The Mystery

1

Since the evening, the intensity of the storm has been steadily increasing. Tonight, it feels like it will be completely deluge form. The chain jingles repeatedly on the wooden door frame in the storm. Many times, since evening, I got up and went to open the door to see that someone was knocking on the door. But every time I got disappointed and came back to rest in the armchair. Who will come here in such a storm this winter night? And besides, I'm waiting for what? But I'm still waiting for someone!

Sometimes I closed my eyes and sometimes I opened and waited for some familiar step in the bosom of silent nature. The white pages on the table are waiting tirelessly to get wounded with the pen. That's all! In other words, the empty life of the white pages may be filled with the scratch of the pen and decorated with ornaments of words. Everything has some good or bad side. Just seeing depends on perspective.

Sometimes I try to look at my own life from a different perspective. But I can't find any answer. Every man has a secret in his life, the secret of which no one but him can ever know. No one can be allowed to know that secret. It is unfathomable how long a man spends his whole life looking at that mystery in various guises and justifying himself through various rational means. Life is like ice on the window glass. Just as ice is trying hard to stick to glass, we may be trying hard to cling to something.

Sometimes everything inside the head becomes empty. All thoughts seem to fly away and go back to the world of wanting and not getting something, where some characters want to get stuck in the last moment of separation. Perhaps in hopes of its fulfilment. But can all dreams come true? How many hundreds of dreams remain unexplained after sleep, just like the ice falling from the chest of the glass slowly and hiding its face in the chest of the mountain, admitting the sadness of defeat?

But I know, my heart tells me that this is not the end of my story. Maybe that's why I'm still waiting impatiently. I know what I did is unforgivable. So, I am here alone in a lonely place as if I were a prisoner and I were doing penance.

That morning Simba came and cooked and left it. It has been snowing for three days. I can't count how many years I've been here. But there is no doubt that it will be many years. But in all these years, my mind has never been so upset as it is today. I don't know if any incident is going to happen today. But for some unexplained reason, my mind seems to have disturbed me again and again.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was past midnight. It is normal to feel upset when you are alone. Finally, I sat up leaving the armchair. On the winter night, the blood freezes as if it were completely frozen. I took a peg of whiskey. It didn't fit well either. I took two more. It seemed that the blood speed was a little faster than before. I felt some warmth in my body. Then I relaxed and spread my body on the bed. It's not too late to fall asleep on a cold winter night.

2

I could not guess how long the night would be. I started looking for the mobile phone in the dark. But I didn't get it. Maybe lying on the table. When my eyes were in the dark for a while, I reached out to the switch and tried to turn on the light. But no result. There is load shedding. Load shedding takes place most of the day. What is there to be surprised? I reached for the mobile phone from the table with a little more darkness. I saw that it was almost two o'clock in the morning. I tried to hear the sound at the door to get a little more ear. Maybe this time too the door is being hit by a gust of wind. But this time the sound seemed to be a little different. I clearly understood that someone was hitting the door with a heavy hand from outside. No sane person can imagine going out of the house on this bone-chilling blizzard night. It is not very normal for someone to suddenly come upon him in such a secluded place. And besides, who can be with me on such a night?

Still hesitant, I slowly stepped towards the door. I could feel the coldness outside quite a bit when I put my hand on the cold skin of the lock. I did not realize when the fire in the fireplace was extinguished. The soft light of my mobile phone is trying hard to survive the pitch-black darkness. I felt that my fingers were a bit numb from the cold. Pressing the lock, a little hard, it opened with a soft sound. As if it seemed to disturb the undisturbed sleep of the flawless night, the snitch objected softly.

I no longer had to struggle to open the door. In a moment, a strong gust of wind opened the doors in one blow, and the bone-chilling cold wind attacked me in a moment. I was a little unsteady at the sudden wind, perhaps the effect of too much whiskey in the night. However, trying to control the wind with my hands in front of my eyes, I saw a gentleman in a hat and overcoat standing in front of my door. I tried to get to know the gentleman for quite some time. But he didn't seem familiar to me at all. I saw that the gentleman was already soaking wet. However, he is not upset at all.

Before I could ask anything, he asked, May I come in?'

Although the gentleman did not seem familiar to me. However, if someone is standing at the door of the house in the night of a snowstorm in this extreme cold, then he cannot be turned back in any way. So, I hesitated and said, 'Come in please!'

3

I kept the light of the phone on in the middle of the round table. At both ends of the table in the dark room, our faces wake like living ghosts. I looked at the gentleman and saw that he was drenched, but he was sitting cross-legged in a graceful manner. This cold does not bother him at all.

It would have been nice to rekindle the fire in the fireplace. But the dry wood is gone. Tomorrow morning Simba will bring wood. There is no other way.

