Gulf by Shelly Campbell

Author:Shelly Campbell [Campbell, Shelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: author, dark, Fiction, Fantasy, horror, Literary, Paranormal, writer
Publisher: Silver Shamrock Publishing
Published: 2021-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

When night comes, I face the draft alone again with the same dogged determination that’s got me through a mostly forgotten life. I’ve wobbled around enough on loose-laced skates because there was no parent there to tie them. I’ve explained to umpteen teachers how Mom didn’t forget to bring in the class snack she signed up for, she was just sick. I’ve forged parental signatures on field trip forms, opened backpacks with n o lunches within, fished dusty change from beneath vending machines, shimmied into swimming trunks from the lost and found crate at the pool, and I’ve sat on sets of stairs at empty schools and waited and waited and waited. This is no different. No-one is coming to help. It’s just me.

The five panel door doesn’t shudder tonight. Cold air oozes past the nailed-on boards. Something scratches at the bottom gap, quietly, but insistently examining every crack and warp in the plank barricading it. I click on my flashlight and pad to the stove, shivering. The scratching stops when my weak circle of light hits the door, but as I shovel firewood into the maw of the stove, I feel the maneater is still there. This feels more like when a cat pauses before it pounces. As soon as I retreat to the couch, the scraping resumes hurried and frustrated, despite my trusty flashlight still spilling light through the cracks in the door. I get up again and flick the living room light switch on, but the scratching only hesitates for a moment, before digging in more.

It’s not enough light. My stomach sinks. Paired with the sun today, my flashlight must have been just enough extra illumination to drive them back from the office. Without daylight impeding them, I’d bet the maneaters could crush any light I aim in their direction, no matter how bright.

I sit swaying on the foldout bed like it’s a life raft in a sea of sleep. The hammer and key are anchors in my hands. Somewhere in the twilight hours, the scratching fades away, and an odd thought strikes me. I set the hammer across my lap, flick the flashlight back on, and fish the notepad from my crumpled jeans on the floor, squinting at my hurried handwriting. I count every date on the list. There’s 112 of them.

“Shit.” I whisper, blinking at the bottom of the five-panel and deflating against the back of the couch. 112 dates. Each one’s another dimension, and there’s only one dimension per day. If Everett knew the dates repeated themselves, he’s been through them more than once. That means he’s been trying to reset the door for over 112 days. Christ, that’s more than three months. All Winter, maybe into Spring. And he didn’t figure it out. How the hell do you think you’re going to fix it? You’re nothing. Your own family thinks you’re nothing. And you only have another month and a half here. What happens if you leave without fixing it, and they get out, the maneaters get out? They’re real.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.