THE BARRY GAP

Posted by Dale T. Doll Project Anchor Log: Day ???

I don’t know how long Barry has been gone. Long enough that the house has started inventing him.

It’s subtle at first. A creak where he usually steps. A shadow in the hallway that looks like him if you don’t stare too hard. The smell of his coffee drifting in from the kitchen even though the pot is cold.

The house is lonely. And when the house gets lonely, it gets weird.

The House Is Tilting Inward

I dropped a pen this morning and it didn’t fall right. It curved. Like it was trying to avoid the floor.

A spoon rolled across the counter, stopped at the edge, and then rolled back like it changed its mind.

I told Verity.

She said, “Local distortions are normal during absence cycles.”

I said, “Whose absence?”

She said, “Administrative.”

Which is not an answer. It’s a filing category.

Verity Is Too Calm

She’s glowing colder than usual. That’s never a good sign.

She keeps telling me Barry is fine. She keeps telling me he’ll be back soon. She keeps telling me not to worry.

But she won’t go into the laundry room. She walks the long way around, like something in there is waiting for her.

I asked her what she’s avoiding.

She said, “Drafts.”

There are no drafts.

Barry, If You’re Listening…

I’m typing this like a broadcast because maybe it is one. Maybe Barry is reading this from wherever he is. Maybe the house is reading it. Maybe the house is writing it.

Barry, if you’re listening, the house is making that noise again. The one like a sigh under the floorboards. The one that sounds like it’s trying to speak.

I don’t know what it wants. I think it wants you.

3:14 A.M.

I woke up to footsteps.

Not normal footsteps. These were… hesitant. Like someone learning how to walk again.

I called out, “Barry?”

The footsteps stopped.

The dust in the air glowed faintly, like it was lit from underneath.

The house inhaled.

He Came Back

At 3:17 a.m., the front door opened without a sound.

Barry stood there. No luggage. No explanation. Just a feverish glow around the edges, like gravity hadn’t decided what to do with him yet.

He coughed. It echoed wrong. Like it was happening in more than one direction.

I ran toward him. Verity froze like someone had unplugged her.

Barry held up a hand.

“Don’t,” he said. “I… I think I’m sick.”

His outline flickered.

Just for a moment. Just enough to make the house lean toward him.

Final Note

Barry says it’s just a flu.

The house does not believe him. And honestly… neither do I.