RELEASE DATE: 1 January 2019
Usually, Scott gets home to one of his mother’s crazy rants.
Today? Silence.
Which makes a nice change—except that today, evil shadows lurk in the pantry where the food should be.
Can Scott track down his mother, banish the shadows, and find something to eat in peace?
A dark fantasy tale featuring one of the characters from Laurens’ popular Sanctuary series.
Another Kind of Hunger
Scott waited for the usual shouts of irritation to greet him as he slammed the front door of his home and kicked his black school shoes off. Instead, silence hovered over the house, heavy and cloying. Silence, that was, except for his rumbling stomach. He sighed and schlepped down to his room, dodging the stacks of miscellaneous paperwork and clothing in various states of cleanliness that lined the hallway. Looked like dinner would be beans on toast again.
Scott kicked open the door to his room and crossed the threshold into sanity. The rest of the house was his mother’s domain, carpets crusted with dirt and crumbs and ineffectual insect spray, mould growing in the corners where damp had invaded the house, drains stinking like a public toilet block.
In his room, the carpet was, if not clean, at least vacuumed. The array of stains were at least assured to stay where they were, and the walls had been scrubbed down so regularly they were starting to look worn. He closed the door with a heavy sigh and dumped his school bag in the bottom of the wardrobe.
Undressing was an exercise in precision: trousers washed only two days ago meticulously folded for reuse tomorrow, sweat-infused shirt in the hamper, tie over the hanger in the wardrobe. He pulled on trackies that would have crushed his carefully cultivated reputation in one fell swoop if anyone from school ever saw them, and a t-shirt that had sprouted at least two new holes since he’d worn it last time. There was a uniform free day coming up next week; he’d have to raid Mum’s wallet again.
Out in the kitchen, three envelopes skulked on the bench, all addressed to his mother, all unopened. Scott glanced at them. Phone bill, electricity and water. He rubbed a hand up his face, under his glasses and over his eyes. Dammit. The welfare payment wouldn’t be banked for another ten days. He’d have to call Aunt Sally again.
Whatever. Problem for later. Right now, the most pressing problem was his gurgling stomach. Lunch had been good old air yet again—easy to hide with enough arrogance and a few simpering girls to hold people’s attention—and it was nearly half past five.