Shrouded Horror E-Book

KC Grifant

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 272

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

From the bowels of NYC to the farthest regions of space, Shrouded Horror: Tales of the Uncanny feature people encountering the unseen terrors hovering at the edge of everyday life. Whether it’s a glimpse of a malicious creature lurking behind your reflection or an unusual thunderstorm heralding a needy stranger, oddities loom, ready to reveal themselves.

With hints of The Twilight Zone, Creepshow, and Black Mirror, this collection of short horror stories—the cosmic, the weird, and the fantastical—will settle into the back of your head and under your skin. They will make you wonder what hidden horrors lie there, just beyond the curtain of reality.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FOR KC GRIFANT

Grifant’s exceptional ability to lure readers down the darkest of alleyways is on full display. Here, the feeders become the food and the prey becomes the predator. You’ll be mesmerized by her Tales of the Uncanny, and there will be no driver waiting to return you to safety from the Shrouded Horror.

REBECCA ROWLAND, BRAM STOKER AWARD FINALIST AND AUTHOR OF WHITE TRASH & RECYCLED NIGHTMARES

Shrouded Horror is evidence of KC Grifant's total mastery of short form fiction. Grifant writes with a classical sensibility for plot and modern nuance in her character work, making this collection perfect for those wanting old-school scares with contemporary craft and style.

TREVOR WILLIAMSON, PODCAST HOST OF SLEY HOUSE PRESENTS

Shrouded Horror reads like a grotesque funhouse ride, you never know what's going to jump out and scare you next! A wide-ranging collection offering something for horror fans of all stripes, KC Grifant has a penchant for twisted tropes and inventive monsters. Maybe you've seen zombies shambling out of the shadows before, but what's this one doing with a blue balloon tied around its wrist? Utterly delightful.

BRIAN ASMAN, AUTHOR OF MAN, F*CK THIS HOUSE AND GOOD DOGS

KC Grifant’s Shrouded Horror: Tales of the Uncanny is a veritable time machine. It will transport you back to a time when, as a young reader, you curled up beneath a blanket on your couch and devoured stories by R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike. Grifant’s stories beckon you in with the seemingly innocuous crook of a finger and then propel you through fantastical worlds of terrifying creatures, all-too-real scenarios, and creeping dread. I found something new and exciting on every page. So curl up on your couch, steel your nerves, and let the weirdness in.

TIFFANY MICHELLE BROWN, AUTHOR OF HOW LOVELY TO BE A WOMAN: STORIES AND POEMS AND CO-HOST OF THE HORROR IN THE MARGINS PODCAST.

KC Grifant's Shrouded Horror is a testament to why collections are my favorite way to digest horror. From the end of the world, to cosmic circuses, to visitors climbing down from the valleys of the moon, these stories are captivating in their weirdness, frights, and fantasies. A standout collection from a master of the short form. Dive in if you dare, but leave the door cracked just a tad. The path back home may not be the same road you began your trip.

TIMAEUS BLOOM, EDITOR OF HOWLS FROM THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Grifant's stories are deliciously wicked with flawed but interesting characters and are perfect for lovers of Tales from the Crypt and Goosebumps, or any story where comeuppance is a key theme.

JR BILLINGSLEY, AUTHOR AND EDITOR, SLEY HOUSE PUBLISHING

Grifant expertly demonstrates her creative prowess in this diverse collection of haunts. From urban creepy crawlies, to survivalist, environmental, apocalyptic and sci-fi terrors, Shrouded Horror draws you in like a spider to its web, wrapping itself around you in its cold, wet grasp. Each story is uniquely crafted with similar themes of acceptance, resilience and empowerment amongst a backdrop of strong female protagonists and underdogs that'll have you cheering from the bleachers. This is a must-read for any horror fan.

FRANCESCA MARIA, AUTHOR OF THEY HIDE: SHORT STORIES TO TELL IN THE DARK

Grifant has a knack for devising the uncanny and uncomfortable. She delivers scares and shivers with tight plotting and descriptive prose.

