Delicate Negotiations

by

Heather Farthing (c) 2023, all rights reserved



It’s so cold I can see my breath, despite the summer heat.

I breathe out through my mouth and watch the fog hang in the air momentarily, frowning as it dissipates.

Something has changed in the small bedroom. There is something dark here, moody and hungry. It seeps behind the vanity, under the bed, and behind the vanity, a formless mist of shadow that leaves the scent of funeral bouquets in its wake.

The vanity rattles and trembles, like an earthquake localized on only that part of the RV, the mirrored shutter that protects the television slamming opening and closed just hard enough to not damage the mirror.

Something moves in the mirror, something old and dark, banging against the inside of the glass hard enough to make me jump and stumble back onto the bed, which envelops me like a hungry maw.

Heavy black blankets and sheets are thrown over me, pinning me at the elbows and knees. A dozen translucent hands with glowing bones inside the graying skin thrust from the bed itself, diving for my ribs and under my arms.

“Alright! Alright!” I shout, gasping for breath through the ticklish laughter. “We’ll have pineapple pizza for dinner!”