The Invisible Guest

Nestled amid thick forests and undulating hills was a charming little village with an ancient inn called "The Wandering Willow." The ivy-covered walls and wooden beams of the inn have provided centuries of tired visitors with a place to stay. Time seemed to stand still there, where people shared stories by the fireside and the wind whispered secrets through the rafters.

A stranger showed up at the inn one chilly, windy evening just as the sun was setting and the first stars were starting to appear in the sky. The door creaked open while Mr. Gupta, the cheerful innkeeper, was attending to the fire. He raised his head, expecting to see a familiar face, but there was nobody at the door.

Mr. Gupta murmured to himself, "Odd," and scratched his head. There was no one there, even though the door had opened on its own. He closed the door and went back to work, putting an end to the weird feeling that had been creeping up on him.

The typical crowd of locals looking for warmth and company started to fill the inn as the night went on. The smell of roasting pork filled the air as the fire crackled cheerfully. But something felt off, like there was someone hovering just out of sight.

Little things were the first to happen. Even with all the windows closed, things would still happen like a furniture scraping across the floor on its own, a candle flickering and then going out, or a wind gusting through the inn. The customers exchanged nervous looks, but nobody mentioned it because they didn't want to ruin the evening by discussing ghosts or spirits.

The mood inside the inn became more dense as midnight approached. Despite his extensive experience with unusual phenomena, Mr. Gupta couldn't get rid of the uneasy sensation he had that something wasn't quite right. With a clatter, he saw a glass on the bar slowly slide across the counter and topple down. The space became quiet.

One of the villagers, Ravi, questioned in a terrified tone, "Did anyone see that?"

With a leisurely nod, Mr. Gupta surveyed the room. "I did," he said in response. "But nobody was around it."

The once-vivacious conversation of the inn gave way to a tense murmur and whispers of the paranormal. The fire, which had been blazing brightly, suddenly became less intense, leaving the walls with long, unsettling shadows. The guests of the inn snuggled closer together, their faces pallid with anxiety as the temperature dropped.

Abruptly, the room was filled with the sound of heavy, purposeful footsteps that appeared to be coming from all directions at once. The invisible presence brushed by the guests like a chilly breeze, causing them to freeze and open their eyes wide.

The long wooden table's chairs began to move out one by one, as though someone was sitting down. The walls were covered in ghostly pictures as the flames flashed violently. With his heart racing in his chest, Mr. Gupta moved forward and spoke to the invisible being, his voice wavering.

"Who are you? Who are you? What are your desires?" He stumbled, dreading the response he could receive but hoping for one.

There was silence for a bit. Then a voice shouted out of the darkness, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once as well as from nowhere at all. Everyone who heard it felt their spines tingle from its depth, hollowness, and melancholy.

The speaker murmured, "I am... a traveler," the words lingering in the atmosphere like a fog. "I seek shelter… a place to rest."

With a dry throat, Mr. Gupta swallowed forcefully. He managed to add, "You... you are welcome here," but he wasn't sure whether it was genuine. "But… where are you?"

The only sound coming from outside was the wind roaring; there was no reply. The unseen guest did not speak; its presence was sensed but not seen. There was an obvious sense of tension in the room, a distinct anxiety and uncertainty in the air. The folks sat there frozen in place, scared to breathe, fearful to move.

The phantom guest appeared to get restless as the night went on. The footsteps returned, walking back and forth as though they were looking for someone or something. The locals were speechless and unable to flee, so all they could do was stare in horror.

Eventually, the presence started to vanish as the first rays of daylight emerged through the windows. The air became warmer and the footfall grew softer. The room was filled with a reassuring glow as the fire burst back into life. There was a communal exhalation of relief as the guests' fear-inducing invisible ties relaxed.

But Mr. Gupta stayed there, staring at the location where the unseen visitor had last been, while the locals ran out of the inn, desperate to get away from the frightening night. Whatever it was, he knew it had not really disappeared. That evening, the Wandering Willow had welcomed a visitor who would not soon be forgotten.

The inn was never the same after that day. Even though the guest was invisible, he or she continued to be a part of the Wandering Willow's tale, serving as a menacing and silent reminder that not everyone who seeks refuge is visible. yet not every visitor is genuinely living.