I raised a low voice and wanted to ask something. But before that, the stranger stopped me and said softly, 'So was the death of Florence a natural death?'

In this situation, I could not have expected such a question from the gentleman. But I was suddenly startled when the subject of Florence came up. Looking at the gentleman's face, I turned the pages of my memory, but nothing seemed familiar to the gentleman.

Seeing me remain silent, the gentleman said again, 'Then can I assume that it was a cold-blooded murder?'

This time I got a little excited. I immediately said, 'No, how can it be? It was an accident.'

The gentleman now said in a serious voice, 'Then where did the poison come from in her blood?'

This time I was a little hesitant and said, 'I can't say that.'

The gentleman hit the table and said, 'Do you think I'm a fool?'

I said, 'When did I say that?'

The gentleman got a bit excited and said, 'Then why don't you tell the truth clearly?'

This time I don't know why I suddenly came out of a dizzying world. I thought, who is the gentleman, where did he come from, and why am I answering his questions?

So many questions came together in my head and got tangled. Unable to ask all the questions at once, I suddenly asked, 'Who are you?'

The gentleman did not answer my question. He nonchalantly took out his cigar case from his waistcoat pocket, lit a cigar, and asked again in a calm voice, 'Why did you kill Margaret, she was innocent.'

Hearing the gentleman's questions, I no longer dared to know his identity. But I certainly understood that the gentleman knows something about me that is impossible for anyone else to know. But when the subject of Margaret came up, no words wanted to come out of my mouth. For all I know, Margaret was truly innocent. But I had no choice but to kill her. Because in the end, he knew everything. The only active organs in the paralyzed body of Margaret were two eyes. But in the end, those two eyes were the cause of her death. When I was poisoning Florence's food, Margaret saw me. I knew Margaret couldn't tell anyone that. Because she was physically disabled, she could not speak a single word. So, while I was strangling her, she just looked at me helplessly with those two blank eyes. If Margaret had lived, I would never have been able to look in her eyes. But even today, Margaret's last look haunts me.

The gentleman seeing me silent asked again, 'You loved Florence, but you could not have been so cruel to her.'

I glanced into the gentleman's eyes at his question. What a deep look. As if piercing my chest and trying to reveal all the secrets in an instant. He is looking at me blankly. There is no other way but to bow before that sight.

I bowed my head unconsciously. I thought that maybe it would have been better if I hadn't been so cruel to Florence that day. I loved Florence. Not only that, I still love her. But when the person who loves so much - recognizes the person behind the mask of another, then there is no way to get her out of the way. I would never have killed Florence if she had not known about my illicit relationship with Sophia. Although Florence did not ask for an apology from me even for a single day. She just used to hide her face and cry alone. The sound of her crying late at night haunts me even today. I killed Florence because I loved her. And when a loved one punishes silently, it is not easy to bear the burden of such silent punishment. If Florence had hated me, if she had criticized me, I might not have killed her at all. But Florence didn't do that and continued to chastise me in silence. The sting of that conscience was no longer possible for me to bear. So, I was reluctantly forced to poison Florence's food that day. I know Florence finally realized that I was going to kill her, yet she calmly took food from my hand for the last time that day. Did I just kill Florence? Florence, knowing everything, took food from my hand for the last time. It can also be called suicide on the other hand.

The gentleman's cigar was almost finished by then. Still, holding the last part of the cigar with his teeth, he asked me again, 'And why did you kill Sofia at last?'

I began to wear as if I was burdened by each question of the gentleman. But how he knew so many things, I could not understand anything. I did not have the strength to answer his question. And I didn't even dare to look into his deep dark eyes. I have not answered even one of the gentleman's questions so far. Yet he was able to witness with his own eyes what was going on in my mind. This time, my patience was broken. I cried out in great rage, intense hatred, 'Because I could never love Sophia. He was nothing more than a temporary infatuation in my life. When I came alone with her to this lonely mountain to have a new family, I realized that the memory of Florence did not want to let me go to Sophia. So, I just finished the chapter pushing Sophia over the cliff to get rid of everything forever. I finally killed Sophia too. Yes, I am a murderer. But everything I did I did for the love of Florence.'

I noticed that the gentleman's cigar was all over by then. He suddenly stood up, and said with a look of disdain, 'Love! Do you even understand the meaning of love?'

I knew no language to answer the gentleman. I stood with my head down again.

Suddenly the calling bell rang, and I woke up from the bed. It seems that Simba has arrived. when I reached to open the lock, I saw that it was already open! But as far as I can remember I locked it well before going to bed at night. If all of last night's events were just a dream, I'm sure locking the door and knocking on the door last night weren't a dream at all.