The Prelude
This story was inspired by the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2025. The assignment was: A 2,500 word thriller, involving the subject of working from home, and that featured a character that was gullible. Ultimately, this story did not move me onto the next round, but I had a lot of fun participating and look forward to doing so again.
Of all the things it could be, of course it’s the rain that makes me smile.
It feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve truly smiled. Not that I keep track or anything. It’s just … well, this last year has been extremely tough. In the rare times I have smiled, they were, unfortunately, fake. I’ve just found it easier to put on a smile. That way, Ned believes I’m fine.
But tonight’s smile comes naturally. And oddly, it’s genuine. A soft, fond smile as I reminisce about Aiden. Rain often has that effect on me. Aiden used to always say it was like music. That no rain was ever the same. Some rain will pelt intensely, creating a presto, while other rain graciously falls, like a lento—just as it did tonight. A slow, soothing rhythm.
Everything can be music, Mom, if you allow it. Aiden’s words sound in my head.
So I let myself do just that. I enjoy the simple melody. It feels as though the raindrops are playing in harmony, collaborating on a song meant solely for me. Perhaps Aiden has a role in that. My smile widened.
Then it falters at a sudden knock.
The rain gradually increases, like an accelerando. Strangely, so does my heartbeat. Who’d be knocking on our door at this hour? I look at Ned, who sits in his chair reading, wondering if he heard it too.
“Ned, dear, I think someone is at the door.”
“I didn’t hear a knock,” he says, turning a page. “Probably just the rain. A storm is brewing.”
“OK, dear.”
Ned’s right. Probably just the rain. My old mind must be playing tricks on me again. One of the many struggles since …
Although … today is our first day allowing guests back in our home. It’s been over a year now, since we’d halted bookings for Prelude—our bed-and-breakfast. Shortly after …
No. It can’t be a guest. We’d received no bookings today, and well, an unscheduled guest, though not uncommon before, simply feels improbable on our first day being reopened.
The knock comes again, insistent and undeniable, followed by a rumble of thunder. I squeal.
Ned peeks his eyes out from the top of his book. “That was definitely a knock.” He slams the book shut, abruptly stands, and starts toward the foyer. “Alice, did we receive any last-minute bookings?”
“No, nothing,” I say, jolting up to follow.
“Then it must be an unexpected guest, I imagine,” Ned says as he approaches the door. “On our first day being reopened. How exciting.”
Very exciting, indeed. Ned and I both agreed reopening Prelude is how we move on. Our only chance of properly healing. Biting the bottom of my lip, I watch as Ned looks through the peephole, my pulse quickening. He pulls away from the door, a wide grin curling.
“Alice, I can’t believe it. It’s him.”
My eyes widen in anticipation as Ned urgently unlocks the door and swings it open. I gasp at who’s standing beyond. Ned’s right. It’s really him.
###
“Come on, please be open,” I mutter, knocking on the door of the bed-and-breakfast a second time.
The door finally swings open, revealing an old man and woman inside. The woman gasps.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, raising a hand of caution. “I was just wondering if you had a room for the night. The storm is getting bad, and my old car—”
“Absolutely, son,” the man says. “Come in. Get warm.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief as I brush my feet against the doormat and rush inside.
My body suddenly relaxes. Inside is warm and cozy. As I take off my jacket, I scan the foyer. It’s wide and far bigger than my dorm room. To my left is a dining area, with a large table that about fills the entire room. There is an old-fashioned hutch with fancy dinnerware, flanked by two large floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a view of the rain drumming against the windows.
“Oh, dear, let me take your jacket,” the woman says.
“Thanks.” I hand her my jacket, which she scurries off with to hang in the closet next to the front door.
Turning around, my eyes are drawn to the hardwood staircase ascending to the second floor. At the bottom is a chair attached to what appears to be some sort of stair lift. These hosts are clearly prepared for any guest.
Glancing to my right, I look into a living room dotted with plush furniture. Beyond the seating is a brick fireplace housing a dancing of flames. In just a few seconds, I realize how lucky I am to have found this place.
“You have a lovely home,” I say.