HENRY HERZ, AUTHOR OF I AM SMOKE AND I AM GRAVITY

This collection takes so many of horror's favorite tropes and sub-genres and twists them into something new and horrifying. Regardless of what poisons you usually pick, there's at least one story in here that will feel like it was written just for you.

TASHA REYNOLDS, CO-FOUNDER OF THE SINISTER SCOOP

SHROUDED HORROR

TALES OF THE UNCANNY

KC GRIFANT

Copyright © 2024 by KC Grifant. All rights reserved.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any persons living, dead, or otherwise animated is strictly coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

Print ISBN 978-1-956824-32-2

Digital ISBN 978-1-956824-33-9

Dragon’s Roost Press

2470 Hunter Rd.

Brighton, MI 48114

thedragonsroost.biz

To my English teachers.

Your encouragement and enthusiasm

for storytelling helped more than you know.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Vermin

Gifting

All Aboard

Terror on the Boulevard

Just Another Apocalypse

What Storms Bring

The Color of Friendship

Lonely Arcade

The Sighting

The U Train

The Perfect Gift

Unrest

The Night Call

Better Halves

From Sea to Shining Sea

Blessed

The Circus King

Puddle of Comradely Despair

Macabre Elves

The Peerlings

Acknowledgments

Publication History

About the Author

Also by KC Grifant

Dragon’s Roost Press

INTRODUCTION

This short collection is the culmination of several years of work. Growing up, I loved Goosebumps, The Twilight Zone, Tales from the Crypt, Are You Afraid of The Dark? and other episodic storytelling where something goes deliciously wrong. The ability to tell a full story in a short space—often with a satisfying surprise or twist—impressed on me the brilliance of quick, powerful tales at a young age.

Short stories, like any creative work, act a little like time capsules, reflecting a certain period in life. “Better Halves” and “What Storms Bring”, two of my most popular stories, capture the feeling of paradoxical isolation while in dense cities or being with family. They also encapsulate my time in New England, where a unique culture and harsh weather intermingle. “Vermin,” “The U-Train,” “The Night Call,” and “Puddle of Comradely Despair,” meanwhile, relay the experience of living in Manhattan as a 20 something-year-old, along with the deep anxieties of surviving solo as a young adult in an intense environment. And stories like “All Aboard,” “From Sea to Shining Sea,” and “Just Another Apocalypse” are manifestations of environmental and global unease.

The stories in this collection are odd and offbeat, but they all share themes in which something is off about reality. Whether it’s a haunted jewelry box, a subway ride gone curiously wrong, or a glimpse of something malicious behind the mirror, these tales explore what horrors may lie just at the periphery of our consciousness. It is a place where time and reality bend, and where we find our ordinary selves woefully unequipped to deal with the unimaginable.

The next time you find yourself alone, I hope these tales give you pause and make you wonder if something uncanny is about to reveal itself—if only you look.

-KC Grifant

VERMIN

“Screw this,” I said.

Emma looked unmoved, her face ringed by a mane of furry hood.

“We have to be patient,” she said. “You want authentic city pizza or not?”

The line stretched three blocks ahead of us, made up of tourists and locals waiting to get into what looked like, frankly, a hole-in-the-wall.

“Even my goddamn soul is cold,” I declared, still a little high. “I don’t want to wait anymore. Even if it is the best goddamn pizza in the city. Or Brooklyn, whatever. Let’s go to a bar.”

“I’m not leaving. But I’m also not waiting,” Collin said. He was used to getting his way and had gone on about how his “best New York pizza” blog would seal the deal for his A in Media Studies class.

“We’ll pay someone ahead to hook us up,” Colin decided. “Emma, wait here. C’mon, Gary.” He dragged me out of line and marched toward the pizza’s storefront.

“Po’s,” I said, yanking him back. The two cop uniforms waited near the front of the line, too close for comfort given the excess of party drugs we had loaded up on for the night ahead.

As we beelined back to Emma, a guy shambled toward us, grinning under a Yankees baseball cap perched over earmuffs.

“Gentlemen. I overheard your dilemma.” He pointed his cane at us, a flash of silver elegance against a torn windbreaker and layers of frayed sports scarves. “I can get you signature Grizili’s pizza in under ten minutes.”

