By now my uncle had left to go back home. He lent me his beach house—if you could call it that—for the year. College dorms aren't cheap, and I guess you could say I got a family and friends discount in Jim's ratty old place.
I hadn't even unpacked yet. School would come too soon, and I wasn't even started on my rent. I needed a job to pay for food, for one. And I needed to fix up the old house, get it ready to sell.
In retrospect, I think I'd rather have just paid Uncle Jim rent to stay there. Fixing all the problems in that house, I would soon find, is the job of a bulldozer.
Either way, on my third day in the area, I dragged my bags out of the front room. It must have been a sign that this wasn't a great idea, finding the girl. Or at least a sign that this was more work than I had planned on getting into.
When I fell back into the bed, ready for the long overdue rest, I heard scratching underneath me.
Of course, there would be rats.
YOU ARE READING
60 Days of Salt and Sand
Short StoryBeing published September 10th! "She wasn't floating when I found her. She wasn't exactly sinking, either... Just still. Deadly still. At least, I thought she was dead. But then I felt a pulse. And that was enough to get me to fight for her.'
