Other Stories in this issue

Dot Rat

by K. McGee

About the Author: K. McGee has an M.A. in Creative Writing, lives in Tokyo, and serves as co-organizer of the Tokyo Writers Workshop. McGee’s work has appeared in various anthologies and magazines, including “Jabberwock Review” and “Heater,” and will soon appear in “Bête Noire” and “Kzine.”

Excerpt

When Helen was young and couldn’t sleep she’d conjure a comforting circle of people she loved, but now most of them were gone and instead she spent her white nights watching an endless loop of losses and regrets jumping a fence like cartoon sheep. At three thirty, she gave up and rose from bed.

The house was cold and she turned up the thermostat and then stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil and staring out the window into the backyard. A streetlight threw her garden in shadows. Against the white fence was an unfamiliar silhouette. Like furniture that assumes the shapes of monsters in the dark, she was sure the shadow would resolve itself if she looked at it long enough. Had she left the wheelbarrow outside? But she knew she hadn’t. And then, just as the kettle let out a sharp whistle, the dark shape against her fence moved.

“Cass?” she called, turning the burner off. Her voice sounded weak in the quiet. She listened for the taps of her Staffordshire terrier’s nails on the floor. Maybe it was Cass out by the fence. She’d left the doggie door open. But the shape looked too big, and besides, would Cass stay out there in the cold alone?

“Cass?” she called again, but still nothing. Which wasn’t right. Even from a deep sleep, Cass came running at the sound of her name.

Helen grabbed a heavy metal flashlight and moved to the back door. She hesitated for a moment. The neighborhood had seen its share of problems, but none lately. And whatever lurked back there had breached her fence and come into her yard. She couldn’t allow that.

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