The Dead and the Dark

by Courtney Gould

The ThermoGeist was steady in Alejo’s hand, dead quiet each inch of the way to the crawl space. Except one. It passed so quickly it was almost impossible to see. As the ThermoGeist passed Brandon, it flickered. Not soft like a glitch. Not small like a temperature difference. Not a mistake. It passed Brandon and it flared the color of the dead.

Brandon shrugged. He didn’t have friends. You had to be a person to have friends, and he was pretty sure he didn’t count. He was a shadow on the wall, a thought that never quite surfaced, a phantom of what a boy should be. He was like a stranger posted outside the room that the rest of the world lived in, and no matter how hard he pressed his fingers to the window, he wasn’t getting in. He wasn’t an outcast; he didn’t exist at all.

He hadn’t expected Alejo to reach in and pluck him from the water like it was nothing. He hadn’t expected to feel the sun. Alejo pulled him to freedom and it terrified Brandon how easily he’d done it.