Keyhole

When Guy returned after work on Tuesday night to the apartment he had been sharing with his sister Elle and inserted his key into the hole of the deadbolt, the door cried out in pain. Remaining calm despite the alarming sound, Guy opened the door and found his sister wrapped up in green and orange shawl sitting on the floor of the hallway in front of him. "Quickly, lock the door," she demanded; and as soon as he complied, she motioned him to move away and leaned forward to place her left eye over the hole. "What are you staring at?" Guy inquired but received only an impatient shrug of the shoulders in lieu of an answer. "Can you just tell me what you're staring at?" he asked again. "Go away, go away, I can't talk right now," she said without moving her head an inch and waved him off with the back of her hand. Guy dropped off his briefcase in their shared office, and then went on to the kitchen to fix himself dinner. "Are you hungry?" he yelled into the hall with an effort of good humor but received no answer. The kitchen was in complete disarray. All the drawers were open, pots and pans piled up on the floor, silverware all over the counters and the sink. Elle's camera stood on the stove, on top of the front right burner, as if preparing for a ritual burning and at the same time observing the mess. Guy rescued it from the stove and, after a brief hesitation, proceeded to put away everything else, too. When he was done, he put together a peanut butter sandwich and went to check on Elle again. "Do you want dinner?" he asked again entering the dark hall. There was no answer, and in another moment he saw that she was gone. The crazy floral shawl she had been wearing was lying in front of the door, right were she had been sitting, but there was no body inside. "Elle, Elle!" he cried. But the house was empty. She was gone, as if had seeped through the keyhole.