The Hole In the World

By J.D. Robinson

Klem Antrim would go to the ends of the Earth to see his father alive again—but he'll have to travel much farther than that.

Klem's life in picturesque Sea Scarp has just taken a turn for the worse. The car crash that killed his father knocked Klem straight out of reality, and since that day nothing in his life has seemed quite right.

Not only is Klem being followed, he keeps stumbling into invisible tunnels that snake through town. But when he peers through one tunnel's glassy walls and catches a glimpse of his father—alive and well—Klem realizes the town outside the tunnels isn't his Sea Scarp at all. Such things aren't possible, of course. But if Klem is losing his mind, then how has the mysterious stranger who's been tailing him already mapped out every invisible hole in town?

Now Klem will set out to find the one tunnel that leads to his father. But unraveling the truth behind his father's death is about to unravel a much more dire truth—a truth that's been hidden in plain sight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.D. Robinson
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540144287

Book preview

Chapter One

Idiot.

Klem’s forehead pressed to the glass as his father swerved to avoid something. The tires kicked up gravel, but it was all over before Klem opened his eyes.

"Idiot!"

What’s up? Klem sat up straight and squinted against the glare. Waves of tall grass had sprung up on either side of the road, as if to welcome them to the country.

I don’t know what lane he thought he was in, Klem’s father said, still peering into his rearview mirror, but it definitely wasn’t his.

Klem stared out the window without seeing the landscape. His father’s near miss had played out exactly as Klem had seen it in his head moments before. It had begun with the image of a car—a blue car—drifting over the center line. The next second, his father was wrenching the steering wheel the other way.

First had come the thought, then the event.

Klem pushed the ridiculous thought from his head, but it remained like a bitter aftertaste.

Whatever, he thought.

If he believed such nonsense, he might as well believe he had caused the near miss just by thinking it.

Okay if I lower the window? Klem asked.

His father glanced over. Go for it.

Klem held the button down, yawning to relieve the pressure on his eardrums as the outside air buffeted his hair. Behind his eyes, the familiar throb had become more insistent since they had left home less than an hour ago. He shut his eyes and leaned into the wind, but his malady was the persistent type. It would take more than a road trip to throw it off his trail.

Still, Klem tried. Thinking of nothing hadn’t worked—depriving a mind of thoughts only forced it to conjure its own. So he tried doing the opposite, filling his mind with useless details to keep the stray thoughts at bay.

The rise and fall of keening cicadas over the wind.

The feel of the sun-warmed leather armrest.

The roughness of the narrowing country roads through the seat cushions.

The faint scent of his father’s shaving oil.

Everything okay, Klem?

His eyes snapped open. Had he really dozed off? What a lame road companion. But it was just bad timing—today was another one of the bad ones.

Sorry.

His father chuckled. It’s fine if you’re tired. Go ahead and rest if you want; we should be there in about half an hour.

The picnic had been his father’s idea. Klem had taken to it, looking forward to the change in routine after the end of the school year. His mother had been nothing less than encouraging, and not just because it meant having the house to herself for the weekend.

Now that it was finally happening, the sobering reality of it was starting to sink in. His father wasn’t just asking if he was okay for the fun of it. By finals week, Klem had almost gotten used to the headaches and hallucinations, and the subsequent visits to the doctor had almost become routine. But that didn’t make them normal.

Was it okay that Klem found himself remembering things that had never happened? Was it okay that he knew, almost word for word, how this very conversation was about to proceed?

"I don’t know if everything is okay, said Klem, idly allowing his right hand to slice through the wind. I guess I’m always a little sad."

His father blinked. Always? A smile didn’t mask the concern on his face.

Klem cursed at himself. Why had he said it that way?

I mean, I guess I’m sad that Mom’s not with us.

Oh, don’t worry–

Don’t worry about that, Klem. We’ll call her after we settle in tonight . . .

His father kept talking, his tone even and reassuring. But Klem was lost in the echoes, his father’s words falling over themselves like a radio tuned to several stations at the same time.

Klem pressed his palms to his eyes as if that could reconnect his faulty wiring. Earlier in the day, he had stared down from his bedroom window as multiple copies of his father had prepared the family car for the trip ahead.

One father loading the cooler without incident.

A second father tripping and dumping its contents across the driveway.

Yet another father pausing to pet the neighbor’s dog.

Klem might have blamed the overlapping parade of fathers on his own failing vision, but each variation was in perfect focus.

Klem’s eyes were fine. His mind, though, that he was less sure about.

Still more unsettling were the premonitions playing out in their myriad variations, like mirages forever peeking through in the corner of his eye. This must be what it felt like to go insane.

His father’s hand was on his shoulder. Hey, it’s okay. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.

Then they rolled through a desolate country crossroad, and Klem watched as an oncoming truck plowed through his father’s door, wrapping their car around itself like tin foil.

A single flash wiped the world clean, and the last thing Klem remembered was the terrible sound of metal and glass.

And a great and rising heat.

Chapter Two

A piercing trill filled the air, the hopeful call of a thousand cicadas.

Only, no.

The whine was in his own ears.

Klem gulped for air as he blinked tears from his eyes. He was outside, lying prone on the grass by the roadside. He had never been unconscious before. It was like sleep, only more abrupt. One moment he was awake, and the next–

Metal buckling, easy as cloth over a knee.

He rolled to his side and sat up, wincing as something in his shoulder snapped into place.

No sign of the car.

He squinted into the distance, but the road was shrouded in a pale, flickering fog.

The day had been clear before.

How long had he been out?

Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Klem glanced down at his hands, but found them in perfect focus. He looked back up, peering through the odd haze with its sparkling flashes of light. That wasn’t right at all.