Collin arched an eyebrow at him. “Go on.”

“For forty bucks, you get Herb’s special: I send a personal text with the order and pick up through a friends-and-family entrance you won’t find on any city guide.”

A particularly nasty gust of wind screamed down the street and we paused to brace against it. For a second I wondered if bones could get frostbite.

“Done,” Collin said between chattering teeth. “I’ll take two slices of pepperoni. Gary?”

“Excuse us a sec.” I tugged Collin aside. “You’re not thinking of going with some rando. You know he’s hustling.”

Collin hissed back, “You just went into a warehouse yesterday with some rando for blow and that worked out.”

“True.” I couldn’t argue. “But if we get mugged you owe me.”

“He can’t mug us. You’re twice his size. And forty bucks is so worth it.”

“He could have a bunch of friends waiting.”

“Well, they’re gonna be SOL. That’s the last of my cash.”

Emma started shaking her head as soon as we filled her in. “Bad idea.”

“We’re cold,” Collin said imperiously, “and have places to go, people to see⁠—”

“People to do—” I chimed in.

“You can hang out here, Em.” Collin curled his lip as if we were standing in a sewer. “Or come with us.”

Emma sighed under the pierce of Collin’s ice-blue eyes, her self-esteem visibly crumbling under the full force of his persuasion.

“Whatever,” she said. “As long as I get a slice.”

“We give him the cash after,” Collin said. “And if he gets weird Gary will handle it.”

“Sure, I’ll protect your weak asses.” Typical. Just cause I was big I was supposed to be the bodyguard. “As long as he doesn’t have a gun. Or knife. Or pepper spray.”

Collin rewarded us with a smile and waved down Herb.

“It’ll be ready as soon as we get there,” Herb said after taking our orders. He led us between two bodegas in a space that barely qualified as an alleyway and tugged at a boarded-up door next to a row of trashcans.

“Do tell, Herb, how you managed such a lucrative connection to Grizili’s?” Collin said.

“My old girlfriend.” Herb wrestled open the door, revealing a set of steps. “Cheated on me with one of the cashiers. To make up for it she introduced me to the friends-and-family route.”

Bitterness made Herb’s voice husky, reminding me of one of our dealers on campus who always insisted on hanging out and rambling on about his latest ex. We’d do rock-paper-scissors to decide who had to meet with him.

A shadow skittered along the wall as Herb plunged down the stairs through the doorway. Not the first rat I’ve seen, but this one looked big.

“Um, guys? Let’s maybe get burritos instead,” I said. “I'm not feeling this. Not at all.” Something rustled in one of the trashcans. “Did this place pass food inspection?”

“This escapade will be perfect for my blog.” Collin gave my arm a squeeze before following Herb.

“I am not going down there,” I said.

“Don’t wuss out now,” Emma said. “I’m literally starving, and we’ve lost our place in line.” She disappeared after Collin.

I groaned and shuffled down the steps. We turned on our cell phone flashlights to keep up with Herb through a tunnel just wide enough for two people to pass side-by-side. The walls were cement, spotted with moisture.

“Is there enough air down here?” I asked. My cell phone shone a shaky spotlight against the back of Collin’s hat. “Ugh, how long will this take?”

“You know,” Herb said, his cane flashing in the dim light, “during the twenties, gangsters moved products with an underground network. High use during prohibition. When people wanted to drink. Fornicate. Do drugs. Your basic gluttony all around.” A hard curve to his voice made me think he had a bone to pick with anyone who liked to have fun.

“And now?” Collin said.

“Now the tunnel is strictly for eats.” Herb laughed. I expected it to be raspy, but his chuckle sounded a little high-pitched, a little unhinged. Something moved from the floor up to the wall above his head.

“Fuck me.” Collin backed up and stomped on my toe. “What the hell is that?” Three phone lights danced on the ceiling. A few feet above us, the edge of a tiny, furred foot disappeared.

“Bat!” Emma shrieked. We listened to it scamper away.

