Free Past Darkness by Sam Millar

last overture to secure some body heat. This time she would be a bit craftier. She eased over stealthily towards Tara’s body. She could feel the heat, even though a couple of inches divided them. Then, disaster. Her leg touched Tara’s.
    ‘ Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ! That’s sore. Why’d you nip me in the thigh, Tara? I was only trying to keep warm.’
    Tara trained her eyes upward, not even deigning to glance in Dorothy’s direction.
    ‘Don’t ever touch me. I don’t like to be touched – by anyone. It creeps me out. Make the same mistake again, and you won’t get off so easy, with just a little nip.’
    ‘Can…I at least get the bear, and hold it? Please . Can I?’
    Tara rolled her eyes. ‘As long as it stops you yakking for a few minutes, get it from the mattress.’
    Dorothy scuttled up the mattress, found the hole, removed the bear, and scuttled quickly back in from the freezing air. Under the blanket, she kissed the bear and hugged it tightly.
    ‘I can’t believe you’re kissing that old thing. I saw a rat pissing on it, a couple of nights ago.’
    ‘You’re only saying that to be mean. Isn’t she, Mister Bear? You’ll keep us safe, won’t you, Mister Bear?’
    ‘You probably believe that, don’t you?’ Tara replied, sarcastically.
    ‘Things happen when you believe. That’s what my mum always says.’
    ‘Well, isn’t your ma the smart one? Bet she’s as thick as you.’
    ‘My mum isn’t thick. Why are you so mean? I’m not talking to you any more.’
    ‘Best news I’ve heard since you came here.’
    Ten seconds went by.
    ‘Where did you find the bear?’
    ‘Thought you weren’t talking to me? If you must know, it was hid behind a hole in the wall.’
    ‘What’s its name?’
    ‘Name? You really are a kid, aren’t you? How the hell would I know? There’s something scribbled on its left paw, but the letters are faded. “King”, or something like that. I couldn’t make it out too well. Probably the name of the stupid kid who owned it a million years ago.’
    Dorothy began scrutinising the paw. ‘I can see it, some sort of name. Not King. Kang…? Kinl? No. Ka…Karl! That’s his name: Karl…’

Chapter Fifteen
    Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad . 
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
    N ight. Karl. Walking in slow motion. Fog everywhere. In the distance, a large Victorian house looms, penetrating the miasma like in an old Hammer horror movie. The house will devour him, swallow him in one gulp. His heart is beating so hard it hurts his ribcage. He tries to stop walking, but the house’s magnetic grip keeps pulling him in.
    I don’t want to go there. Please…someone…help…
    His shoes start tripping him. Too big. He kicks them off, and continues onwards like a zombie. The house is getting bigger and bigger, his fear more acute. Trousers start slipping from his waist. He almost stumbles over them as they slide down his legs. Wiggles out of them. Followed by his underwear. The coat he’s wearing feels like a large gorilla straddling him. It pulls away from him like a leaf in autumn. To his embarrassment, he is now completely naked, but bizarrely getting smaller, thinner.
    A child.
    Help me…please…someone . But it’s not his deep, baritone voice he hears pleading. It’s a squeaky, pubescent echo of anxiety and panic.
    Closer. The house comes closer. Its shadow reaching out to him. Threatening to grab.
    Please …
    His hand touches the door handle. He turns it. Involuntary. Door opens. A tidal wave of blood is unleashed like water into a sinking ship. Fills his mouth with the taste of iron and dry cotton. He’s gagging. Choking. Drowning.
    The bloody tide pulls him inside. A body floats by. His mother. Naked. Dead. Her skin shredded. He reaches for the body. Pulls himself on to it. Like it’s a bloated surfboard. Holding on for dear life. Gripping her spongy breasts. His face rests in her face. The