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Summary
When Will was old enough to be left alone while his dad was out on a job, but too young to go along and make himself useful, he went fishing somewhere he shouldn't have.
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“--pile-up on I-77 south of Charlotte, the wreckage has been cleared but we’ve got some nasty back-up from the accident earlier. It’s been slow going, but the way should be easier now. The pathways are opening, the damage repaired, connections rebuilt that will last far beyond today or tomorrow. No need to push on tonight. Not when your eyes are already aching and the rumble of the engine is more at home in your chest than your own heartbeat.”
“You all right there, Johnny? You sound a little--”
“Now is the time to rest,” the traffic reporter continues, his voice quiet and firm. Will straightens in his seat, his breaths slowing. The other news anchor tries to interrupt again and goes abruptly silent. “There’s a turn coming up on the left, a shallow curve through an elm wood, that will take you to a yellow house where you can lay your head down for the night. You’ve left them waiting so long already. They can wait a little longer.”
The radio is quiet after that, not with the static of a signal lost but with the silence of a live mic with only breathing on the other end. Dead air. Will takes the next left and eases his foot off the gas until the crunch of gravel under his tires is louder than the engine.
It’s too dark to make out the color of the house, but it’s light enough to be yellow. The porch light is off. The door is ajar.
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Spooky swamp horror (read the linked fic in the intro too!)
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The Fatted Calf - hannigram -galwednesday