4338.207 · July 26, 2018 AD
Darker Than It Should Be
The road home winds through winter dark, and something feels off. Luke's house sits empty—no porch light, no kitchen glow. Just silence where there shouldn't be. Then Karen's own house greets her the same way: cold, unlit, and holding its breath. The bush watches. The shadows thicken. And somewhere in the frost, a curse rises from the earth. Not everything that waits in the dark means harm—but how do you know until you find it?
Thursday night. The mountain road coils upward through fog and eucalyptus, and Karen can't shake the strangeness of Luke's call. His house was dark when they passed—completely dark—and that's not like him. Jane notices. Fern notices. Even the bush seems to lean in closer, listening for something no one's said aloud.
Then they arrive home, and the wrongness deepens. No lights. No warmth. Just the shape of the house against the hill, waiting like it's forgotten how to welcome anyone back. The back door is ajar. Chris's boots lie abandoned on the porch. And somewhere in the cold, someone curses.
What Karen finds isn't what she expected. But the relief doesn't quite reach the part of her still thinking about Luke—about the stories he used to tell on the morning bus. Cities of bridges. Azure skies. Stone guardians at impossible gates. She'd always assumed it was just Luke being Luke.
Now she's not so sure what she believes.
