Grame addressed Marian. “Marian, if you insist on being late, then perhaps you should not show up at all.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grame. I won’t do it again,” Marian said, quickly taking her seat at an empty desk.
Mrs. Grame lingered over Marian, her gaze sharpening, and then she turned abruptly towards the chalkboard.

With a novel on her lap, Marian sat under a tree as the other students played on the open field next to the schoolhouse. She gazed at the older girls who sat under another tree, giggling and whispering into each others’ ears. Sighing, she opened the book, yet she couldn’t read any of the words; she kept wondering what the girls were discussing. Marian glanced at them and realized that they were looking at her. 
She dropped her gaze to her book and swallowed thickly. Footsteps approached her and she refused to look up. One by one the girls sat around her. Marian closed her book.
“Marian, is it?” One of the girls asked.
“Yes,” Marian said, nodding.
“I’m Grace and this is Isabel, Rose, and Chastity,” Grace said as she pointed at the other girls. “You are new to Johannesville.” She said, her lips full and naturally pink.
Marian wasn’t sure if she should nod since it seems that it wasn’t entirely a question, so she smiled.
“What town did you come from?” Isabel asked, her long black hair cascading out of her bonnet. 
“My family and I traveled from Davenport.”
“That’s far away,” Chastity said, she frowned making her freckles skip.
Marian nodded.
“You have siblings? I believe I sat next to them,” Rose said, glancing towards the field where the children were playing. Marian noticed her slim neck, which made her blush a little.
“Yes, Broden and Elizabeth,” Marian said as she tried pointing them out.
Marian saw Grace watching her, Grace smiled and said, “You would protect them, wouldn’t you?”
Marian frowned, not knowing what she meant. She peered at Rose, Isabel and Chastity as they waited on her.
“Yes, I would with my life,” Marian said finally. 
“Good because it might come to that,” Isabel said.
Marian stared at Isabel.
“Isabel, she doesn’t know what you are saying,” Rose said.
“October is the time of year, when Johannesville is visited by, what our Elders call Guests,” Grace said.
“Guests?” Marian echoed.
“Yes, they are wandering spirits from the people who have died here,” Rose said.
“Johannesville used to be a settlement with an open hospital. Not too far off was a battlefield and the injured would be carried over here where the nurses and doctors would tend to them,” Chastity said.
“These spirits cling to this area, and they visit us in October,” Grace said.
“Why?” Marian said, and she looked at Broden and Elizabeth, who were tossing a ball.
“We don’t know why they appear during this month, perhaps because the war happened in October,” Isabel said, shrugging her shoulders, her black hair sliding.
“They will come and visit you, Marian. Be prepared. Let them in and be hospitable. You don’t want to anger them,” Grace said, smirking.
One by one, the girls stood up to leave. Marian felt something boiling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling she had promised her mother she would control, especially since it was one of the reasons why her and her family left Davenport.
“Why should I believe any of this?” Marian blurted, she failed to hold in her anger.
“One of these Guests had visited Isabel,” Grace said.
“It would be best if you believe what we are telling you, Marian,” Isabel said.
The group left, holding each other’s hands. Marian watched across the field as Broden and Elizabeth played with their ball. 

Marian watched as the sun slipped down among the trees; the night was cool, yet not cold enough to cause her flesh to bump out fiercely. As she placed the latch on the wooden door to the barn, she remembered what the girls had said earlier.  She realized she was being foolish, believing in their stories, and her anger returned. 
Entering the house from the backside, Marian found her mother at the fireplace stirring supper. Nearby, her father rocked in his chair while he whittled on a stick, and her siblings played on the floor with wooden blocks. 
“Marian, can you please set the table?” Her mother asked.
“Of course, mother,” Marian said as she darted towards the large wooden table.
As she grabbed the first bowl off the stack at the end of the table, there was a soft rapping at the door. Marian froze, unsure of whether she had heard the sound, yet when she peered at her family, everyone stopped what they were doing. The rapping returned. 
“I’ll get the door,” Marian’s father said. He placed his knife and stick on the chair and lumbered to the door.
Marian held the bowl and watched as her father slowly opened the door. She tried to make out what she saw between the threshold. She could only hear murmuring from the person and her father. Then he opened the door wider, and Marian held her breath. A petite woman with a wide bonnet entered; she clung to her shawl tightly, and the hem of her dress was a shade of dark brown. Marian tried to see her face, but the woman kept her face down.
