The Host

It was a dark and cloudy night when I arrived at the house of my cousin Margaret. The house was old. Anybody could tell from the overgrown ivy and moss spread on the faded brick, and the dusty, rusty stains on the windows.

I had been surprised to get Margaret’s letter. Truth be told, I did not remember having a cousin Margaret, but I had so few family left after the white plague hit that I could not resist meeting another of my relatives. The letter was filled with memories of my childhood and family, and I wondered how I could not remember Margaret at all.

I knocked on the large, wooden door of the house. The doors opened slowly for me, though I noticed neither butler nor maid. I entered into a darkened foyer, though I thought I spied scores of cob and dustwebs adorning the chandeliers and bannisters. After a moment of looking around, I saw my host making her way down the long stairway situated in the middle of the foyer. My host, whom I presumed was indeed Margaret, was smiling wanly. Her skin was pale and thin over her small bones, and her hair fell long down her back. She looked ill, and not as if she would get better any time soon. I was so focused on Margaret’s appearance that I nearly missed the slight figure behind her. The figure was a young girl, with skin even paler than Margaret’s, if such a thing were possible. She stayed behind Margaret all the way down the stairs.

“Welcome, my dear Geraldine,” said Margaret. She took my hand in hers. It felt as thin and bony as it looked in her loose grip. The young girl behind her said nothing, keeping her expression neutral.

“I am so pleased you were able to come all this way to visit me. It’s not often Genevieve and I receive visitors anymore.” She gestured to the girl, who gave a slight curtsey. This must be her sister, I thought. She was not mentioned in the letter.

“Please do come upstairs and get settled into your room,” said Margaret, leading me to an upstairs bedroom, “then come down to the parlor and we can have a cup of tea and get reacquainted. Genevieve would also like to get to know her cousin.” Genevieve said nothing, and left the room behind Margaret, looking back at me with a thin smile before she left.

My hosts are very strange and they look ill, I thought, but at least Margaret seems happy to see me. I did not think much of Genevieve at that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~

I found my host in the downstairs parlor, with Genevieve standing just behind her chair. I sat down on the loveseat just opposite, and Margaret handed me a cup of tea. I noticed, slightly out of focus, that Genevieve was not having any tea. Perhaps she does not care for it, I thought. She is still rather young, and tea can be bitter.

“I must confess something,” Margaret began. “I did not invite you here only to get to know a relative. I have been ill for quite some time.” So my first assumption was correct. “Thankfully, I have had Genevieve here to care for me,” she looked back at the young girl. “But this may be the last time I am able to speak to someone from the outside world, especially one of my family.”

I did not know what to say, I simply sat and looked at Margaret with as sympathetic an expression as I could muster. Margaret shook her head. “Do not feel sorry for me, cousin. I am just happy to be able to be with family during my final days. I was hoping you would consider staying for a few months to help me get my affairs in order.”

I was, of course, surprised. I had not expected to be asked to take on such a responsibility. But I felt that I really had no choice, and I felt sorry for my dying cousin. “Margaret, of course I will stay. I hope I can be of great help to you.”

Margaret put her thin hand on top of mine. “You already are, my dear.”

Genevieve said not a word, standing still as a statue in her corner of the parlor.

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks I helped Margaret sort through important documents, including, of course, her will, with Genevieve observing all the while behind Margaret, saying not a word. To my great astonishment, Margaret revealed that she had decided to leave everything to me, on the condition that she must live in the house. I was about to object when Margaret explained. “I would leave everything to Genevieve, but she is not responsible enough to care for my property. Still, I would like her to have a home and be cared for. Will you promise to look after her?”

I hesitated to answer. I barely knew either of them, but Genevieve particularly made me uneasy. However, family was family, the only family left.

“Yes, of course I will look after Genevieve. And thank you, I did not expect to receive anything.”

Margaret put her hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Of course, my dear. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I could not provide for my guest?”

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, I woke up one night to the sounds of a horrific shriek, as though a banshee had come into the dark house, announcing death. I leapt out of bed in only my nightdress, and bounded down the hall to Margaret’s room. When I arrived, out of breath, I saw a ghostly Genevieve standing over Margaret’s lifeless body. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked up at me. I was so frightened.

“Who is going to take care of me now?” asked Genevieve in a thin, small voice. She lay her hand possessively over mine, looking up at me beseechingly. I didn’t know why, but the air seemed thicker coming into my lungs, and I felt uneasy under the hold and gaze of this sickly girl. I hesitated in my answer. But then I remembered Margaret’s will.

“I will take care of you, Genevieve.” Genevieve started to smile slowly, and I flinched as her grip on my arm became much firmer.

“You are the host now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been several years since I came to live in the manor. I am ill, but at least I have Genevieve for company. Today, though, we are awaiting the arrival of my cousin Mary. In fact, I can hear her in the foyer now. It is hard to walk down the stairs, but I must be a good host and meet my guest.

I find Mary at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me warily. Of course, I must be a sight having been so ill. I smile at her as widely as I can.

“My dear cousin Mary. Genevieve and I have been looking forward to meeting you. I hope your stay with us will be long and comfortable. Otherwise what kind of host would I be?”

Genevieve stands behind me, smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~

©Abigail Siegel, 2020