Simon's Guest

Simon Fairweather relaxes in his home, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the television turned on with the sound turned down. He enjoys sitting in his living room watching the news, watching the world continue on without having to listen to the inane chatter than usually accompanies it. Simon has grown weary of the world and its problems after his own fell apart some years ago. Now he quietly enjoys watching it falling apart, shaking his head and sipping his whiskey gently as he whispers about how terrible it all is, whispers it to nobody at all. There's nobody left.

Every night Simon sets a candle in his windowsill, and when it gets dark he lights it and lets it burn down to its end. It's part of the ritual, you see. Let the candle go through its entire life and burn out too quickly, before it even had a proper use. The television, the electric lights, Simon's house has plenty of illumination, the meagre candle can do little to help. It stands alone, burning anyway, trying its best to be useful in a world that doesn't need what it has to offer.

Simon Fairweather has done this every day for many years now, probably. He lost track after a while, when all the days are the same then it soon becomes difficult to tell them apart, and thus to tell how long it has been. Time has passed, probably. Simon has another sip of whiskey as he continues to watch his twenty four hour breaking news channel. Everything is crumbling, falling apart, and none of them realise it. Simon realises it. He is just one man, of course. What can he do to stop the world from turning?

The candle in the window stays strong all night. Simon buys excellent quality candles, just to let them burn out pointlessly every night. Simon rarely even looks at the candle, it makes him sad, so he watches the news instead, which gives him a sick sort of glee that he can’t explain. Had he been looking at the candle, he would have seen it flicker by itself, no trace of wind nearby. An odd thing for a solitary candle to do.

There is a knock at the door, which causes Simon to sit upright in his chair, instead of his usual slouch. He wasn’t expecting visitors. The glass of whiskey he holds in his hand is static, not even the ice cubes are cutting through the liquid. There is another knock at the door, sharper than before. Somebody really wants his attention. Simon places the glass on a nearby coffee table as he gets up and walks to the front door.

Simon’s front door has no window, no little spyglass to look through. He has no real way to identify the person on the other side of the door, save for simply opening it, so while that seems like the only course of action, it also seems like the most illogical. Who knows who or what awaits him on the other side of that door? He hasn’t had any visitors in a long time, and he likes it that way. He swallows his fears, pushes them down, files them away as irrational and nonsensical in his mind, and he slowly opens the door.

It’s raining outside, and the man standing in front of him is drenched from head to foot. He is wearing a long coat that is doing little to protect him from the rain. The man stands stoically, his head bowed down slightly, as he asks if he may come in. Simon is unsure; his first thought is ‘no’, because he doesn’t like guests. He doesn’t like other people in general, he lost his love for the human race for as long as he has been lighting candles.

The man apologises for his unexpected arrival, he explains that his car broke down down the road and this was the closest house he could find. This is true, Simon enjoys living out in the country, away from the world completely. Well not that completely, clearly. The man asks again if he may come in. Once again, Simon is unsure. The man is wet, he’ll leave a mess that Simon will have to clean up himself later, and he can’t be bothered with all of that. Simon was enjoying a little bit of ‘me’ time that was rudely interrupted by this man, and he would like to return to that life.

The man states that he needs to use a phone to call a friend to come pick him up, that is all. He won’t be a burden. All he needs right now is to get out of the rain and use Simon’s phone. That is all. The man asks Simon a third time if he may come in. Simon sighs a little too audibly, but eventually agrees to allow the man into his house. He doesn’t want to, but perhaps he has become a little too jaded about the human race. Perhaps he has been without human contact for too long. Besides, where’s the harm in letting this man in, really? He will call his friend and then he will be on his way, and Simon can go back to drinking whiskey and watching the news.

Simon closes the door behind the man as he enters and shudders, presumably because of the temperature change. It is nice to be inside a warm house, the man remarks. Simon guides him to his living room area, towards a chair he doesn’t mind if it suffers from minor water damage. The man sits with his legs wide open, his arms resting near his knees lazily. The guest asks if he may have a drink before he makes his phone call, as he notices Simon’s glass of whiskey, and Simon relents against his better judgement. Whiskey isn’t free, you know. He paid for that whiskey himself.

