It Shouldn't Be There

Conor MacCormack John Watson - Horror Author Mark Crutchfield Labyrinthia Mythweaver Mathew C. Bryant • Horror Poet ….hopefully I did the thriller option justice not sure….

Finally, school is out.

The twins are so excited.

We’re going on a trip, up into the mountains, finding a cabin, spending some time together. Just the three of us.

I’m proud of them. More than I probably say out loud.
And I’m lucky. I know that. Responsible teenagers aren’t exactly common.

(Oxymoron, some would say.)

But not mine.

It could have been very different.

Their dad died on a hunting trip when they were twelve.
Sicily was his little girl. Genoa was his shadow his right hand.

We all had to learn how to be something new after that.

They did better than I expected.

Maybe better than I did.

But now they’re seventeen. Almost graduated. Talking about colleges, futures, everything stretching out ahead of them like it’s already decided.

So this trip, this is ours. Before everything changes again.

I pull into the driveway after stopping for gas.

“Sicily, Genoa, you two ready?”

They come down the stairs already laughing, already moving. Genoa grabs the suitcases waiting in the hall like they’ve been lined up for days.

I shake my head, smiling. “Of course you’re ready. You’ve always been good at that.”

“Genoa, can you—”

“Already on it,” he says, heading for the door.

Sicily leans against the wall, grinning. “We grabbed yours too, Mom. It was already packed.”

I nod. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

We pile into the car.

I glance at them in the rearview mirror.
“Food now or halfway?”

They answer at the same time, like always.

“Now.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”

The engine hums. The tires roll.

Everything feels easy.

Normal.

The kind of normal you don’t realize you’re in until it’s already gone.

As we drove, we took turns making song lists and singing along. They were amazed that I knew the words to some of their songs, and I was amazed they somehow knew the words to mine. We laughed whenever one of us messed up the lyrics or came in too early.

It was a beautiful drive.

The mountains rose higher around us as the road curved deeper into the trees, sunlight flickering between the branches in quick golden flashes.

I remember thinking how good it felt to just be together.

No school.

No schedules.

No pressure about colleges or the future.

Just us.

Sicily had just reached over to turn the music louder when she suddenly froze.

“Mom…”

Something in her voice made me look up immediately.

“What is that?”

The music lowered.

Ahead of us, around the bend

something stood in the middle of the road.

Tall.

Reflective.

For one impossible second my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.

A mirror.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

There was no shoulder.

No room to turn.

Mountain wall to the left. Drop to the right.

And we were going too fast.

“Hold on!” I shouted.

The twins ducked instinctively.

“I love you!”

“We love you too!” they yelled back at the same time.

The headlights struck the glass

And instead of shattering

the mirror opened.

The mirror opened, or at least that’s how it looked as we went through it.

I slowed down immediately and asked if everyone was okay.

They both said yes.

“Mom, what was that?” Sicily asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, “but we seem to still be in one piece, which is a blessing.”

I continued driving. We all looked around, but everything still seemed the same. Even so, something felt different to me, though I didn’t want to say that out loud to the twins.

We continued up the mountain toward the cabin we had rented.

Somehow, no one wanted to listen to music anymore.

Clouds rolled in overhead, dark and heavy, like a storm was on its way. I asked Sicily to turn on the radio and see if we could get a weather forecast, but all we got was static.

That didn’t comfort me at all.

From the backseat, Genoa spoke quietly.

“Mom?”

“Yes, son?”

“There’s something wrong with your rearview mirror.”

I looked up.

The road reflected behind us didn’t match the one we had just driven.

That uneasy feeling in my stomach tightened.

I spotted a turnout ahead, pulled into it, and put the car in park.

Then I turned in my seat and looked at both of them.

“The decision is yours,” I said. “Do you want to keep going, or should we turn back?”

“Turn back,” Sicily begged immediately.

I looked at Genoa.

“I think something is different too,” he admitted, “but Sicily’s scared. We should go back.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “Then back it is. We’ll find something else to do for vacation.”

Sicily let out a relieved sigh.

Genoa looked disappointed, but protective of his sister.

I put the car in gear, turned around, and headed back the way we came.

But when we reached the place where the mirror should have been, there was only a tall silver wall stretching across the road.

Genoa leaned forward slightly.

“It’s like the back of a mirror,” he whispered.

I looked at both of them again.

“Do we try to go through it?”

Both twins answered at once.

“No.”

I started trying to figure out how to turn the car around again when I noticed something strange.

The road looked wider now.

I said nothing.

But I don’t think I was the only one who noticed.

As we continued back up the mountain, we kept looking around, searching for something anything that seemed out of place.

At times, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.

About twenty minutes later, I found the road leading to the cabin.

I turned onto it slowly.

As the cabin came into view, my stomach tightened.

Smoke curled from the chimney.

That wasn’t right.

