The Door and Other Uncanny Tales by Dmetri Kakmi

Author:Dmetri Kakmi [Kakmi, Dmetri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBTQIA+, sci-fi/fantasy, paranormal, horror, family-drama, crime gay, lesbian, demisexual, asexual, art/visual, ghost, body horror, prostitution, murder, abortionist, ancient evil
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2020-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

JACKSON’S COVE

10:39 P.M. AUGUST 15, 1991

“I’m not saying it’s a done deal,” Sid said. “I’m just saying let’s see what happens. Okay?”

“We don’t know anything about this guy,” Orestes replied.

“Won’t be the first time.”

“True,” Orestes mumbled, but he doubted Sid heard him above the roar of the sea and the hiss of coastal scrub tossed by the wind.

It was a cold night. They stood beside the blue sedan, taking the full blast coming off the bay. The sea was an invisible but palpable presence in the dark, highlighted here and there with occasional phosphorescent caps.

“Let’s go,” Orestes said. “It’s freezing out here.”

All the same it was a relief to be outside, to breathe fresh air. The interior of the stolen car had been hot and stuffy during the long drive. Orestes had felt queasy and nauseous. His head spun and he felt as if he was variously light and airless or being crushed under concrete. More than once he came close to throwing up. Rather than tell Sid to pull over so he could vomit on the roadside, he’d taken another swig of Coke from the plastic liter bottle, burped, and hoped for the best.

Sid flicked his cigarette away and followed the flying sparks across the empty carpark toward the cabins that lined the western side of the cove.

The chill cut through Orestes’s denim jacket, primping his skin to gooseflesh. He crossed his arms over his chest and ran after Sid.

“Wait up.” He burped again, tripped, kept going.

He was doing this job because they had no money and nowhere to sleep. Sid had found the man on a gay pickup bulletin board and struck a deal about which Sid was unusually cagey.

Orestes caught up with Sid and said, “What’s that smell?”

“Fertilizer from the vegetable gardens up there.”

“Up there” was the embankment behind the cabins. It was high and steep, with a rutted road that had brought them to a muddy patch of ground that passed for a carpark where the cabins ended. Vegetable gardens covered the flat land for miles beyond.

“Stinks like shit.”

Sid flashed the torch he carried at a piece of paper in his hand. “Look for bungalow eighteen and quit yapping.”

“It’s probably that one.” Orestes pointed at a simple wooden structure about a quarter of the way along. A lonesome lightbulb shone on a blue door. All the other cabins were in darkness.

The sandy path in front of the cabins was so narrow they had to walk in single file—vegetation on the left, cabins on the right. All of them appeared to be locked and deserted for winter, a line of gray sentinels on the watch.

Orestes said, “A hangout for desperadoes.”

“We should move in.”

They chuckled and hurried along, huddled against the cold.

The entire length of the windswept coast—almost a mile—was filled with fibro huts that sat on the sand, sea spray and foliage at the doorstep. A strip of unkempt tarmac ran at an elevated level behind the cabins, separating them from the vegetable plots covering the

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