'The LandLady'

.."No my dear", she said. "Only you".
He gently arose form his seat and proceeded with ginger steps towards the stairs, still holding the tea in one hand and a cookie in the other. With every step he took he heard a wheeze, as he reached the fourth floor, he faintly heard what sounded like whispers, but as he drew closer to the door he recognized the sound as Beethoven's Fifth. As he reached for the door handle, she lightly cried out, "Why my dear, what exactly do you expect to find there? He slowly took a step back taking a glimpse at her warm smile, but to only find a grim and cold frown as she stood by the railings, head up straight, shoulders far apart, he braced his tea with a bare horror as he took a sight of her hands, milliseconds elapsed like ages, he dropped the tea and cookie, crumbs rolling about, led his eyes to the door, took the cold handle and as it part of him opening, his chest rising in temperature, stepping forward into the room. The light exhorting from one point, a small table with a deck of Spanish playing cards before it, and behold, those that seemed more than friends, just sitting along the table, his breath slowly inhaling, hitting the warm and fuzzy floor with his damp forehead, his eyes cast over a small table with faces starring at him with cold dead eyes, as manikins at a dresser, two words he heard, as gentle as honey tea on a winter afternoon, "Mister Weaver.."