Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Grandma, wait. Don’t hang up. Do you know if…is there a…window here on the property?”
“Window? What’s gotten into you? Of course your house has windows.”
“No. I mean the kind that’s really a doorway. With monsters on the other side.”
“Have you been reading those old stories again? I should’ve burned those journals, Lake. It’s like I’ve told you a thousand times, your great-great-grandma Snow was crazier than a squirrel in a nuthouse. I have to go. Don’t forget my coffee maker.”
Oh shit. So Monsterland still happens?
The call ends, and I go into the house. On the wall is a photo of Dave and me on our wedding day, surrounded by people I don’t recognize. “Dave, do you know where I keep my family’s old stuff—books and diaries or whatever?”
Dave appears with an apron on and a can of cream of mushroom soup in his hand. I see some things never change, including his bad pork chop recipe. “I think they’re in the guest closet. But babe, you shouldn’t be lifting anything heav—”
I fly past him and find the bedroom that looks unlived in. It has a bed with a few piles of folded laundry on top and a treadmill in the corner.
I open the large closet. Inside is a bunch of sporting equipment—baseball bat, tennis rackets, and even some scuba gear, including two wetsuits hanging from the rod.
Apparently, Dave and I are into sports. Disturbing. Not the sports. Just the part about him and me as a couple. The man is and always will be a serial cheater.
Bingo. I find a big cardboard box labeled Lake’s stuff wedged between tax records and holiday decorations.
I slide it out and carry it to the bed. Inside are five leather-bound notebooks that look pretty freaking old. The edges are worn, and the paper is yellow.
I start thumbing through the first one. The cursive is immaculate, and each line is evenly spaced as if my great-great-grandma Snow wanted to ensure these records were easily legible.
I carefully turn the brittle pages and quickly realize what this is. I am not the first person to try to fix things.
I cover my mouth. “She knew. She knew it’s just one world.”
I devour the pages as she talks about measures she’s taken to prevent Monsterland from invading: bringing them livestock and seeds to plant. Supplying books on fertilizers. Giving the War People weapons—muskets, swords, cannons.
I have to wonder where she got the money for all that. Maybe Alwar helped and gave her a diamond, too.
But everything I do merely recreates a similar version of the future where the monsters hunger for us. I have now concluded that this is our fate, punishment for our sins.
Fuck that. I’m not giving up so easily.
I grab the next journal and skim it. More lists and descriptions of monsters—what they eat, their sizes and appearances. Maybe she thought the information would help us prepare for the inevitable invasion.
But where is the fucking window? I scan through the next book, and a passage catches my attention.
“No. What the hell?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Hey, babe…Uh. Where you going with the scuba gear?” Dave watches me lugging the oxygen tank outside, a pair of fins dangling off my elbow.
“Swimming.”
“I didn’t know you signed us up for more lessons.”
“I didn’t.” I don’t even remember taking any lessons at all. I go outside and slide on my boots.
“Then where you going?”
“The river.” It’s a bit of a hike, but that’s the only reference I’ve found in the journals.
…the place where the river bends around a large boulder that sticks three feet from the water. At the base is a window. It is only partially visible in the summer when the water is low.
It’s winter now, which means the window is submerged since the river will be full. We get a lot of snowstorms and rain this time of year.
“Are you crazy, babe?” Dave runs and stops in front of me. “That water is freezing.”
No shit. “Thus the wetsuit I have on.” Too bad I have no clue how to use an oxygen tank, but how difficult can it be? Turn knob, breathe.
“Lake, I’m not going to let you risk our baby’s life with this insane stunt. What’s gotten into you?”
“Monsters.”
He gives me a perturbed look.
“Oh, and by the way, I know you fucked around behind my back the entire time in college. You’re probably fucking someone now, too, and if you’re not, you’re definitely thinking about it.” I open the tank and throw it on my back. I tap the mouthpiece to see if air is coming out. “And I want a divorce.”
I leave him standing there and beeline for the river. Tall trees, mostly bare now, bow over the edges like skeletons there to witness our doom.
I step into the shallow edge of the water and put on my fins. “Oh, Jesus!” The cold sends a sharp pain shooting up my legs. The rock mentioned in the journal is about thirty feet downstream. I’ll have to cut across the current to hit it and then hope I’m a good enough swimmer to dive before the current pushes me past the spot.