“Wendy, this young lady is needing a bit of help. She is hungry and lost,” Marian’s father said, addressing my mother.”
“Of course!” Marian’s mother said, and she waved at Marian. “Put out an extra bowl. Broden, Elizabeth, get the extra chair from the bedroom.”
While the dining table was set, Marian noticed the woman standing in a shaded part of the house waiting. She never looked up, and she swayed slightly. 
Realizing that the table setting would place the woman next to Marian, she waited until everyone sat before sitting. Marian noticed Broden and Elizabeth staring from across the table, and she waved at them to cease. The woman hadn’t taken off her bonnet. Stealing a side look, Marian saw that the woman had pale skin, and her jawbone seemed to stick out severely. She wondered if the woman had been starving for days or if she was a ghost. Marian shook her head slightly to rid herself of the thought. 
“Let us say Grace,” Marian’s mother said.
Everyone bowed their heads except Marian, who felt she shouldn’t let her guard down. The tiny woman clasped her hands on the table and bent over them. Marian’s mother began to speak as the woman swayed back and forth. None of the others had noticed since they each had their eyes closed. Rapid whispering emitted from the woman and rose until Marian’s mother had to stop. Marian and her family watched as the swaying and whispering subsided.
Marian’s father stood; he grabbed each bowl and poured the stew into them. The first bowl was for the woman. When Marian’s father placed the bowl down, the woman took it, digging a spoon in. Marian was appalled at the woman’s lack of table manners. She glanced at her mother, who frowned; her siblings began to laugh. At this, the woman lowered the bowl, and the children stopped. Marian felt uneasy as her father placed her bowl in front of her. 
Marian’s father sat, and he nodded, indicating to the others to eat. The woman had returned to eating, the brim of the bonnet covering her face and the bowl. No one spoke, as spoons scraping along the bottom of the bowls could be heard. Marian ate slowly; she had lost her appetite earlier when she heard the rapping. The woman stretched a bony arm to Marian’s father, her thin fingers holding the empty bowl. He took it without a word and poured more of the stew for her. 
Uneasiness spread before Marian like the table setting in front of her. She peered at her family. Her mother daintily sipped at her spoon, her father blinked as the steam from the stew met his face, and Broden and Elizabeth glanced over spoonfuls at the woman. Marian was halfway through her stew when the woman asked for more; her arm stuck out from her shawl stiffly. 
Marian’s father took the bowl. “This is the last of it.” He said and slopped the last spoon into her bowl.
The air felt dense, as if walking through fog. Marian’s focus was tethered to this woman, who didn’t seem to notice the tension she was causing. With the last spoon of stew going into Marian’s mouth, the woman stood, the sound of the chair cutting through the imaginary fog. It startled Marian, and she tried to choke down her meal. The others watched as the woman shuffled toward the fireplace. She stood quite still, her face remaining hidden.
At the table, Marian’s family gathered the bowls and placed them in the metal tub against the back wall. Broden and Elizabeth returned to playing with their blocks but kept a distance from the woman. Her father returned to whittling his stick while her mother washed the dishes. Marian helped her mother; she avoided having her back to the woman. 
A crashing sound alerted Marian’s attention to her siblings. Marian saw the scattered blocks, and their faces turned up to the woman. Peering at the woman, Marian saw her grab onto her bonnet and pull it down. Marian gasped as she noticed her face for a brief moment. The woman had only part of a mouth and face; the rest was either missing or gnarled. 
Bending over, the woman screamed. Broden and Elizabeth scrambled to their feet, whimpering, and scampered over to Marian and her mother. Marian pushed her siblings behind her. Marian’s father gradually stood from his rocker and approached the woman, who continued to wail. His arm was reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” the woman said.
Marian’s father rose into the air and was yanked back, slamming into the wall. Behind Marian, her mother and siblings screamed. The heat Marian felt years before returned, and her fists clenched. She knew she had to do something; her father was not moving, and her mother was in shock. Before the woman could head in their direction, Marian propelled herself and pile-drove the woman into the fireplace. 
A screeching emanated from the fireplace, and the flames rose high. Marian watched, her breathing short and rapid, making her feel slightly dizzy. The woman’s limbs jerked until gradually they turned to char and broke apart, her screams melting away. Marian turned back to her family and noticed they weren’t watching the fireplace, but at her, their expressions set in astonishment.