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Weekly Contest #336
“You shouldn’t be here,” Eric said. His voice was pain. Dry. The young man closed his eyes, pressed fingers to his throat near his collarbone, winced and then cleared it. The pain stayed, but he could breathe. There he stood, eyes closed, listening. Ancient oak planks creaked and groaned, stressed by the pressure of an icy, hollow baritone wind. He thought it sounded more like an old ship than a cabin. When Eric opened his eyes, his grandfather was no longer there. The young man’s attention snapped from the wooden walls blanketed in shadow, ...
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