The storm

Mark Sinclair left the bookshop in Westport, Edinburgh, when his mobile phone buzzed. He looked up at the strange weather, considering if he could make it home before the storm hit.

While Mark was waiting for his bus to pass, his phone rang. "Dad, could you come to my apartment this weekend to water the ferns and check if everything's okay?"

He paused, considering whether he had anything important planned, but his agenda was free.

"Hello Fee, how can I help?" he said, then laughed. Mark knew that when his daughter called him, she needed a favour because of her busy lifestyle.

"Dad, can you pass by the house to water the ferns, please, and then you'll be on your way to your busy life?" Fiona said.

"I know, I know. Do you need my services? Okay, I'll be there soon."

"No worries, Dad. Pass by tonight, and everything will be fine. I'll be back by Monday."

"Sorry, what did you say, baby? I can't hear you—a bus passed by."

"Dad, Dad? Come tonight or tomorrow. The plants can wait until then, don't worry." Then Fiona hung up.

"Aye, old boy—another mission for old Mac Sinclair," he muttered.

Often, his daughter asked him to run these little errands, so it was nothing unusual. Fiona lived in an old converted building in Edinburgh's Old Town. Her flat was on the third floor, number 3B. Mark knew the place like the back of his hand; he had been there more times than he could count.

Before he could go to Fiona's place, he had to take care of some things. After that, he would be free. After taking the bus to Fiona's house, he got off and looked at the black sky. At this point, fellarted to fall.

As he shuffled for the keys in his pocket, he heard a voice behind him.

"Mate, can you spare me a cigarette?"

"I am sorry, pal, I don't smoke anymore."

"Don't worry, brother. The devil is in the details, but salvation comes from the wish to achieve the impossible."

Mark glanced at the man holding an old aluminium cup filled with pennies and a couple of pound coins. He thought to himself, What a load of nonsense. Moving away, he walked towards the building.

He found the spare key and opened the front gate.

From outside Fiona's door, he could already smell the faint scent of candles drifting into the hallway. Sometimes Fiona used the scented candles because she locked up the house for weeks.

She's a good woman, Mark thought. She had been working hard ever since finishing university, finding her place in her field. From a young age, archaeology and the ancient world have fascinated her.

As the head of archaeology at the Académie de l'Héritage Universel, she had a lot on her hectic schedule.

Mark had arrived on Fiona's floor. Leaving the lift, Mark turned left. Fiona's flat was down the corridor. He looked both ways before stopping at number 3B. The corridor lights flickered as if the storm outside had made its way in.

A faint glow seeped from under the door. While fishing for the right key, he didn't notice the shadow gliding across the gap. The old wood creaked as he pushed the door open.

He stepped inside and looked around. He wasn't alone in that moment; his old companion was with him. Cork, the brown Labrador, had been in the family since Fiona was little. Loyal as ever, the dog trotted in at his side. Mark bent down, running his hand over the warmth of his friend's coat.

"Come on, Cork. Let's have a look around and leave as if we were never here," Mark said. "After all, Fee will be happy to know you finally came to visit her. She's always talking about you and how much she misses you."

Even though Fiona was rarely home, she always kept her flat pristine. The door closed as Mark and his old friend went in.

Mark turned in the corridor, anticipating Cork, but the dog remained at the door, watchful, sniffing, and whimpering.

"Come on, boy, over here," Mark called, this time in a firm voice.

But Cork was reluctant to leave his post.

The curtains shifted. Mark could hear a faint rustle. Crossing to the living room, he felt the draft coming through a window left open. He approached, looked out, and saw that the weather had worsened within minutes.

I'll make a cup of tea and wait this storm out, he thought. Moving to the kitchen, he had a look to see if Fiona had left anything out of place. After all, they had to wait for the storm to pass.

When the tea was ready, Mark switched on the stereo and settled onto the sofa, sipping from his cup. Cork finally padded over and sat close by, still scanning the room with uneasy eyes.

