On the Wailing Banks (excerpt)
There's a door in the creek behind grandma's house that wasn't there before. And something behind it is whispering beautiful, terrible things.
Status: Submitted
Excerpt
The overgrown creek bed stretches empty in both directions. Just roots, rocks, and grass.
I turn back to the door. Put my hand on it. Lower my ear to it.
…to keep the dream open. open the skin lock. let the breath under. let the breath in…
The voices—voice?—is coming from inside the door, but it feels like it’s right behind me.
My breath comes fast and the sun feels more like pressure than heat. Something behind the door…
I should leave.
…we left our teeth in the water where the soft parts rot first…
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG
The sound is a bucket of cold water. I jerk back and almost fall. My ears are ringing.
Grandma’s iron triangle. It hangs from the porch rafter with bailing twine, and it always means one thing: Come home.