“Or rat.” I fought the urge to run back through the door and into the subzero wind, which didn’t seem so bad now by comparison.

“Weird things down here, aside from me.” Herb rapped his cane against the ceiling. “Shoo. Gone now.”

“What was that?” Collin asked, his normally cool voice pitched.

“Vermin,” Herb said with relish. “Population’s out of control. Poison doesn’t work. Traps don’t work. It’s a real problem. Above ground and below. Gotta contain them.”

“Probably disease-ridden rats,” Emma said. “I hate Brooklyn.”

I was still thinking of going back to the door, but Collin and Emma had started to follow Herb again. My boot crunched into something—I glanced down. Black pebbles, like droppings, lined the tunnel path.

“No way will this end well,” I muttered as we continued on. We had followed a psycho into a mobster tunnel for God’s sake. Now that my high was entirely gone, I could see what a monumentally bad idea this was.

Emma moved in close and squeezed my arm. “You’re hyperventilating,” she whispered. “We got this.” It was like freshman year again, the two of us looking for someone to buy us alcohol and getting lost in less-than-ideal parts of town.

“This pizza better be worth it,” I whispered back.

“Mozzarella straight from Italy and unbelievable crust, according to reviews,” she said. “So worth it. We’ve done way sketchier things.”

I had to laugh at that. “Remember the drug run in Grand Central?”

“Oh my God,” Emma laughed too, and Collin sniffed ahead of us, probably miffed at the inside joke. He didn’t like to be out of the loop.

Herb paused and our laughter cut short. The cell phone lights bounced off the side of his face, making him look half formed and deranged. Like a guy about to go on a killing spree.

This was it. Collin sucked in his breath and Emma gripped my arm like a vise. I took a breath and tensed, ready to launch at him if Herb attacked.

“We’re here,” Herb said simply and pointed up with his cane, where three stairs led to another door. He beamed and ran a hand through his hair, looking for all the world like a pleased host.

“I smell it,” Collin said just as the aroma of pizza hit me, particularly enticing after our adrenaline-fueled walk through the underbelly of the block. We hurried forward when Herb grabbed Collin’s arm.

“Payment,” Herb said.

Collin fished out two twenties from his jeans.

Herb rubbed the bills and pointed again with his cane. “Enjoy.”

“Could he be any creepier,” Emma whispered as we popped out into a small cement room, crammed with a broken fridge and shelves piled with empty boxes and random junk. I took a breath, welcoming the delicious scents of fresh bread and cheese and peppers, barely masking a musky odor I had come to expect in the city.

Collin looked at me, amused. “Claustrophobic much?”

“I am literally salivating,” I said and gestured to a pizza box with the signature Grizili’s logo on one of the shelves. Cheesy goodness, the epitome of a New York pizza, thin-crusted and packed with toppings. I took a massive bite, not minding that it burnt the roof of my mouth.

“So yum,” I said through the food.

“Save a bite for me, geez,” Emma said, grabbing her own slice.

“Herb?” Collin called. “Do we go out how we came in, or…?”

I turned to see what he meant. The outline of the door we had come through had no knob. Piles of small black pebbles lined the ground. The urge to flee came back tenfold and I was ready to book it, screw Collin and Emma and the stupid food blog.

“Damn dude,” I moaned, the bite turning into a hard lump in my throat. “How do we get out of here? Hey, Herb?”

Herb’s voice floated through the door, talking to someone. “Big and meaty, should last for a while and keep them occupied.”

“Herb?” Collin said, louder. “What the hell. We can’t get out.”

“Containment.” Herb’s voice came through faintly. “Restaurants pay a hefty chunk to keep the vermin out of their kitchens, any means necessary.”

“I am literally salivating,” someone said above us.

Something moved overhead, but it took my eyes a second to register the sight. Dozens and dozens of furred creatures the size of birds squirmed against each other, covering every inch of the ceiling except for the light fixture. They looked like bats, but bats didn’t have fat little arms with claws and long beaks and tails flickering like the antennae of cockroaches. Bats didn’t turn in unison to stare with four—no six—eyes clustered on their faces, reminiscent of tarantulas.

