The Silver Coast and Other Stories by Daniel Powell

Author:Daniel Powell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, occult, fantasy, paranormal, apocalypse, short stories, supernatural, science fiction, dark fantasy, zombie, florida, oregon, dystopic, daniel powell
Publisher: Daniel Powell

The Timucuan Portal

We’d been in the house on Arkham Lane for a little over three months when it happened. Ours was the two-story colonial in the left corner of the cul-de-sac—number 619. We were in the process of unpacking, with many of our things still in boxes.

I don’t imagine the government will be returning any of it anytime soon, but that’s okay with us. It’s all pretty much spoiled now.

I was hanging a set of drapes in the bedroom I shared with Marilyn when my boy burst into the room, the anguish clear in his voice. “It was there, Daddy! In the bushes!” he cried. They were words that cut me to the marrow at the time, and ones that will haunt me—hell, maybe all of us—to the end of my days.

I stood there staring at my little Davey, him dressed in dirt-streaked red shorts and an old teal Jaguars t-shirt. He was wearing flip-flops and there were bits of leaves and brush in his shaggy hair. He held his right arm out to me with his palm open and his fingers splayed wide. His arm was covered in a thin coat of black sediment—like he’d dipped it clear to the elbow in a barrel of crude oil.

“Davey!” I said, dismayed by his tears. He was a tough little guy and he usually made it a point not to cry when he hurt himself. “What happened, Bub?” I went to him and knelt down and pulled him into a fierce hug.

“There was something rustling around in the bushes behind the shed, Daddy! I was playing there with Sam and he’s gone! Sam went into the bushes and…and he’s gone!”

I wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and his arm fell to his side. Some of the gunk smeared on his shirt.

“What happened to your arm, Davey?”

“I reached into it. I was trying to pull Sam back. But it got him, Daddy! And it was wet. I had a hold of Sam’s leg and he was barking and when it touched me, it was wet!” He started to cry again and I hugged him another minute and then hurried him down the hallway to the bathroom.

“I’m sure Sam’s okay, Davey,” I said as I worked the soap into a lather. “He’s a big dog. He can take care of himself.”

Whatever Davey had been into, it was just as sticky as maple syrup. It took fifteen minutes of scrubbing to get his arm clean. By the time I was finished, my boy looked exhausted. His flesh was a bright pink from all the scrubbing and I herded him down to his bedroom and helped him change into clean clothes.

“I think I need to sleep now,” he said. Such simple words. He walked over to his bed and crawled on top of the covers and was out like a light.

I headed into the kitchen, where Marilyn was putting contact paper down in the cupboards. I grabbed a beer and told her about what happened to Davey.

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