The Open Window

Framton Nuttel had come to the countryside on his doctor’s advice. He suffered from a nervous condition, and the doctor believed rest and quiet surroundings would help him recover. Framton, however, knew no one in the area. His sister, who had once lived there, gave him letters of introduction to some local families so he would not feel completely alone. Still, he felt anxious about visiting strangers, worrying they might find him strange or boring.

One afternoon he visited Mrs. Sappleton’s house. A young girl of about fifteen greeted him and led him into a sitting room while her aunt was still upstairs. The girl introduced herself as Vera and politely tried to keep the conversation going. Framton explained nervously that he knew very little about the people living nearby. Vera listened carefully, then glanced toward a large open window that looked out over the garden lawn.

She asked whether he wondered why the window remained open on such a cool autumn day. Framton admitted he had noticed it but thought little of it. Vera lowered her voice and told him a tragic story. Three years earlier, she said, her aunt’s husband and two younger brothers had gone hunting across the marsh. They never returned. The ground had been dangerously soft after heavy rain, and all three men were swallowed by the mud. Their bodies were never recovered.

According to Vera, her aunt never accepted their deaths. Every day she kept the window open, believing they would someday come walking back across the lawn just as they always had — carrying their guns and accompanied by the small brown dog. Vera described how her uncle would sing a silly hunting song while returning, just as he had done on the day they disappeared. As she spoke, Framton felt a chill of sympathy and discomfort.

Soon Mrs. Sappleton entered the room cheerfully and apologized for keeping him waiting. She seemed bright and talkative, but instead of discussing normal topics, she constantly glanced toward the open window and spoke about her husband and brothers returning from hunting at any moment. Framton felt disturbed, convinced the woman was unwell. He tried to change the subject by explaining his illness and need for rest, but she barely listened, her attention fixed outside.

Suddenly Mrs. Sappleton cried happily that they were finally coming home. Framton turned toward the window in horror. Across the lawn he saw three figures approaching in the fading evening light. Each carried a gun, and a dog walked beside them. One of the men began singing softly. The scene matched Vera’s story exactly. Framton believed he was witnessing ghosts.

Terrified beyond reason, he grabbed his hat and rushed out of the house without saying goodbye, running down the road as fast as he could. A cyclist he nearly collided with stared in confusion as Framton disappeared.

Inside the house, Mrs. Sappleton looked puzzled at her guest’s sudden departure. Vera calmly explained that he must have been frightened by the dog because he had once been chased by dogs in India and now panicked whenever he saw one. Her aunt accepted the explanation easily.

The men entered the room, surprised to hear a visitor had fled. Vera continued speaking calmly, already inventing another story as naturally as breathing. To her, telling convincing lies was simply her special talent — making ordinary days far more interesting.