Better Halves

(preview)

Something wasn’t quite right, but Anne couldn’t place it. At first she thought it was the weather, casting a gloomy sheen over their summer beach trip.

“Stupid New England,” she said. An apt belated birthday present, she thought sourly. A face peered at her through the passenger window reflection: her own, frowning and fragmented against the rain flecks.

“It’s a week out of the city,” said Derick, ever the optimist. “We can get lobster.”

The GPS spoke up and her husband yanked the wheel. A small wooden sign with the inn’s name in white script, clattering against a post barely lit by the headlights, was the first sign of a town since passing the IHOP half an hour back.

Read the rest online in Lovecraft eZine (#36)

 

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