The sun's light began to fade as the storm rolled in, and the shadows seemed to grow more and more alive with the lack of light. Mark had fallen asleep while listening to music and woke up to the silence of the night. He thought Cork might be hungry and decided it was time to find something for both of them to eat. Looking in the cupboard, he found a tin of tuna and some noodles.

"I've got to improvise," Mark thought to himself. "Otherwise, we won't have any dinner, Cork. I don't think any shop will deliver in weather like this."

Looking toward the door, Mark could see that Cork wasn't in the same place he had been. He needed some sort of sauce to finish the tuna noodles. Mark took a look in the fridge and found half a can of tomato sauce and a piece of onion wrapped in clingfilm. That and a bit of spices could make a nice dinner in a situation like this.

Mark put the water on to boil when he heard a faint whine and bark from the dog. Something interrupted the silence. From the kitchen door, Mark shouted, "What's going on over there? Can't you see I'm trying to make us a gourmet dinner?" and laughed to himself. Walking to the living room door, he saw that the TV was on, but he didn't remember turning it on himself.

He stopped in front of the TV to turn it off, but the news caught his attention. "The government urges all citizens to stay indoors," the reporter was saying. They classified today's tempest as the worst since the Great Boxing Day Tempest of 1998. "Do not try to go outside, and seek refuge wherever possible. The emergency services are struggling to cope."

From the living room, Cork was barking louder now. Mark stepped into the corridor on his way to the bedroom and could see a faint light reflecting through the doorway. In this patch of light, a shadow resembling a ragged tunic moved fast, crashing against the opposite wall and disappearing. Cork was by the door, looking into the room and barking.

Arriving at the door, Mark saw that the window was open, where the patch of light was coming from. He hurried to close it, afraid water could come inside. He didn't consider it before, but there were too many coincidences to ignore now.

"Stay indoors and don't go out until the storm has passed," the reporter's voice repeated, now distorted like an old cassette player eating the tape. The slow voice repeated in a low, distorted voice, "Stay indoors and don't go out until the storm has passed," and then became so loud that Mark had to cover his ears.

"What's going on here, Cork? Come on, boy. Let's check the kitchen and finish dinner because we don't have anywhere to go but to spend the night here," Mark said, and then he stroked his dog's head. The lights flickered throughout the flat, starting from the kitchen and then alternating through all the rooms. The shadows began to look more and more menacing by the minute, descending from the ceiling while the lights flickered.

Now, finding a source of reliable light was imperative. Mark was looking through all the drawers he could see to find a torch or something.

All he could find was a pair of candles in one of the kitchen drawers. "Cork, come here," he shouted. "We've got to stick together." And then all the lights went off, leaving the flat in complete darkness. Mark was trying to feel his way through the drawer, looking for some matches. All he could find was a lighter that seemed to have almost reached the end of its life.

His hands were shaking. At the same time that he was trying to light up the candles, he heard a high-pitched scream coming from the living room. Mark dropped the candles and lighter, covering his ears to stay focused and gain an edge over the shadows.

Mark felt invisible hands touching him. The scream was so loud that Mark felt all the glass objects shatter across the kitchen. The microwave turned on with a loud mechanical noise. Some of the shards hit him on his back and head, and one stuck in the back of his hand, making his hand bleed and causing him to feel a very sharp pain. In the midst of this surreal scene from the living room, Mark heard the faint barking of Cork.

At last, Mark could find one candle. The candlelight was the only source of light to save their lives. The creatures intensified their demonic screaming as soon as the faint light came on. Feeling lightheaded and weak, Mark tried to pull himself up with the table's help. He put the spare candle in his left pocket with the lighter to go help Cork. In the living room, the feeling of danger intensified soon he approached his dog.

All the lights started to flicker again. All the electrical appliances were turning on and off. The only thing he could think of was to hide in the bathroom, where they could be safer from all the glass, wind, and rain coming through the shattered windows.

