The Space Between by Erik Tomblin Page A

be too late to enjoy some barbeque and catch up with Albert and Harold. He could always grab a coffee and slice of pie at Mama's Kitchen to rest and kill more time.
    He'd left his shoes under the bathroom sink, and his jacket hanging on the back of the door. Isaac slid his legs from the bed and stood, pleased that the pain did not flare up as long as he took his time and paid attention to his body. After patting his back pocket to make sure he'd transferred his wallet and phone to the fresh pair of jeans, Isaac left the room.
    The shimmer was undeniable this time, so much so that Isaac froze as he exited the bedroom. Tiny ripples played in the air and along the wall next to the door. He tried to will himself toward the stairs, to somehow convince himself that any investigation of what he was seeing could easily wait until after he returned from his drive. But the mystery was building around him, especially after finding the hidden journal in that strange sub-room in the barn. Isaac turned his body slowly toward the phenomenon, placing himself as close to the spot on which he had stood the previous evening.
    The door was there, just as before, becoming clearer and more obvious as he adjusted his stance to fine-tune this reception from another realm. He could see the doorknob, the outline, everything as it was the first time.
    Still worried about some kind of fumes taking over the second floor, Isaac inhaled deeply through his nose. He sensed no unusual smells. Though the house had been cleared by the firefighters and their equipment, he still worried it could be something they hadn't taken into consideration. He kept his eyes on the new door, however, determined to go back through and either confirm his sanity by proving the door and room beyond it existed, or get lost in the mirage and not worry about how he would get back.
    Two steps closer and he took hold of the cold knob, turning it and drawing the door open. The same darkness greeted him, though he realized the awful smell of spoiled blood was no longer evident. That was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Worst case scenario was that he might smack his head again, but at least he'd have a good yarn to entertain his new friends with over lunch. And maybe his story this time around would be alluring enough to talk Harold into divulging just what it was about himself that bothered the old man. Isaac didn't like the thought of having an enemy he'd not even earned.
    Wasting no more time, as it could only be used to talk himself out of it, he stepped through the door that shouldn't be there a second time.
    §
    There was no blood, nor any of the tangy, acidic smell invading his nostrils. As he moved through that pool of ultimate darkness and into the room beyond, Isaac exhaled in a long, steady stream. The void rolled from his visage, retreating like lake water at midnight. After acknowledging the lack of blood, his gaze first landed on the bed. It had been made and the covers turned down, ready to receive a weary body. There was a modest and somewhat dated dress lying near the foot of the bed, and the armoire against the far wall was open. The walls matched the other three rooms he'd investigated, though the pinewood strips were stained a dark color, the wood grain showing through.
    Before he could process the possibilities this presented, Isaac caught sight of the young woman sitting in front of the vanity, brushing her hair. She sat in the same chair that had been knocked over and splattered with blood (just like everything else) the first time he'd stepped through the door. Her hair hung down to her waist, and he watched as she took a thick rope of it, running the brush from her scalp all the way down. She sat straight in the chair, her head tilted slightly to the side she was brushing. A soft glow seemed to emanate from her hair, and he noticed the oil lamp on the far side of the vanity, casting the room in a steady, golden hue.
    He was at first taken aback at the