a visitor came for an evening and stayed forty years. no one could remember inviting them. no one could remember whose cousin they were supposed to be. they were pleasant, kept to themselves, helped with the washing, and learned the names of all the cats.
when the household tried, after the first decade, to ask them their name, they answered with the name of the household. when asked where they were from, they named the kitchen. they never opened the front door again. the coat they had arrived in stayed on its hook the whole time, never worn, never moved.
after the funeral the family found, inside the coat pocket, a letter addressed to no one, in handwriting that had not yet been invented when the visitor arrived.
— guests who never leave are usually answering a question the house has not yet asked aloud.