Still, he thinks, the man has been caught out in the heavy rain, with a broken down car. Cars are more expensive than whiskey, that’s a fact, and so he reaches for his decanter, pouring his new guest a glass of whiskey, two ice cubes plopped in afterwards. Simon hands the man his glass of whiskey and sits down in his own chair, the two men face to face. Simon’s guest takes a hearty gulp of the whiskey, remarking that it tastes excellent. Simon can’t see it, because he’s keeping an eye on his guest, but the candle in the window flickers a little more. Perhaps there is a draught.

The man explains to Simon that he does not usually drive his car through these parts, but he was paying a visit to an old friend of his who lives a few miles away, and on his drive home his car gave up, he had to ditch it at the side of the road. He can simply call his old friend, he will pick him up, and that will be that. The man stares at Simon, watching his face carefully as Simon nods to himself. He appears to accept such an explanation.

What a lovely house this seems to be. Lovely whiskey as well. A lovely location, nice and out of the way, wouldn’t you say? Simon agrees with his guest, it certainly is a lovely location. He bought it years ago, he used to live in the city but moved out here because it’s much more peaceful. The guest agrees, what a lovely location it is. Simon looks at the man sitting across from him and he scratches his chin, do you know that there is something familiar about you? The mysterious man cracks a smile, what could that mean? Simon doesn’t know, he can’t place it. It sounds silly, he knows, but the man’s face reminds him of somebody. Somebody that he used to know, that’s all. Forget about it. The man laughs, consider it forgotten about.

Simon decides to ask about the man's friend, perhaps Simon knows who he is? Simon hasn’t really been that neighbourly the past few years, but he still knows some of the folk who live nearby. Two miles sounds like a long distance for city folk, but to a country man it’s practically next door. The guest grips his whiskey glass tight as he looks away, looking at the candle in the window. You wouldn’t know him, he hasn’t lived around here long. Don’t worry about it. The candle flickers.

Simon swirls his whiskey nonchalantly, that’s probably true. You know, it’s been so long since Simon touched base with any of his neighbours, they might have all moved away. Hell, they might all have died for all he knows. The guest glances at Simon, still smiling. There’s no need to think like that, friend.

Simon realises that he hasn’t even asked this man his name. The realisation sinks in that his social skills are atrocious, that he has willingly isolated himself from everyone, that he hasn’t spoken to somebody like this in a ridiculously long time. Something as simple and ingrained in human nature as having a polite conversation with somebody. Simon decides to rectify that, apologising for seeming rude earlier, but the man furrows his brow in a way that Simon doesn’t like the look of. The man does not answer the question, instead deciding that now is the time he should ask for the phone.

The man looks at Simon, steely eyed, almost unnerving. An awkward moment of silence follows, before Simon gets up, placing his glass of whiskey on the coffee table again. Simon always finds a way to keep an eye on the man, who barely moves, as he retrieves his phone and hands it to the man. Simon settles down in his chair again, locked eyes with the man, as he says the man should be lucky he still has a phone. Simon had thought about getting rid of the whole thing a long time ago, but eventually decided to keep it. In case of emergencies.

The guest nods in understanding. An emergency. Such as tonight, he remarks, as he begins to dial the number of his friend. Simon keeps his eyes on the man, his own fingers gripping the arms of his chair a little too tightly. The guest holds the phone up to his ear as he looks at Simon blankly. The two men have their eyes locked on each other, and neither one is letting the other one past. After a few moments, a smile creeps onto the face of the guest, slowly at first, breaking out into a wide grin.

The guest hands the phone receiver to Simon, who looks puzzled. The man gestures with his free hand, encouraging Simon to take the phone from him. Simon does not understand what game is being played here, but he fears he is losing. He wasn’t even aware they were playing a game, and that is all on him. Simon reaches out trepidatiously and gently grabs the phone, pulling it back to his side of the room, still watching the man carefully. The guest has recoiled into a more relaxed state, grinning at Simon.

Simon lifts the receiver to his ear and he hears the one thing he didn’t want to; nothing. Nothing at all. Oh dear, exclaims the guest, it would appear that your phone line is not working at the moment. What am I to do, he wonders out loud. Simon now looks very uneasy. The guest swirls his glass of whiskey, watching the ice cubes melt ever so slowly. The guest supposes that all he can do now is wait it out until morning, yes? Simon doesn’t like the sound of that.

He can’t see it because his back is still turned to the window, but the little candle in the windowsill flickers again. It smells danger.