Black Static #65 (September-October 2018) by 2018 Sep-Oct (epub)

Author:2018 Sep-Oct (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New Horror Fiction & Film
Publisher: TTA Press
Published: 2018-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

***

That night he fell asleep almost immediately once more. As he drifted into slumber odd bars of melody reverberated in his ears, disconnected to any greater musical narrative, hooking into his fragmenting thoughts like tenacious barnacles.

He woke to a thump from downstairs. He sat bolt upright in bed, a hot flush of panic rising in his cheeks. His telephone was located in the hallway outside the kitchen. Clearly there would be no chance of calling the police unheard by any intruder.

But he couldn’t just do nothing. Uncertain as to what he should do, he crept to the top of the stairs and listened. He could hear someone shuffling about in the kitchen, as if searching for some item of value. Well, they’d find nothing there, other than a rice steamer badly in need of a wash and a selection of tarnished plates and bowls. He descended into the darkness. By the time he reached the hallway the burglar had begun wheezing, the hoarse breaths clearly audible even through the door. What kind of house-breaker was this? Masayuki was tempted to go back to his room and let the guy get on with it.

The breathing ceased with a suddenness that almost made him jump. He tried not to breathe himself. Had the man managed to slip back out the way he had come?

Then another sound started up. Interspersed with grunts and gasps, an a cappella rendition of the song he had heard the night before drifted out. It was unmistakable – the same cadences, rising and falling without ever hitting the same sequence of notes twice, the same indeterminate resolution that still, somehow, looped back to its starting point to begin again.

The singer sounded old; or at least very, very tired. It made Masayuki weary just to hear him. The song went on, round and round and round, breath catching in the burglar’s throat, Masayuki paralysed with indecision as his own throat vibrated in sympathy.

An indeterminate period of time later the sound faded to silence. Swallowing, he eased the kitchen door open. The room was empty. The window was locked as firmly as it had been when he went to bed. No drawers had been opened. The chair was tucked beneath the small dining table as it always was.

The charcoal smell was strong enough now to catch in his throat. After he returned to bed he lay awake until dawn, the stench lodged in his nostrils like a stain.

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