Page 36 of Housesitter

It was probably best to save that for the conversation. Shepherd squeezed by Kel and went over to the table. His reflection—just his reflection—bent crookedly in the polished silver surface of the meat dome that had centre stage.

“The eggs are probably OK,” he offered as he lifted the lid. The smell made him recoil and slam the lid down again. He didn’t even need to get a better look at the lardy spill of aborted flesh and albumen to know that Kel wouldn’t want seconds. Something under the lid pushed at it. Shepherd put his weight on the top to keep it down as he looked back at Kel. “Yeah, no, that’s…an acquired taste.”

Kel took a deep breath through his nose, swelling his chest. His cheeks puffed out as he let it out again after a second.

“OK,” he said. “You’re not hot enough for this.”

Shepherd wrinkled his nose and glanced at his reflection in the polished sterling silver. The image was distorted by the curve of the metal, but still, “Sure about that?” he asked.

Kel threw his hands up and limped backwards. His bare feet scuffed over the thick pile of the rug that decorated the hall.

“I’m out,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever this is? Good luck with it. I mean that.”

He flipped a wave at Shepherd and strode to the front door. It didn’t open when he yanked on it. Kel swore under his breath as he fumbled with the handle. Frustration reddened the back of his neck as he yanked at the barrier.

Shepherd glanced at his image in the silver again. It stayed his. So he glanced up into the corners of the kitchen, where the shadows hung.

“Let him out,” he said. “This isn’t the best way.”

He could feel the house’s disagreement with that, but after a beat it gave up. He could feel the ‘fine, you’re the one that feeds me’ shrug it gave before the door finally flung open.

Caught off-guard and off-balance, Kel stumbled backward a couple of steps. Then he scrubbed his hands on his jeans, didn’t look at Shepherd, and took a deep breath before he walked out.

“I was his ride,” Shepherd reminded the house. “Where’s he going to go?”

Kel stood on the edge of the well and stared down into it.

“Helllloo,” he yelled down. His voice bounced off the damp, stone bricks as it dropped down into the dark until it faded to a mournful ‘lo, lo, oo’.

Both of them waited.

After a moment, Kel turned to look at Shepherd.

“I’ve played along,” he said. “...but—”

lo

Lo.

LO

LO, a strained, cracked voice clawed its way back up out of the well. It was loud enough to make Kel jump and set whatever bugs and vermin hung out in here scuttling around in alarm. FALL DOWN BEFORE THE SNAKE-HEADED ONE WHO DIES AND RISES AND DIES AGAIN.

…

Kel swallowed. The sound of spit in his throat was very loud in the silence after the well fell silent. His breath seeped like smoke out of his mouth, heavy and dark as it drifted toward the ground.

“Good try,” he said. “But my gran used to run seances out of her trailer on the weekend. I know how it works.”

“Sorry,” Shepherd said.

Some of the tension leeched out of Kel’s shoulders at the confirmation. He gave a dry, satisfied laugh.

“Hey,” he said. “I can appreciate you tried, but how about you run back into—”

“Not for that,” Shepherd said as he thumbed the button on the handle of his switchblade.

Kel turned to look for the source of the click. His eyes went to Shepherd’s face and then dropped to the knife in his hand. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he took a step back, one hand raised.