“It’s been in the family for generations,” the man says. “Far too big for just the two of us. We’ve been waiting for someone to fill it. Hope it feels like home … for you.”
I scoff softly. “This is far nicer than any home I’ve ever lived in.”
“I’m Ned by the way.” Ned stretches his arm, waiting for his wife to scurry over from the closet. She falls under his arm, and he squeezes her close. “And this is my beloved wife, Alice. We’re thrilled you’re here.”
Ned and Alice grin, their smiles stretching a little too wide. Suddenly, it feels as though a single shiver has followed me from outside, crawling up the back of my neck. Old people’s smiles always creep me out. Clearing my throat, I look away, my eyes landing upstairs at the sight of a wheelchair.
“I’m Owen,” I say.
“Alice, doesn’t he look hungry?”
“He sure does, Ned,” Alice says, striding toward me. “Let me make you something, dear. Perhaps some warm soup. Come.”
Alice grabs my arm and squeezes with a surprisingly firm grip as she pulls me into the dining room. Some warm soup did sound nice. Especially on a night like this. I knew I should’ve left campus sooner. I guess part of me still dreaded seeing my parents. Strangely, the idea of being home feels worse than being here.
“Soup’s perfect,” I say, taking a seat at the end of the long table.
“Coming right up,” Alice says, smiling again.
My lip curls slightly at the sight as I watch her dash through a swinging door at the far end of the room, appearing to lead into the kitchen. While I wait, I pull out my phone, only to quickly remember it died on my way here. And unfortunately, I left my charger in my dorm room.
“Ned, do you have a charger?”
“Sure do,” he says, nodding his head longer than it feels he should as he hovers near the foyer. “We have them in every room.” He scurries over to me. “Here, let me take it up to your room for you. I’ll get it charging while you eat. It’ll be waiting for you when you’re all done.”
“Uh … yeah, sure,” I reply, not wanting to be rude.
Ned hastily grabs my phone, turns on his heel, and exits the dining room, his footsteps thumping against the hardwood as he rushes up the stairs.
Then a loud thud sounds through the room, jolting my body and snapping my eyes toward the swinging door. Alice appears, stepping in with a bowl cradled in her hands, steam wafting from the top.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” she says as she starts toward me. “That darn door. I forget how light it is.” She places the bowl in front of me. “Here you are. Chicken noodle soup. Your favorite, Aiden.”
Aiden? My head jerks back slightly. Alice must be losing her hearing.
“It’s actually Owen,” I say, offering a smile as I reach for the spoon and dip it into the soup.
Alice’s eyes narrow as her head tilts slightly. “Isn’t that what I said, dear?”
“You said Aiden. But it’s all right.”
“I’m so sorry … Owen,” Alice says, swallowing hard, as if the name is hard to say. “I must’ve heard you wrong. My old ears. Always playing tricks on me.”
“No worries.”
Feeling an awkward tension, I take a sip of the soup. It’s delicious, causing my bones to quiver, as if they’re screaming with joy.
“How is it?” Alice asks, leaning closer.
“Very good,” I reply, taking another sip.
Alice grins. “Oh, just delightful. Go on, have some more.”
“So, tell me, son,” Ned says as he enters the dining room and takes a seat next to me. “What brings you to us on this fine evening?”
Alice continues to hover, like an overly caring and excited grandmother. Suddenly, I feel as if my arrival here may have been the best thing to have happened to these two in a long time. It makes me wonder how long it’s been since they’ve interacted with anyone other than each other. Strangely, I understand. This first year in college has shown me being alone is tougher than I could’ve ever imagined.
“I was headed home for winter break. I’m a freshman at the University of …”
My words falter as a heavy weight settles over me. My limbs unexpectedly grow sluggish, causing me to drop the spoon. It slams against the table, its clattering, though muted, echoes in my ears. An icy shiver crawls down my spine as my vision blurs, and suddenly, the room is spinning.
Ned and Alice creep closer, their grins widening, stretching far too wide for their wrinkled skin. My heart thunders in my chest, and my eyes, betraying me, flutter shut as the darkness swallows me whole.
