K. Marvin Bruce

  The first night in his new house was sleepless.   Terah built up the fire a little.   Wendy had called him on the dorm phone, shared by all twelve of them in the hall.   “It’s over, Terah.” She said simply. “But why?   Is it something I did?” “No.   It’s not you.   It’s me.   There’s someone else.” “Gary.” “Yes.   It was Gary all along, but I didn’t have the heart to tell you.   I really like you, Terah.   I didn’t want to hurt you.   Good-bye.” The dark seemed alive.   That wasn’t the end of the Wendy affair, but he wondered if it was why he’d managed not to really fall in love again.   Until now.   He had to be honest with himself.   He was smitten with Lindsey.   As a grown man, he knew it was silly.   He’d had crushes before—as an adjunct professor he couldn’t help but notice the many stunning coeds in the classroom.   Danielle hadn’t been stunning, but she was pretty.   And she had been willing to move beyond the lecture format.   Wendy had been back in his undergrad days, and t

  The gathering was the bastard child of a townhall and a party.   There was no drinking, but a strange joy pervaded having nothing and discussing everything.   When talk died out, singing began.   These people had a peace of mind Terah envied.   They were professionals discarded by society—each of them capable, but told there was no need for them.   They lived here without utilities, subsisting on pilfered food that wasn’t freshly made, and yet they celebrated.   He nevertheless wondered about the gorilla in the room, or rather, about the fire. The main business conducted centered on sending a party of two to get supplies and how to keep the wood stores replenished.   Missionary parties were sent out in twos to get food.   The nearest town was a three-hour walk, and it had a food pantry that was always the first stop.   There was a super Walmart there as well, which had driven other area stores out of business.   The giant chain had a tight fist about its income, but the system wasn’t

  She was a few years younger, but the portrait was a nude Lindsey. Vince followed his gaze.   “Maybe not in the best taste, given our lifestyle, but to hide beauty is a lie of the vilest kind.” Terah had to know more about her.   “And Claresta consented?” “It was summer.   She’d been here quite a few months by then.   In fact, she was just about to leave.   I hadn’t had a live subject since my old life ended.” Terah’s heart was vibrating like a smartphone.   He knew he could ask no questions of her past life.   “Did you see her?” Vince nodded at the charcoal portrait, “Claresta?” “No.   The wood nymph.” “Ah, our spirit guide.   You know, that question rests on the boundary between our past lives—against the rules—and our lives here.   I don’t mind saying I did, though.   That disappearing road leading to Dickinsheet.   Although it’s overgrown and derelict, it’s beautiful.   I was just standing there thinking how if I’d still had my paints I’d have set up right there and broken out a c

  Terah waited for Moby to continue.   Instead, he said “Your secret.   Did you see her?” The thought of Lindsey with Hagrid stabbed him.   “No.   But I was led here.” “It’s against the rules, but if you don’t mind my asking…” “I’d had a fright.   Some dogs down by a road.   I ran into a pine grove and lost my way.   Then I heard something.   Footsteps.   I didn’t see anyone, but I could hear them just like I hear you.   Not knowing where to go, I followed them.   They led to your stream and followed it until I saw this place, the mill.” Moby sat in silence.   “Most interesting.   And only a couple of days after Claresta returned.” “You and Hagrid gave her your house.” “We’re allowed to talk about happenings here—that’s what the gathering’s all about.   Claresta had been here before.   Maybe three years ago.   We gave it to her then.   Told her it was hers whenever she came back. “There are homeless women, of course.   More than we like to think.   Claresta’s the only one who’s come he