Emma’s scream sent a nail through my ear as Collin bolted, taking cover under one of the broken shelves. My feet rooted to the floor. A few black pebbles rained around me and I brought my hands to my head.

“Damn dude,” one mimicked in my voice, its six eyes flicking left and right.

“Save a bite!” Another squawked in a trilling imitation of Emma.

Emma screamed again and turned to me in a panic as a few of the creatures flocked from the ceiling onto her head and shoulders. Her face exploded into a patchwork of red slashes, claws and beaks blurring faster than I could see.

“Shit!” I screamed. I grabbed the closest thing to me—a handful of the light bulbs in a box—and hurled it, but the creatures didn’t pause.

Emma fell with a shriek, furred bodies covering her in a mass of tails and muffling her cries. More of the creatures appeared through a small hole in the ceiling as the heady smell of pizza gave way to a stomach-turning stench.

Collin gestured to me from his hiding spot under the shelf, gripping a piece of piping. I started toward him but two of the creatures swooped dangerously close to my face. I turned and pounded on the door with all my strength.

“Herb! Jesus Christ!” I screamed. “Herb, let us out!”

The door didn’t budge.

“Gotta control the vermin,” Herb said. It sounded like he was smiling. “All the vermin.”

“We gave you forty bucks!” It was an absurd thing to say but rage and fear short-circuited in me. “Asshole!”

I whirled at a crash. The creatures rained down on the shelf above Collin, crushing it on top of him.

“Help me, Gary!” Collin panted, swinging his pipe. I froze, back pinned to the door.

The pipe connected with one creature, which sailed harmlessly into the air, flapped, and perched back against the ceiling, watching as a dozen others chittered and dug into Collin.

“Gary! Gary!” the creatures called over his strangled sobs.

I pounded on the door again until the first claws stabbed my legs and back, sharp as switchblades. I spun and staggered, tearing at the hot, squirming bodies.

“Let us out! Save a bite! Gary! Gary! Gary!” Their voices drowned each other out as their tails lashed into my arms, reeking of garbage and musk and piss.

Through my tears and the tufts of fur, I spotted one creature next to our pizza box. All six of its eyes, black as abysses, regarded me.

“So yum,” it said before it jumped.

GIFTING

Lori knew she had found something special when the dented jewelry box showed her the wedding ring resting in the folds of its cushioned interior. It was her mother’s ring, buried three years ago with the body.

She turned the ring over in her hand. The rose gold band, cradling a tiny diamond, was a piece she had always wished for, but her father insisted it stay in her mother’s grave. Lori placed it back in the jewelry box, which she had found yesterday in the secondhand shop.

“Anything you want. I’ll buy it for you,” Robbie had said in the store, a pit stop after city hall. He placed a strand of amethyst beads against her neck. “Your wedding gift.”

He was an ugly man, always on the verge of a heart attack despite his new pacemaker. Not that Lori had many options. Robbie was good to her, mostly—as long she didn’t make him angry or jealous—so she hadn’t protested when they eloped without fanfare, even though she had to squash a part of her that wanted to scream at the thought of being bound to him forever.

“I know you, babe, know you wouldn’t want all the fuss of a ‘real’ wedding,” Robbie had said as they waited for the city clerk to finish the paperwork. “Besides, who would we invite, your family?” He guffawed at that, and she pressed her lips into a smile.

He’ll take care of you, Lori had reminded herself. And since he had been her landlord, she wouldn’t have to worry about being evicted anymore, at least.

That’s when Lori had spotted the dented metal box, wedged in the corner behind a 3-foot cowboy Santa in the crowded store. It was a little rusted but inlaid with shards of mother of pearl, all beneath a layer of dust. A red clearance tag fluttered from it almost urgently.

“That busted piece of crap?” Robbie shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

At home, she had polished the box until it gleamed like ice and settled it on a crocheted doily on her bureau between two candles. Perfect. She lined up items in a row along its peeling red velvet interior. The pewter “L” pendant from her first boyfriend. A handful of nickel-plated rings. Her prize possession, the relentlessly sparkling cubic zirconia studs Robbie gave her after she accused him of cheating. And now, her mother’s ring, like a belated wedding gift.