###
I’ve been smiling so much. It’s uncontrollable. After all this time, Aiden is finally home. At first I thought it was just my old eyes playing tricks on me, but nope. Even Ned knew it was him. And Ned always convinces me of what’s right these days.
There Aiden is, sleeping blissfully in his old bed, just like he used to—on his stomach and one arm under his pillow. I’m watching him sleep as I rock in our chair, its old legs creaking in protest, like a soft, drawn-out pizzicato mingling with the storm outside. I can’t seem to take my eyes off him. It seems like just yesterday I was rocking him to sleep in this very chair. Back then, he relied on me for everything. Now, not so much.
But that’s about to change.
I rise from the rocking chair and stride toward him. Drawing near, I sit at the end of the bed and stroke his forehead with my thumb. He always loved it when I did that. His breathing is slow and calm, like an adagio. Such a calming melody. I smile. Oh, how I’ve missed these moments.
After a while, I stand, lean down, and plant a kiss on Aiden’s head. As I do, I inhale deeply, taking in his scent that stirs memories of him as a young boy, causing tears to well in my eyes.
I pull away and gingerly step out of the room, but before I close the door, I take another look at him. My heart flutters. Ned approaches from behind and places his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him. He’s smiling too, obviously proud of our son.
“Look at our boy,” he says. “He’s all grown up.”
“And at last, finally home.”
A blast of thunder rumbles, like a crescendo, rising in synchrony with the storm as I close and lock the bedroom door.
###
The rain pelting against the windows is the first thing I hear when I wake up. I feel extremely groggy, as if I’m hungover. My mouth is terribly dry, screaming for water, and my head has a pulse of its own. But most notably, I’m confused. I don’t remember drinking last night.
Then it all comes rushing back. I’d pulled into a bed-and-breakfast for the night. My eyes bulge open, and my heart lurches as I recall eating that soup. Right before I passed out. Ned and Alice … they must’ve … drugged me?
Fighting against my weak body, I leap out of bed. The room spins and my legs threaten to buckle. I frantically dart around the room, searching for my phone, but can’t find it. I freeze, too dizzy to continue searching. I don’t know what’s happening with my body, but one thing is for certain … I need to find a way out of here.
I bolt to the bedroom door and twist the doorknob, only for my heart to sink to the bottom of my stomach. The door is locked. I rush to the window, part the curtains, and try yanking it open. It doesn’t budge. I freeze once again as my eyes fall on a lock fastened from the outside of the window.
No, this can’t be happening. I slowly step away from the window, my head shaking in denial. That’s when I feel it for the first time. There’s something attached to my ankle. Bending down, I pull my jeans up to reveal an ankle monitor. Panic surges through my bones.
Then the bedroom doorknob rattles, as if someone is trying to unlock it. My body jolts upright, the rising fear paralyzing me, as if my feet are rooted into the hardwood floors. My eyes bulge open as Ned and Alice stroll in, their grins so wide and unfaltering, it’s as if they’re glued on. Alice is cradling a tray with what I can only assume is breakfast.
“Good morning, Aiden,” Alice says.
Ned leans against the door-frame. “Son, I can’t tell you how happy you’re making your Mother by deciding to stay home.”
Aiden? Son? Mother? The hairs on my arms and neck stand on end as an icy wave of goosebumps prickle across my skin.
“I’ve made your favorite, dear. Eggs and bacon.”
Knowing I only have one chance before they lock me in again, I summon every ounce of strength I can and bolt toward the door. But then suddenly, a fiery jolt of electricity shoots up my leg. I cry out as I collapse to the hardwood floor, my bones rattling. It’s hard to piece together what’s happening through all the pain, but I swear, I think I was just tasered by that ankle monitor. My bones continue to vibrate inside my body, and I can’t control it, but suddenly, I’m crying.
“Oh, Aiden,” Alice coos, sinking her knees to the floor beside me. She rubs my forehead with her thumb. “You’re crying, dear. It’s like … a glissando. Ned, listen to the glide, the rising and falling.” She pauses, her eyes darkening as her smile curls. “There’s no need to cry, Aiden. Mommy’s here.”