I had rented the cabin for the week. No one else should have been there.

I parked the car and told the twins to wait before getting the luggage out.

The three of us walked toward the cabin together.

Then a voice called out.

“Alice?”

I froze.

“Alice, is that you?”

I turned, and my heart nearly stopped.

“It can’t be,” I whispered. “You’re dead. They told me you were dead.”

Sicily gasped.

“Daddy!”

She ran toward him instantly.

Genoa stayed where he was.

Their father smiled as Sicily threw her arms around him.

But something about that smile felt wrong.

Not cruel.

Not angry.

Wrong.

Genoa didn’t say anything. Too much had already happened that day, and Sicily looked happier than she had in years.

Still, goosebumps rose along his arms.

He glanced toward his mother and realized she felt it too.

Alice was staring at him, and in her eyes he saw the same terrible understanding growing.

Something wasn’t right.

Behind Sicily and their father sat a lake, dark beneath the gathering clouds.

On the far side of it, Genoa noticed what first looked like a crooked tree.

But the longer he stared, the more certain he became

it wasn’t a tree.

A tall hooded figure stood motionless among the branches, as though it had grown there.

Its body looked woven from sticks and limbs.

And where its face should have been

there was nothing.

Only shadow.

Genoa motioned carefully with his head for his mother to look.

The moment Alice saw it, panic flashed across her face. Instinctively, she started toward Sicily.

Genoa reached out quickly and caught her arm.

He shook his head once.

No.

So together, slowly, the two of them walked toward Sicily and the man who should have been dead.

As they got closer, Genoa kept watching the man who was supposed to be his father.

Something about his eyes was wrong.

If you looked too quickly, they seemed normal. Warm even.

But if you watched carefully, the color faded in and out, leaving them hollow for just a second before returning again.

Like something behind them was trying to remember how eyes worked.

Their father smiled.

“Alice,” he said softly, “you look beautiful. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Then he looked at Genoa.

“Son, you’ve grown so tall.”

Finally he turned toward Sicily, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“My princess,” he whispered. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

Alice stared at him, pale and trembling.

“Saul, they told me you were dead. Killed while hunting.”

For the first time, his smile faltered slightly.

“No,” he said quietly. “I was walking. Just walking.” His gaze drifted briefly toward the woods behind the cabin. “Then suddenly I was here.”

The wind stirred across the lake.

“It was like I walked through some kind of barrier.” He looked back at her. “I got lost. I couldn’t find my way home again.”

Something moved behind him near the trees.

Genoa saw it.

The hooded figure was closer now.

Watching.

Then Saul smiled again.

Only this time it stretched a little too long.

“Oh,” he added lightly, “and my name is Soul now.”

Silence settled over the lake.

Even Sicily stopped smiling.

Soul looked at them and smiled.

“Come up to the cabin,” he said. “I’ve got a fire going, and I caught some fish for dinner. You must all be hungry by now.”

Not really knowing what else to do, they followed him.

The cabin looked warm from the outside, smoke curling steadily from the chimney into the darkening sky. But the moment Genoa stepped inside, a chill ran through him anyway.

Pictures covered the walls.

Family photos.

Pictures of Alice.

Pictures of Sicily and Genoa.

Even pictures Soul shouldn’t have had.

There were school photos taken years after he disappeared. Pictures from birthdays. Soccer games. Sicily’s dance recital from last winter.

Alice stopped walking.

“How do you have these?” she whispered.

Soul only smiled as he crossed into the kitchen.

“I’ve had a long time to wait.”

The fire crackled softly behind them.

Soul pulled a frying pan from the cabinet, then opened the refrigerator and took out several fish wrapped in butcher paper.

Genoa noticed the flies first.

Just a few.

Buzzing lazily around the fish.

Soul glanced toward him and smiled again.

“Genoa,” he said warmly, “why don’t you help me with dinner? You can scale them for us.”

He handed Genoa a knife.

The handle felt strangely warm.

Genoa looked down at the fish.

For a second, the scales didn’t look like scales at all.

They looked like tiny fingernails.

He blinked hard.

And suddenly it was only fish again.

Across the room, Soul was still smiling at him.

After cooking the fish, Soul plated the food.

Genoa handed a plate to his mother and another to Sicily before returning to the kitchen for his own. He carried it into the living room and sat near the fire.

No one mentioned it, but the room felt slightly cooler now.

The fire, however, felt wonderfully warm.

The flames danced and shifted, almost mesmerizing to watch.

Soul entered carrying his own plate. He set it carefully on the coffee table before lowering himself into the chair across from them.

Smiling.

Sicily picked up her fork and started to take a bite, then suddenly stopped.

“I don’t know why,” she murmured, “but I’m not really hungry after all.”

She gave a small apologetic smile.

“But thank you for cooking, Dad. It looks really good.”

