Fiction: The Guest, a short story

The Guest🏠

A short story, by Erik Engström, 2026-09-16

As many other days I woke up a bit before 07:00 to make the daily commute to the office. I would bring breakfast to the office and chat a bit with my colleagues before the day would start. Working in the economy department meant that I could work remotely as well, which I did on Fridays.

But today was just Tuesday and the weekend seemed far off, so to cheer myself up I set up a date with myself in one of the local cafés after the day was over. Reminding myself of the special latte that they made there kept me going through another day of reports and taxes.

Yesterday a new colleague had joined our company, a tall man perhaps in his 50’s. So in the kitchen one could still see some leftover cake. Unfortunately I had to pass on it as I counted my calories and saved them for my treat later.

The day at the office neared its end and a few souls were still haunting the corridors as I grabbed my coat and headed out in the autumn rain. On the way out of the office I nearly bumped into someone, a hasty “sorry” escaped my lips as I struggled with the umbrella. A short walk later I found myself in my favorite corner of the café.

Being an natural introvert I sat down so that I could have my back against the wall and overlook the sea of tables in front of me. It was pretty crowded and I could feel a scent of oranges from the perfume that was hanging in the air from the guy behind me in the queue. Seeing as it was late afternoon there were many people sitting there already. An older couple, a few students sitting by themselves clicking away on their phones, a few people dressed in their best business clothes and the long trailing line of people hadn’t gotten much shorter since I picked up my cinnamon spiced latte. The guy behind me in the line had found a table next to the other wall and was fidgeting with his phone and a mother with her young child sat down a few tables to my left and started rummaging through her bag for something.

After having put down my bag and jacket to my side, I pulled up a book I was reading and took a sip of my warm drink. I felt at ease at once, a wave of comfort spread throughout my body and I flipped up my book and started reading.

I had just flipped the page for the third time when something interrupted my focus, it was the sound of my phone, it was still on low volume after having been at the office.
At first I didn’t know if I should pick it up or not due to the background noise, but seeing as it was a number I didn’t recognize I decided to answer, so I lifted the phone to my ear and greeted the caller with a neutral “hello, this is Ovinia Tinton”.

At first it sounded like there was an error on the line, a sharp sound, then I heard a faint echo of myself. But there was no answer from the other side. I looked at the phone to make sure the call was still connected, which it was. I said “hello” a final time before I decided to hang up, and the warm feeling I had before was now replaced with an unease so strong that my breath got shallower and more rapid. I could just feel that something was off, somehow.

Returning to my book I tried to focus on the story and forget about the strange call, but I just couldn’t. My mind constantly wandered off to the call, who it might be and what they wanted. I reread the same sentence on and on, but eventually I had enough and shut the book closed.

I glanced at my phone and now there was a text message waiting for me, and a feeling of anxiety overwhelmed me, to the point of almost feeling sick. Against my better judgment I opened the message which read “You have been chosen”. I stared at the message for a while, before confirming whether it was the same number that had called me.

This made no sense to me and I slowly felt the panic set in. “Why me?” I wondered to myself.

As I got up and walked out of the café I left a half-finished latte and brought with me a sense of impending doom instead. I felt like I was in a bubble and the noisy guests were outside that bubble somehow, the mother playing with her child almost appeared in slow-motion before me, the students faces blurred out but the man that had sat close to me was no longer there, there was just two small puddles of rain water in the shape of footprints under the table he had been sitting.

It was not until I was out on the street again that I added two and two together, “could it really have been him?” I whispered to myself as I stared off along the line of cars waiting for a green light and at the end of the line I saw my bus taking off from the stop.

I looked at my phone and saw that it was getting late so I walked over to the bus stop and waited. Illuminated by a street lamp and to the drops of rain drumming a gentle beat on my umbrella I finally let my mind blank out a bit and I felt my heart rate slow down. My senses came to, the light reflecting on the wet pavement, the engines of cars trundling by. A fresh scent hovering in the air, something citrusy and was it… basil? I smiled as it reminded me of something. Shortly thereafter the next bus arrived and I spent an uneventful couple of minutes as it brought me to my district.

It had stopped raining as I left the bus, the trees stood as silent observers around the stop. The wind that rustled their dying branches embraced me for a moment and I couldn’t wait to just get home and forget about everything. The final stretch of my journey had never felt so long as it did today but eventually I was getting close to my apartment, I grabbed my keys from my purse and carried them in my hand until I reached the heavy wooden door. Little did I know that my keys, a symbol of safety, was also the agent of my demise.

Because when I stepped through the door to my apartment it didn’t take long before something felt off. Although I couldn’t locate the source of this feeling, it dawned on me after a while. The realization came to me after a moment’s confusion, much like when the breeze suddenly takes a break only to return a moment later.

There were no shoeprints, no items were misplaced, but it was a simple smell. A fragrance that felt so familiar, as if I had felt it a thousand times by now. But what was it doing here?