Dunes ((Scömìche Short Story))

07

When Kirstin pops her head into Scott's office later, it's to find the blonde snoring, face cradled in his arms on top of his desk. She snorts at the image and sneaks a picture, so she can tease him about sleeping on the job later. Then she pulls back so only her head pokes into the room, and knocks loudly on the ajar door.

Scott doesn't move, except to snuffle a little in his sleep.

Kirstin rolls her eyes and steps further into the room, closing the door behind her. "Scott? Scott, get up, Frank wants to ask your opinion on something."

Scott doesn't show any sign of hearing her, so she walks closer and cranes her neck over to see what he's working on. Draped across the keyboard of his laptop is a crumpled piece of white paper, a coffee stain on the edge. Kirstin sneakily glances around her before snatching it up and unfolding it, curiosity sharp in her mind.

She pouts in disappointment when she sees it's not even an official document or a love note or a diary entry or anything, just some scribbled notes in Scott's handwriting. So much for snooping.

Then she catches a glance of what the words say, and her interest is piqued all over again. Three words are scrawled over and over in red ink, angled every which way and overlapping and filling the page with a repeated phrase that she can hear chanting in her head in an eerily familiar voice. The chant grows to fill her ears, the words chilling yet seductive, causing her skin to prickle with heat and her mind to go numb.

Kirstin drops the paper and recoils back, hands curling in front of her as if burned. The instant the paper leaves her touch the voices are silenced, leaving behind an insistent ringing in their place. Kirstin stares at the crumpled paper on the floor, decidedly spooked.

What the hell does that mean anyway?

Come to me.