LUMP by Claire L. Fishback

Author:Claire L. Fishback
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short stories, short story collections, horror stories, horror collection, mixed genre stories, Lump, short horror stories collection, short horror fantasy sci-fi stories
Publisher: Dark Doorways Press, LLC
Published: 2019-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

JORDAN DIALED SARA’S cell, hoping to catch her before either of them went to bed. She didn’t answer. He tried the house phone. No answer. He left a message at both numbers and crawled into bed. Maybe she’d gone to bed early.

Wouldn’t she have called first?

SARA WOKE TO THE PHONE ringing. Not her cell. The jangly kitchen phone. A leftover of the previous residents, the yellow, corded phone sat across the kitchen by the refrigerator plugged into an old answering machine. Sara hauled herself up, using the toilet, then the counter, for leverage. She squinted her eyes against the bright bathroom light, against the pain in her cheek where she must have struck the toilet on her way to the floor.

She stumbled down the hall and stopped just shy of the kitchen door. The knock on her head didn’t strike the memory of blood everywhere from her mind. She sidled to the entry and peeked inside. No blood. It had all been cleaned up.

It was never there.

She crossed the kitchen just as the old answering machine picked up. Sara and Jordan’s cheery voices informed the caller they weren’t home, then the recording began.

Heavy breathing came through the line.

“Help . . . me . . .” Jordan’s voice groaned. An electric jolt prickled Sara’s skin. “Help.” The line went dead.

She grabbed the phone and dialed his cell. Three tones beeped in her ear, extra loud.

We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed.

She tried again. Same result. Maybe it was the landline. She turned and frantically tried to remember where she’d left her cell phone. The living room.

Sara ran to find it, aware of the throbbing in her head. Her phone showed two missed calls from Jordan. She pushed the phone icon and called him back. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. After twenty rings or so, the line died. Call lost. She called him again, panic shuddering its way up her abdomen. Her breathing turned into gasping. A sharp pain dug into her gut.

Every time she called him she got a different result. Three tones. Crackling. The line never connecting. Finally, Jordan’s groggy voice answered.

Sara burst into tears.

“Sara? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

“What? What is it?” She could see him sitting up in a strange bed in a strange room. Would he get the next flight out if it was serious enough?

“I couldn’t reach you,” she said. “I passed out in the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. You were dead or dying.”

“Blood? Where? Did you cut yourself?”

“No.” She looked at her hand where the blood soaked the bandage. “I mean, yes, I did, but—” But what? Did the knock on the head rearrange the facts? “I was . . . just scared. I guess.”

“We’re getting a dog when I get home. A big one.” He laughed, but it was mirthless. “You said you passed out. Are you okay? Did you eat today? Drink enough water?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. I just—after all the blood—I-I guess I got woozy.”

“How bad is the cut? Send me a picture.

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