The Empty Chair at Christmas Eve

You return home after dark. The snow crunches under your boots, but the street is

empty. Too empty for Christmas Eve. You hold a wafer in your hand.

One extra wafer. You don't remember why you took it. The lights in the stairwell dim.

For a moment. In the silence, you hear someone whisper: "Leave a seat empty."

Your heart races. You close the apartment door faster than usual. POV: The table is

set. Twelve dishes. One empty chair, pushed further back than the rest.

No one mentions it. As if everyone was afraid to say it out loud.

The clock strikes 8:00. At the same moment, the Christmas tree goes out.