Page 2 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
A wind chime made from teeth hung in the corner, swaying in the still air.
Nora made a face. “Yeah. Totally normal.”
There were more journals. So many more. Some were sealed in plastic bags, others tied with red string. A few had sticky notes on the covers, covered with dates, pressed flowers, weird symbols.
One sticky note caught her eye:
If she comes back, tell her not to look directly at the horizon after dark.
He will be waiting.
Her stomach twisted. She forced a laugh. “Paranoid much, Pops?”
She fished through a filing cabinet labeled FIELD NOTES — 1986–2003. Maps, rubbings, faded Polaroids. One caught her eye. It was a photo of her at about seven, next to a younger Orin, both standing at the Hollow Watcher, a rock formation not too far from the house. She was in a red jacket, her hair in pigtails, looking wary. Behind them, just out of focus, something massive loomed behind the rocks.
She squinted, running her thumb over the photo. She stuffed it into her pocket.
Nora tried to busy herself, pushing down the crawling unease. She opened all the windows, letting fresh air into the house for the first time in who knows how long. She went to her car and grabbed the cleaning supplies and the bag of groceries she had thrown together in a hurry. She felt like she was always in ahurry lately. She started her stick vac and did a pass on the floors, getting the worst of the dirt. Her phone dinged as she was getting out the mop.
It was Lauren, Nora’s best friend from the university. There were also several missed texts from her ex, Eli. She rolled her eyes.
Lauren:
Just checking to make sure you made it safe! Excited to visit soon!
Nora smiled. She was looking forward to spending a girls’ weekend with Lauren in a couple of days. She had to admit, it wasn’t the worst place to stargaze. Quiet. Vast. A decent break from the city if you didn’t mind the creeping dread of ancestral dust and unreliable plumbing.
She leaned on the counter and dialed. Lauren picked up on the second ring.
“Hey. Yeah, I made it. It’s a complete disaster. No Wi-Fi. Barely any signal. The only entertainment is a VCR and someBlair Witchjournals my grandfather left behind…”
They talked for a few minutes, half making plans, half complaining. Nora warned her just how far off the grid the cabin actually was, nowhere near the trendy areas that had sprung up over the last few years. But Lauren didn’t care. She was just excited to escape.
“Perfect. See you soon.”
They hung up. Nora didn’t check Eli’s texts. She wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable yet.
She slipped on her headphones and queued up a true crime podcast, the hosts’ voices familiar and oddly comforting, like friends narrating someone else’s disaster while she cleaned up her own. She mopped the floors, wiped down the counters.
Then she glanced at the sink and winced. Something canned and long forgotten had fossilized at the bottom.
She opened the fridge. A wave of stench hit her. Everything inside was rotten, but thankfully, there hadn’t been much to begin with. She tossed the contents into a trash bag, tied it tight, and hauled it out the back door like it might bite.
Throwing the trash in the bin, Nora spotted the old stock tank they used as a makeshift hot tub. She pulled off the dusty cover, surprised to find it in good shape. He must not have used it since she left. The thought tugged at her. What had he done while she was gone? Obsessed over aliens and cryptids in silence?
She sighed, grabbed the hose, and rinsed out the tub. A corroded bottle of chlorine turned up in the shed. She dumped some in and hoped for the best.
The rocky hills stretched around her, stark and silent. She breathed in the clean air. Then she froze. A flicker of glowing amber eyes glinted across the horizon and then disappeared.Probably just a coyote. Right?
A jackrabbit darted past, ears twitching, foraging through dust.
The wildness of it stirred something deep. It settled into her bones.
But the heat. Sometimes the heat was like a thick, living thing. It clung to her, suffocating her. She had flipped on the swamp cooler earlier, and now she just had to wait it out.
She went back inside and made what she called the single-lady special: crackers and cheese, a few olives, some pickles, and a generous pour of pinot noir. She ate at the kitchen table, scrolling her phone with dead eyes, taking in none of it.
Afterward, she cleaned as much as she could stand. The drive had been long, her body was sore, and, if she was being honest, she was more on edge than she’d expected. Being back felt strange. Like the house was watching her.
