Red Hairing by R M Wild

Author:R M Wild [Wild, R M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mod 29 Media
Published: 2020-03-22T22:00:00+00:00

In the bathroom mirror, I twisted to see my bare back. Thanks to the cot springs, my shoulder blades looked like a feral cat had jumped me from behind.

After a long, hot shower—one in which I tried not to touch any of the grimy walls and most certainly did not lean my elbows against the tiles and let the water run down my chin like the protagonists always did in the movies after an emotional ordeal—I joined Phyllis at the kitchen table.

Night had fallen and the windows were dark enough to populate the empty chairs with our reflections.

Still no red light.

I sipped my soup, but wasn’t hungry. I kept thinking of my sister up in that horrible room, her wrists in shackles. The fear I had suffered when I was up there was probably only a fraction of what she must have felt.

“You need to eat, Dear,” Phyllis said. “Keep up your strength.”

“I haven’t heard from Mettle yet.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it. The booking takes a few hours.”

I needed to get my mind off this mess. Usually, a good book did the trick, but if I read on my phone, I’d be one swipe away from a look at those horrible shackles and yet if I borrowed a book from Phyllis, I’d be worried about where it had come from.

I glanced at the dishwasher. Phyllis saw me glance.

“You want a swig?”

“You’re like the opposite of an AA sponsor,” I said. I needed to remove myself from temptation. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“You do that, Dear.”

Phyllis took my bowl and poured the uneaten portion back into the bubbling pot.

I went upstairs, changed into my pajamas, and crawled into bed. It was only a little after six, but the room was pitch black.

No red light.

For once, peace. I closed my eyes, and must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew, the room lit up with red.

I sat up.

It looked like the apocalypse outside my window. The lighthouse must have been back with a vengeance, this time flashing and whirling.

Was Eldritch back already?

I checked my watch. 10:30.

I shuffled over to the window. The red lights whipped over the trees, faded, and then came roaring back like a sadistic rave.

Sirens followed.

A parade of cops and ambulances and firetrucks were tearing down Beacon Street—headed straight for the lighthouse.

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