“How is this possible?” Lori whispered to the box. “Can you…do it again?”

Something about the box reminded her of a lounging, watchful cat. It was ridiculous that she was talking to a jewelry box, but she couldn’t help it. As a kid, she had always liked chatting to her toys, a habit which persisted as an adult—saying “good morning” to her shoes or “thanks” to the coffee pot. It helped with the loneliness, a little.

Other things started showing up in the box each morning, things she had wished for the day before—pieces of jewelry on other people that had caught her eye. The latest addition would appear on top of the other treasures, as if an attentive lover had planted them there to surprise her. Tiny crystals in the ears of the perky mall cashier handing out perfume samples. Creamy pink pearls draped on the collarbone of a mom at the grocery store. A stacked silver snake ring on a fast-food attendant’s finger.

Robbie would never think to surprise her like that, let alone be able to afford the jewelry, but she needed to be sure. She placed a piece of tape over the lid, to test the unlikely event he had an elaborate plot to replicate jewelry she had seen and drank a few Red Bulls so she could keep a watchful eye from her bed that night. The box never moved.

In the morning, she could barely wait for Robbie to leave so she could check the box. The tape was still intact, but a multi-faceted peridot ring in a nest of hammered gold greeted her when she opened the lid. It was the exact piece she had seen on the bank teller when she had gone in to check her nearly nonexistent balance. Robbie insisted on keeping their accounts separate still, despite them being legally married.

“You’re like the freaking tooth fairy,” Lori squealed to the box and stroked its side. It felt warm, like it had been next to a fireplace. She wasn’t losing her mind—the proof was right there in front of her. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but thanks.”

She bit back sudden tears. Damned if an inanimate object didn’t treat her better than any living person on Earth. The box was silent, as usual, but it felt like a close friend listening as she poured out her heart.

“Am I going to get in trouble?” she blurted. “Is the stuff stolen, or replicated or what? Actually, you know what? I don’t care.” She’d deal with it later if she had to. For now, she enjoyed how people treated her differently when she wore the ring, the pearls, the gold. How she felt. Like she could lift her head, look people in the eye. It made her think of life the way she would’ve liked it, the way it might’ve been if mom hadn’t had passed so early. If she and her dad hadn’t commiserated with endless boxes of wine and Buds.

“Keep going,” she told the box.

Even though she tried to make sure Robbie didn’t see, sometimes she forgot. He pushed back her hair one night before she remembered the crystal earrings were still in.

“You got a boyfriend on the side? I don’t think that’s very fair, Lori.” He panted in anger and his cheeks turned the color of a garnet.

The box could give things but couldn’t take them away. A black eye. Bruised rib.

Items aside from jewelry started to appear. Her sister Stefy’s golden valedictorian rope. Her father’s Soldier’s Medal. Things she hadn’t wished for—or didn’t think she had wished for—but nevertheless made an ache creep into her chest. Both reminded her of when she was younger and still talking to her family, still had a family.

“Thank you,” Lori whispered to the box, tears streaming faster than she could wipe them away. She lifted a stray brown hair from the valedictorian rope. Stefy’s. She gripped the rope tightly in her hand. It was the real thing, not a replica. Why had she sworn to never speak to her sister again; why had she skipped her dad’s funeral? The reasoning was blurry behind alcohol-drenched memories. Maybe she’d call Stefy to tell her she found her rope in her stuff, use it as an excuse to reach out.

“I don’t know how to repay you, but maybe this will help,” she said to the box. She emptied it out and glued down the peeling velvet interior. Carefully as a surgeon, she used a tiny hammer from Robbie’s toolbox to gently straight the dent.

“There. Fixed.” Lori felt inordinately pleased as she gave the box one more polish. It almost looked new and seemed to hum, reminding her of a stray kitten’s purr. Before she could put it back on her bureau, the door swung open.

“Hey.” The single word made Lori freeze. Robbie’s voice slurred and spat—a combo that made it clear he was going to have a Bad Night. Therefore, so would she.

