This story is an online exclusive from Hyphen Magazine, an honorable mention at a short story contest. I wrote the first draft in one day, but spent several months editing it.

An 18-year-old man, who’s just been admitted to his dream university, is struck and killed in a hit-and-run. Several days later, his mother, still in the depths of mourning, receives a mysterious guest, a middle-aged woman who claims to be from her son’s dream university. What is this woman’s real identity? Why is she here? 

The Guest 

The bus had just closed its doors when the boy arrived at the station. He ran towards the near-empty bus as it pulled away from the curb and shouted in his slightly husky and unsteady voice, “Open the door! Please open the door!” In the gusty wind, his voice sounded like laughter. Instead of stopping, the bus accelerated. The driver, a twenty-five-year old woman with a round face, permed long hair and white-washed jeans, didn’t look back until she was certain that the boy couldn’t catch up. The three passengers also looked back at the boy, only briefly. None spoke, though one, a retired middle-school teacher, frowned and sighed, before telling himself that it was unwise to interfere: he didn’t know the boy, after all, and he wanted to get home without delay. The driver smiled, oddly pleased by what she had done, considering it a small revenge on the uncaught thief who had stolen her wallet in a supermarket the night before. She hummed ‘Rats Love Rice,’ the year’s most popular song, and removed a wisp of stray hair from her face.

The boy rummaged his shirt and pants pockets: all he could find was a small pile of coins. For a moment he regretted that he had squandered more than two hundred yuan on beer and cigarettes at the bar—famous for its chic and its scantily-clad waitresses. How many of his classmates had showed up? Maybe twenty, maybe more. He had drunk alcohol and smoked for the first time. But the money had been well spent, hadn’t it? He’d had a great time and he’d deserved a party of his own, he assured himself. He had even danced with a girl in his class whom he always
liked but never dared ask out; with a bit alcohol, it had been somehow easier to approach her. He remembered her soft breasts pushing against his chest and her crisp laughter. He felt a surge of blood in his face. Since the day he had received the admittance letter from Qinghua University with a full scholarship, he had planned a celebration. Not a wild one, but one appropriate for adults; after all, he was now eighteen.

He decided to walk home, partly because he wanted to make up for the money he had spent, partly because he wanted to look sober when he saw his mother, who must be still awake, sitting in front of the TV, waiting for his return. He wished he could call her to tell her not to worry, and to tell her that he’d be home shortly, but they didn’t have a phone at home.

It was midnight. Other than several pedestrians the street was empty. He walked quickly on the sidewalk, almost jogging. Once he tripped on a watermelon rind and fell heavily. After he stood, he stared at the crescent moon between two half-built skyscrapers and imagined his future in Beijing, a city of nearly twenty million people. Would he get lost in this vast sea of humanity? What should he do on his first day there? Should he visit the Tiananmen or climb the Great Wall or just stroll around the campus to admire its grandeur and long history? He smiled innocently, slightly puzzled by the fact that he had never before ventured outside his hometown.

Familiar with this area, he took a short cut. The alley he was traversing had no sidewalk and was dark except for the moonlight—no house on either side had its lights on. The alley once had several streetlamps but no sooner had they been installed than they were broken by hooligans, the wires cut and sold to a dump yard to buy drugs. He didn’t mind darkness nor the uneven cobblestones. Despite the wind, he was perspiring, so he unbuttoned his shirt and bared his thin chest.

It was still another mile or so to home. He glanced at his watch by the moonlight and began to run, dreading that his mother would be so worried as to go out to look for him; she had done that once when he had forgotten time and stayed at a friend’s house too long.

He heard a car coming from behind, fast. For an instant he wondered why its lights were off. Dazed, he didn’t jump aside but looked back at the rapidly approaching object  as if it were just a weightless shadow. What a nightmare, he thought, as it hit him, launching him into the air. He struck a lamppost and landed in the bushes against the wall.

The car, a blue Lexus, squealed to a stop and remained still for about ten seconds, the engine still running, the boy’s smashed body not far behind. No one came out from the houses nearby and no light came on. The two people in the car, the boy who was driving and the girl in the passenger seat, both smelling alcohol, exchanged a few words but didn’t get out. Then the girl said, Let’s go. The boy nodded silently, suppressing the fear on his face. He revved up the engine and the car took off like a frightened deer.