The Night Visitor’s Gift

It was a balmy August evening when we gathered on the porch of our lakeside cabin, a ritual we’d perfected over the years. The grill hissed, glasses clinked, and the laughter of old friends mingled with the drone of cicadas. I was in my element, a glass of bourbon in hand, when our newest acquaintance, a quiet man named Elias, caught my eye. He had arrived with our mutual friend, a whirlwind of a woman named Jo, and had said little all evening. But as the night deepened and the conversation turned to ghost stories, Elias leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with a strange intensity.

‘I can show you something,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘A little party trick, if you’re willing.’

We all exchanged glances, the kind that said ‘this could be interesting.’ Jo rolled her eyes, but I was intrigued. ‘Go on,’ I encouraged.

Elias looked around the porch, his gaze settling on a single leaf that had blown onto the railing. ‘Watch,’ he said, and with a flick of his wrist, the leaf lifted into the air, hovering for a moment before spiraling into a tight dance. We gasped, some of us laughing nervously. ‘Just a parlor trick,’ he said, but his smile was thin, and his eyes held a glint that made me uneasy.

The evening wore on, and the party moved inside for card games. But I found myself restless, needing air. I stepped out onto the dock, the lake a black mirror beneath a star-scattered sky. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. I lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, and watched the reflection of the Big Dipper tremble on the water’s surface. Behind me, the cabin’s warm light spilled from the windows, punctuated by bursts of laughter. I savored the solitude, thinking about Elias’s trick and the chill that had run down my spine.

Just then, a flicker of movement caught my eye at the edge of the treeline. I squinted, expecting a deer or a raccoon. But the shape was unmistakably human, though it stood unnaturally still, partially obscured by the undergrowth. My heart began to race. I called out, ‘Hello?’ The figure didn’t move. I took a step forward, my bare feet silent on the wooden planks. The figure seemed to tilt its head, and I could have sworn I saw a smile, a flash of white teeth.

I blinked, and it was gone. A cold dread washed over me. I hurried back to the cabin, my hands trembling as I slid the door shut. The warmth of the room felt oppressive. I scanned the faces of my friends, all of them laughing, until my eyes met Elias’s. He was watching me, his expression unreadable. He gave a small nod, as if confirming something I hadn’t yet understood, and my blood ran cold.

The night ended late, and we all staggered to bed, the fun fading into a blur. But I couldn’t shake the image of that figure, nor the way Elias had looked at me. The next morning, as I sipped coffee on the porch, I noticed a fresh pile of earth near the treeline, as if something had been buried there. My curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over, my heart pounding. I knelt and brushed away the leaves. Beneath the dirt lay a small, crude doll made of twigs and grass, its button eyes staring up at me. I recoiled, a primal fear seizing me.

I confronted Elias later, finding him on the shore, skipping stones. ‘What is this?’ I demanded, holding up the doll.

He looked at me, and for a moment, his eyes seemed ancient. ‘A gift,’ he said. ‘For your hospitality. It will protect you.’

‘From what?’ I asked, my voice cracking.

Elias smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘From the loneliness that creeps in when the laughter fades.’ He turned and walked into the woods, disappearing among the pines.

That evening, as the sun set over the lake, I felt a presence in the cabin, like a lingering gaze. I caught glimpses of shapes in my peripheral vision, and the air grew thick with an unspoken menace. The laughter of my friends seemed distant, as if echoing from another world. I looked out the window and saw the shadowy figure again, standing at the edge of the property, watching me. I knew then that Elias had not given me a gift, but a curse, and that it would follow me long after the summer ended.