She looked at him, widening her eyes so she looked as calm and unaffected as possible, hoping it would rub off on him. “Hi, babe. What’s up?”

He frowned, scanning her for something to be irritated about. His eyes fell on the box, and she resisted gripping it.

“What else do you have in there?” Robbie said. “More jewelry from your other men?”

He darted forward. She turned in time so that his hand shoved her shoulder instead of the jewelry box.

“Don’t you touch it!” she shrieked and slid the jewelry box across the floor until it bumped into the edge of the closet.

Robbie blinked in surprise at her defiance before his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know where this sass is coming from, but it’s not really respectful, Lori.”

Lori dodged his first swing but couldn’t twist away fast enough. He grabbed her waist and they toppled onto the floor.

At least he had forgotten about the jewelry box. She held onto the thought as she weathered the blows.

The next day Lori woke up late, wincing at the bump on her temple, the stabs of pain screaming along her back. But now she almost didn’t mind it, not when she had something to look forward to.

Robbie was gone, no doubt off to his shift hours ago. Lori shot up in bed, an icy lacework seizing her heart when she thought he might have taken the jewelry box.

But it was there, forgotten on the floor next to the closet.

She breathed a shaky sigh and limped over before pulling the box into her lap. Her phone buzzed. Robbie’s work. She ignored it. Bastard wanted to apologize, he could do it in person.

Her smashed hand ached something fierce but after a few tries she managed to open the lid.

Inside the box sat a shining bit of metal the size of a large coin, stained in blood. She clamped a hand to her mouth. Bits of pinkish matter clung to the device, but she clutched it to her chest anyway, feeling a crash of relief that made her sob aloud. She had only seen the pacemaker once before, at Robbie’s operation.

It was the best wedding present of all.

ALL ABOARD

The city lights teemed, sending a flood of crimson and violet colors along the dirty harbor water.

Two dozen people crammed into a single boat weighed down with basic medication, food packets full of concentrated goop, ample sedatives, and a water-waste filtration system. Just one of many lifeboats of those that had been exposed, cast out, waiting as the latest pathogen tore through society and spent itself.

Maurice avoided the sedative—he wanted to be alert in case they capsized, or something went wrong. He also avoided looking at one girl in the boat, who wore her hair coiled in dreads gathered on top of her head, reminding him of Elle and making his chest knot up every time he glimpsed her. Most of the others around him sank into dazes, muttering occasionally. He squeezed his eyes shut, the question running through his head like a water hose he couldn’t shut off. 

Why me why me why me

His mind picked over hundreds of choices he’d made in the past, branching out like the intricate lacework of his grandma’s tablecloth, or like the eddies of foam in the water around them. He had gone down this path, all his choices leading him to this godforsaken boat.

If only he hadn’t gone to the store that morning. If only he hadn’t gone down the produce aisle. If only his mask hadn’t slipped. If only the exposure reader on his wrist hadn’t blinked red, a warning.

If only if only if only

“You have all been exposed. One in your group carried the virus in,” a Protection Officer had said through his face shield to Maurice and the dozens of people rounded up, right there in a roped-off area of the grocery store’s parking lot. “You need to wait it out thirty-one days on a Q Boat before you can return, then you’ll get your Orange Card.”

“Can’t we go to a room or a facility?” Maurice had asked. Being on a Q Boat was the pits—no power, no Wi-Fi, nothing.

“All full,” the Protection Officer said. Though he was muffled behind his shield, his irritation came through clear as a whistle.

“What about sitting at home?” Someone else moaned.

“Can’t guarantee you won’t break the quarantine,” the officer said. “No more complaints or I’ll stick you with a fine on top of it.”

Maurice tried not to think of Elle, who he’d just started to get serious with. Serious to the point where he had bookmarked a few rings on a jewelry website and imagined different ways of proposing. Was she sick too? Was she waiting for him? And his ma—he definitely couldn’t think of her and how she’d be shuffling in her worn-down slippers back and forth in her apartment, anxiously wondering when he’d get back.