Cork followed Mark to the bathroom. The lights at this point were all off, and the loud noise had passed. Limping, bleeding, and feeling lightheaded, all one could hear was the wind rustling through the furniture. Inside the bathroom and with the door closed, all the commotion outside felt like a distant nightmare.

"We should've eaten those noodles," Mark said. "Too late now. We've got other things to worry about."

Cork lay down by the door.

"At least we'll fight back," Mark added.

Mark set the candle on top of the sink, taking the spare from his back pocket and resting it on top of the toilet seat. Mark sat on the edge of the bathtub, facing the broken mirror. "Cork, everything's fine, pal. If anything strange happens, you let me know." Cork turned his head around to look at him, then Mark chuckled to himself.

Mark looked at his watch—it was 3:55 AM. They were both weary and famished. Time passes very slowly when you're facing adverse conditions, he thought. "That old bugger was right," Mark nodded. "Don't worry, brother. The devil is in the details, but salvation comes from the wish to achieve the impossible." That phrase had stuck with him since.

How could that old bastard know? How could he predict all this chaos? He didn't actually; it was all a bloody coincidence, Mark thought.

Some time had passed, and Cork had been sleeping since everything was quiet except for the wind noise coming from outside. Out of nowhere, voices started to shout, alternating between friendly and menacing tones.

"Mark, is that you, babe? Answer me, my love." The voice was coming from outside the door.

Mark jumped at the sound of the voice he knew very well. "Maggie, Maggie, is that you?"

"My love, it's been so long. I want to talk to you, and finally here we are, so close!"

"But... but you are dead, Margaret. We buried you three years ago."

"No, Mark, I was sleeping, waiting for you."

"What do you mean, waiting for me?"

"For us to be together." The voice got louder and more distorted. The door was being hammered by what seemed like many hands, and dark shadows were reaching under it, retreating from the candlelight.

"Come here, Cork!" His dog came closer to him. "Don't worry, mate. We're going to leave this nightmare as soon as daylight breaks."

"Come out, Mark," a loud voice howled from outside. "We will get you."

Mark looked again at his watch. The time displayed was 5:45. "Soon it will be day," Mark said to Cork.

Cork started to bark. From a distance, Mark could hear someone banging at the door. Exhausted, he covered his ears, trying to maintain the bit of sanity left. He heard a door being broken down, followed by rushing steps.

"Dad! Dad!" Fiona was shouting.

"Mr Sinclair," someone called out. Mark didn't know what was real or not. The voices passed him, going to Fiona's bedroom.

"Fee, is that you? Fiona, don't let those things get to you."

Then silence for a little.

"No, no, no, no!" Held by an officer, Fiona began to cry. And then he let her go. She knelt beside her bed, holding his hand. On the floor, she saw a folded piece of paper. She opened it and read: "Don't worry, brother. The devil is in the details, but salvation comes from the wish to achieve the impossible. 48 hours, brother, they will try to grab your soul for 48 hours."

He was lying facedown with his right hand hanging down the side of the bed.

One of the officers had a look at the body and, looking to the others in the room, said.

"The cause of death was a heart attack, and he's been dead for at least 12 hours."

Fiona lay her head on her dad's back and with her right hand stroked his white hair. She couldn't figure out what had happened; she had been trying to call him since the day before. The phone was ringing, but no one answered—why had she called him to water her plants only to come back home to find him dead? The house was the same way she had left it, all in order. After arriving, he didn't feel well and went to rest in her bed, she considered.

Fiona stood up, going toward the living room.

"Can I offer you officers something to drink?" she said in a sad tone.

"No, thank you, miss," they all answered almost at the same time. When she was at her room door, she saw her father standing by the front door.

"I don't belong here", he muttered, "not anymore, my love." She could feel the words like they were being whispered in her ears. Fiona cried after seeing her father and the old family dog together after a long time. Mark stroked Cork's thick fur, and both turned around. His old pal wagged his tail. Then both walked toward the white light where Margaret was waiting for them.