Soul’s smile widened slightly.

Alice glanced down at her own untouched plate resting in her lap. Somehow, she realized she wasn’t hungry either.

Not even a little.

“Would you mind if I looked around the cabin?” she asked quietly.

Soul stood immediately and offered her his hand.

“Of course.”

The four of them slowly walked through the cabin together.

As they moved from room to room, Sicily looked around with growing wonder.

“It’s so cozy here,” she said softly. “Warm too.”

She smiled at Soul.

“It feels like home.”

A strange expression crossed Soul’s face at those words.

“It’s nice being a family again,” Sicily added.

Soul said nothing.

He only smiled.

As they passed an old mirror hanging in the hallway, Alice glanced toward it absently

and froze.

She saw herself.

Sicily.

Genoa.

But not Soul.

For one terrible second, his reflection was missing completely.

Then suddenly it appeared beside them in the glass.

Smiling.

But it wasn’t the same smile he was wearing.

As they returned to the living room, Alice glanced around for a clock.

An old one hung above the fireplace.

Stopped.

She suddenly remembered seeing another in the kitchen and quietly walked back to check.

That one had stopped too.

Neither clock ticked.

Neither moved.

As Alice passed the hallway mirror again, she caught sight of her reflection

but only barely.

Standing clearly behind her in the glass was the watcher.

Its hooded shape towered silently in the reflection.

And yet

the sight of it felt comforting.

Alice blinked hard and the image vanished.

When she returned to the living room, Soul was still smiling softly beside the fire.

“How do you know the time?” Alice asked quietly. “All the clocks are stopped.”

Soul leaned back comfortably in his chair.

“Time doesn’t exist for me anymore,” he said gently. “It’s too nice here.”

The fire crackled softly.

“When the sun is up, it’s daytime. When it’s dark, it’s night.”

He smiled wider.

“That’s all the time anyone really needs.”

For some reason, the answer felt perfectly reasonable.

Alice slowly sat down on the couch beside Sicily.

Across the room, Genoa stared into the fire.

Something about it bothered him.

Then he realized what it was.

The flames danced.

The wood crackled.

But the log itself never changed.

It wasn’t burning.

“Dad,” Genoa asked carefully, “why does the fire still look the same?”

Soul turned toward him.

“Because time has stopped, son.” His hollow eyes flickered briefly in the firelight. “How can a fire go out if there’s no time to tell it it’s done?”

Silence settled warmly across the cabin.

And somehow

that answer made perfect sense too.

Soul looked at them quietly.

“Would you be willing to stay with me?” he asked softly. “And be the happy family we were always meant to be?”

Sicily stood immediately.

“Oh yes, Daddy,” she said excitedly. “Please yes.”

Soul smiled warmly at her.

Genoa hesitated.

“But what about school?” he asked. “Graduation? College?”

Soul chuckled softly.

“Son, I love that you think about goals and achievements.” He leaned back comfortably in his chair. “But here you don’t need any of that.”

The fire crackled gently.

“I can teach you how to fish.”

Genoa looked uncertain.

Alice reached over and touched his hand.

“I think it would be peaceful here,” she whispered. “Beautiful.”

Her eyes drifted toward Soul.

“They were wrong. Your father is here. You have your dad back and I have my husband.”

She smiled softly.

“We can be a family again.”

Then she looked back at Genoa.

“What do you think, son? Would you be willing to try?”

Something deep in the back of Genoa’s mind fought against the feeling settling over him.

A quiet voice warning him.

But the fire was warm.

His sister was smiling.

His parents were together again.

And he was tired of fighting.

So slowly, Genoa smiled too.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Let’s stay.”

The moment the words left his mouth

a knock sounded at the door.

Soul’s smile widened impossibly far.

For a brief second, it should have terrified them.

But somehow

it didn’t.

“That must be my friend,” Soul said pleasantly. “He’s come to say hello.”

The cabin door slowly opened.

The watcher stepped inside.

Tall.

Silent.

Branches creaking softly as it moved.

Alice felt no fear.

Neither did Sicily.

Or Genoa.

Soul stood beside the fire smiling proudly at his family.

“He’s very kind,” Soul assured them gently. “And this won’t hurt at all.”

The watcher inhaled.

The room suddenly felt lighter.

Warmer.

Peaceful.

Alice felt something inside her loosen and drift free like smoke rising from the fire.

Beside her, Sicily smiled dreamily.

Genoa’s eyes slowly unfocused.

And Soul

Soul simply watched.

When it was finished, the watcher turned silently toward the door once more.

On the couch, the family sat together staring peacefully into the endless flames.

Soul.

Alice.

Sicily.

Genoa.

Smiling softly.

Empty.

The watcher stepped outside into the dark woods and quietly closed the door behind it.

Inside the cabin, the fire continued to burn.

And the log never changed.