Usually, Scott gets home to one of his mother’s crazy rants. Today? Silence. Which makes a nice change—except that today, evil shadows lurk in the pantry where the food should be. Can Scott track down his mother, banish the shadows, and find something to eat in peace?
A dark fantasy tale featuring one of the characters from Laurens’ popular sanctuary series.
Another Kind of Hunger
Scott waited for the usual shouts of irritation to greet him as he slammed the front door of his home and kicked his black school shoes off. Instead, silence hovered over the house, heavy and cloying. Silence, that was, except for his rumbling stomach. He sighed and schlepped down to his room, dodging the stacks of miscellaneous
paperwork and clothing in various states of cleanliness that lined the hallway. Looked like dinner would be beans on toast again.
Scott kicked open the door to his room and crossed the threshold into sanity. The rest of the house was his mother’s domain, carpets crusted with dirt and crumbs and ineffectual insect spray, mould growing in the corners where damp had invaded the house, drains stinking like a public toilet block.
In his room, the carpet was, if not clean, at least vacuumed. The array of stains were at least assured to stay where they were, and the walls had been scrubbed down so regularly they were starting to look worn. He closed the door with a heavy sigh and dumped his school bag in the bottom of the wardrobe.
Undressing was an exercise in precision: trousers washed only two days ago meticulously folded for reuse tomorrow, sweat-infused shirt in the hamper, tie over the hanger in the wardrobe. He pulled on trackies that would have crushed his carefully cultivated reputation in one fell swoop if anyone from school ever saw them, and a t-shirt that had sprouted at least two new holes since he’d worn it last time. There was a uniform free day coming up next week; he’d have to raid Mum’s wallet again.
Out in the kitchen, three envelopes skulked on the bench, all addressed to his mother, all unopened. Scott glanced at them. Phone bill, electricity and water. He rubbed a hand up his face, under his glasses and over his eyes. Dammit. The welfare payment wouldn’t be banked for another ten days. He’d have to call Aunt Sally again.
Whatever. Problem for later. Right now, the most pressing problem was his gurgling stomach. Lunch had been good old air yet again—easy to hide with enough arrogance and a few simpering girls to hold people’s attention—and it was nearly half past five.
He opened the pantry door and was halfway through reaching for a can of baked beans before his brain registered the shadows. What the hell? He clenched his jaw, hands fisted. This was just too far.
Heat settled in Scott’s stomach as he stalked into the laundry. The rancid air made his eyes tear, but that was just another fact of life. He scooped a mouse out of the writhing tank in the corner—he’d long since gotten used to the feel of ten mice trying to cling tooth and claw to his arm at once—and shoved the wretched thing in his pocket. It squeaked in anguish as something broke—but he’d long
stopped caring about that, too. He had the best role model in the world for not caring, after all.
But shadows, right there in the kitchen? Right where his mediocre dinner was supposed to be? Okay, so the house had more in common with a trash heap than a home. Okay, so she was often caught up in her mindless little schemes and forgot to make food. But shadows? In the kitchen? His cheek began a little twitching routine as he flung the pantry doors open again and surveyed the damage. Damn it all, he was hungry.
Scott fought down the disgust building in his chest. He should wait, be cautious and sensible, go down to the stream and cross over properly.
His stomach rumbled. Screw sensible.
He grabbed at the mouse, hardened against its pain by years of practice, and set it under his hand on the shelf, right near the edge of the shadows. Did he dare?
His stomach rumbled again, not so much a gurgle of hunger as a tight knot of emptiness. Gritting his teeth, Scott shoved the mouse towards the shadows with both hands. He closed his eyes and at the last instant, just as he felt the first brush of darkness, he snapped the mouse’s neck.