The Visitor

Source

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When Sveinn entered, the king of cups looked at him solemnly from the ground and the queen of swords fled, driven by the gust that entered with him. In front of him, on his neighbor's simple table, a cup and a bottle. The rest of the deck fell dead when he closed the door.

He called her and the silence answered. He looked around, worried. He called in vain again, searched the house, closed the open shower. He was disturbed by objects in impossible places, the towel thrown in the room. He lit a fire, picked up the cards and sat down, waiting for her.

He heard a knock on the door, another. He rose but the peephole revealed nothing but snow driven by the blizzard. He returned to the table, began a solitaire. After a while, another knock. He thought he heard the voice of Jóna lost in the roar of the storm, he opened the door. Nothing. He closed the door.

He sat down, resuming the game. He saw the bottle levitate a couple of meters in disbelief, heard it crack and the pain accompanied the warm blood at the back of his neck. Then, the cup floated to accelerate a moment later and throw itself against him. He dodged it. The television loosened from the base on the wall, swinging heavily in the air, terrified, he took his coat, opened the door with effort and went out into the storm.

He ran home, blinded. He followed the path, climbed the small ladder with snow-covered steps. He stumbled. He fell heavily, his clenched fingers touching something unexpected under the snow. He dug.

There was Jóna, naked in the snow.

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This is the translation of a micro story written for the MicroTerror256 contest organized by @trenz. In it, participants must write a terror story based on an assigned topic in a maximum of 256 words, this time the topic was "Naked over the snow". Unfortunately, translations from Spanish to English are impossible using the exact same number of words so that condition is not fulfilled here. Hope you enjoy it