Negative Space by Mike Robinson

Author:Mike Robinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror fiction, spine chilling terror, horror suspense thriller, california, supernatural thriller, agras
Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC
Published: 2021-04-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

I

“So one strawberry says to another, if you hadn’t been so fresh last night, we wouldn’t be in this jam today!”

Southwest was telling jokes again, at least this pilot was, and the effort brightened Ritter. It was a family-friendly joke, a joke with combed hair and a wide 1950s smile. Wholesome.

Not like the world going haywire below him.

I gotta become a real writer. Whatever the hell that meant.

Chuckling next to him. Ritter noticed his neighbor, a man with a bushy mustache, shake his head.

“My friend was on a Southwest flight one time,” said the neighbor, “where the pilot told a joke that probably got him fired.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The captain asked the co-pilot if he blew bubbles when he was a kid. The co-pilot said yes, and the captain said that he’d seen him that morning, and that he said hi.”

“Wait, what?”

“Bubbles. He said that he’d seen Bubbles. You don’t get it?”

“Oh, that he blew a guy named Bubbles.” This time Ritter shook his head. “Har har.”

“Best part was the static shock it sent through the plane. You could feel it.” The man advanced a callused hand. “I’m Walt, by the way.”

“Norm.”

They shook hands. Ritter noticed a butterfly tattoo on the back of Walt’s hand.

“Should I leave you alone during this flight?” Walt asked.

“Why? Do I look like I want to be left alone?”

Walt made a mas-o-menos gesture. “Borderline, I’d say. You look like you got something on your mind.”

“I’m definitely a little disoriented after this trip. I was in Twilight Falls for an art exhibition. Rather strange one, too.”

“You an artist?”

“No. More a critic. Journalist. I write for an art magazine in Los Angeles. Direct Canvas?” Ritter produced his business card.

Walt studied it, wistfully. “Sounds like one hell of a review’s in store.”

In the back of his mind, Ritter thought about Max Higgins and the girl who had come to see him. They had interrupted the show. Had it been an act contrived by Feldman? Who knew. Maybe he ought to contact Max when he got back. See if there was some sense to be made of the parallel universe glimpsed in Twilight Falls that was edging into his own.

“You be careful with that arsenal you got,” Walt said randomly.

Ritter raised an eyebrow. “Arsenal?”

“Yeah. The English language. With one little stab or pinch of a nicely-sharpened word, you can kill things. Or, even worse, make them immortal.”

“I want to illuminate,” Ritter said. “Instruct. Inspire.”

“Without being in a classroom, I take it?”

“Well, what if the city is my classroom?”

Walt chuckled. Down the aisle, flight attendants brought drinks and pretzels and wide fixed smiles. Walt popped open his bag of pretzels and crammed them past his salt-and-pepper mustache.

Bong. The captain came on. Descent toward Los Angeles had begun. And had they heard the one about the grape and the raisin?

***

They drove for many silent miles and hours, winding southbound down Highway 1. For the first time since the demoralizing start of his freshman year at Rheta, Max felt no urge to draw. It didn’t bother him, though this indifference did.

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