Something in the Walls

by Daisy Pearce

“In real life you just want someone who can remember to descale the kettle, pet,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “If you want excitement, take up skydiving.”

That’s how Horace, the man who led the group, referred to grief. Sometimes small and quiet and shallow, sometimes a tsunami, cold and frightening. But inevitable, just like the tide.

“She watches me through the cracks in the bricks. She’s in there now. That’s why we can’t talk about this.”

The top half of her face barely changes, her eyes hard and flat and utterly empty. The smile doesn’t touch them. It just stretches the skin. I feel something cold tighten around my spine.

Desperation makes you inventive, Mina. I just think it’s important you know that.”

“It’s tradition, Mina. You can’t outlast it. Best you can do is outrun it.”