We have another visitor at the house.

Angela woke me up this afternoon, and behind her was a man. Someone else who says he knew my father.

“I should have come sooner,” he said. His name is Samuel Hayne. He waited while I unstuck myself from the sofa and found some food. Norman hung around the door like a butler, looking grave but aimless.

I sized up the visitor in glances as I ate. He looked about forty odd, short dark hair, greying at the temples; pretty thin, but he looks like he could hurt someone – he’s the sort of person you see in town and step around. He wears heavy boots and a long leather coat, light brown but dark in splodges.

It wasn’t until I stopped eating that I saw that his eyes are bright red. Not just the irises, which are like red marble, but the whole eyeballs are the colour of blood, with only the blackness of the pupils offering any hope.

“They used to be magical,” he explained, because I was staring. “Now they’re just normal eyes. Obviously. I suppose I should be glad that I bothered with the full works when I changed them.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Used to be magical.”
“I’m a greyman.” He said, explaining nothing.
“And why are they just normal eyes now?” Asked Angela.
He looked at us, each in turn.
“What do you think has happened?” He said. “All the world's magic has died.”

Angela ran upstairs to her room. Norman joined me on the sofa; he still wears his shirt and smart trousers – he must look like my social worker.
“What do you think has happened?” Samuel asked again.
“All I know is that my father died. The others think it’s about magic spells.”
“But you… I’m sorry for the loss of your father. He was an important man. You’ve seen his study?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you’re sceptical about magic?”
“Yes.” I tried to ignore his eyes.
“What would it take to convince you?”
“Proof.”
“Well then, I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for your doubts. Because there is no magic, not anymore. It all fell off the edge of the world.”
“And you’re saying that’s why my father died?”
“Of course. Caught out by a cheap trick, so to speak.”
“You know how he died?”
“What did the doctors say?”
“Not much of anything useful. They said it was like acid ate his lungs.” That was the first time I had to say that out loud.

All those potions in the study had to be brewed, and the chemical ingredients gave off fumes, and the fumes were inhaled over the years. My father would have protected himself against toxins, just as it’s possible to protect the body against aging, but if he did it too quickly, if he cut corners, then his lungs would have held the corrosive at bay, rather than being renewed. To grow new flesh is much harder. And when the spell failed – when all the spells failed on Halloween – then the walls collapsed.
“And my wife.” Said Norman. “Did the same thing happen to her?”
“I never met your wife I’m afraid, so I couldn’t guess her fate.”

And there was the mystery solved. My father’s last words and his need for you, as he lay, confused by his own death, had been answered. If you believe in magic, which my father did, and I must, then it was the loss of magic that killed him.

I told Samuel he could stay the night if he wanted. It seems like the thing to do now. I thought over what he’d told us, and put together some words of gratitude. I began by explaining what my father’s last words had been, and how he’d now brought some understanding.

Samuel said my father would have known why he was dying. He would have felt the magic ebb from him, and he would have known. But a power capable of expelling all magic from the world is greater than anyone or anything known to exist. My father was careless because he couldn’t imagine any force that could take magic away from him. That was the answer he was searching for. Samuel knows witches, wizards, sorcerers and warlocks all over the world, and no one knows what happened that night.