It’s not real.

It was worse than real. His symptoms had done more than caught up to him. This time he was in for good—trapped in his own hallucination. He had finally lost his mind.

He had probably caused the accident.

Klem pulled himself onto all fours, but his arm gave way, spilling him onto his side. The world spun as he tried to get his eyes to focus. He had to calm down. Freaking out was only making things worse. He was shaken up, that was all. The important thing was that he was okay, which meant his father should be okay, too.

"Dad!"

No car.

Or smoke.

Or sirens.

Maybe the accident wasn’t as bad as it had seemed.

Or there was no accident.

Klem got to his feet, his hands out until he felt steady. After a moment he ventured forward, his feet growing heavier with each step. There was no pain, but something felt wrong. Everything beyond just a few feet away was just a meaningless smudge.

"Klem Antrim?"

He spun around, but there was only more fog.

Hello? he called, coughing as he batted his arm through the haze. After his third step, something shifted, too quick for him to respond to. Vertigo wrenched the world away as his knees buckled, and the ground sped toward him before he could catch himself, pressing into his ribs like a vice.

The darkness that followed was almost a relief.

Chapter Three

Klem struggled to stay upright, his eyes fixed on his father’s casket. When the unsteadiness didn’t go away he took hold of his mother’s arm. If he stood any closer to the edge of the six-foot hole he just might topple in. That might be okay.

In his head, the car crash played out as if on a loop, making itself at home in the space between thoughts.

Hit and run.

He had overheard his mother in the hospital when she thought he was asleep. Tearful words—hit and run—confided to friends and family, but never directly to him. He had overheard the words spoken in the hall outside his evaluation room. Over the next days, he had repeated the phrase, as if searching for meaning in the syllables.

Klem’s medical evaluation had been a blur of scans and tests. In the end, his doctor had informed them with a kind of admiration that Klem had sustained only a mild concussion. Considering the state of the vehicle, Klem understood, things could have been much worse.

Miss and run.

Far less surprising, his doctor had said, was his emotional state. For that trauma, the only treatment was time. She had actually prescribed mindfulness and counseling, but Klem did the translation himself.

In the meantime, the police had breezed in and out of his hospital room with their questions. Everyone had questions. Only when they had run out of questions to ask had Klem been released.

Once home, he had wandered from room to room like a ghost, feeling detached, useless. Nothing made sense, even if it looked the same. Remembering that his father wouldn’t be coming back from the hospital was like instinctively reaching for the light switch, then remembering that the power had gone out. In the meantime, he had avoided his mother, whose anguish was like an exposed wire, too dangerous to approach.

The funeral was like the exclamation mark at the end of the sentence. Klem wanted to be anywhere else but this drawn-out, public insult following the injury he had already endured. Wasn’t it enough to have witnessed his favorite person wiped from the face of the earth? No, he had to be propped up before family and friends and shuffled around like a marionette.

Now, still clutching the stiff fabric of his mother’s black jacket, a breeze dried the tears from his cheeks. Turning from the pit, he ducked back through the crowd, furiously wiping at his eyes. His mother wouldn’t follow him.

Dew from the well-maintained grass darkened his dress shoes as he walked among the headstones, not stopping until the rustling leaves masked the monotonous drone of burial rites. He leaned against a moss-encrusted obelisk, peering down to read the inscription:

RUE LINNEAD

Here, then there, now everywhere.

Klem laughed, but his breath hitched. How sad it was. All of it.

Maybe not for Rue.

He wiped his cheeks again and shook his head vigorously. The tears cleared up, but his head wouldn’t stop spinning. This wasn’t just fatigue—staying upright now required conscious physical effort. He put his hand on the headstone to keep from falling, but the sensation grew so strong that his vision began to blur.

Ugh, what the hell, he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

His hand raked across the mossy stone as he fell forward.

---

✧ ✧ ✧

---

After a single bone-jarring jolt, Klem found himself on his hands and knees. He hadn’t gone unconscious this time, but the world had flipped around on him just the same, and without warning.

No, that wasn’t true.

He wiped his hands together and thought back. His dizziness had escalated until he was overcome, but not a trace of it remained. His head was entirely clear, save for his eyes, which were playing tricks on him again, like in those bleary moments on the roadside after the accident. Where Scarp Hill Cemetery’s tombstone-toothed hills had been only a moment ago, there remained only an indistinct blur of color. Was this what a mild concussion was supposed to feel like? He couldn’t have hit the ground hard enough to jar anything loose.

Klem sat back on his knees and raised his hands before him. The light wasn’t strong, but he had no trouble focusing. Similarly, the ground around him was sharp and clear. That had to rule out a vision problem—if his wiring was really that fragile, he shouldn’t be able to focus on anything. So why was everything beyond a five-foot radius nothing but a smear of light and color?

Klem braced himself on his knees and stood carefully, minding his balance until he was sure the dizziness would not return. Peering outward, he extended his arms in front of him, eyes scanning for any hint of the familiar.

He had taken only a single step when he spotted something just beyond his hands. He froze, trying to catch sight of it again, but only when he angled his head to the side did he see it again—a kind of ripple playing across the colored blobs. He had seen the same thing in the privacy glass of his shower door. Edging forward, Klem stretched his hand out until it encountered something solid.

This was no symptom.

He placed both hands against the surface and applied pressure until his arms shook from the strain. Taking a step back, Klem gave an exasperated sigh as he wrung the cramps from his arms and considered his predicament.

It was some sort of membrane between him and the world outside, surrounding him like an upturned bowl.

Wonderful, Klem said, looking around himself. To his left, a narrow stretch of ground extended beyond the circumference of the main area. It might lead somewhere, or it might just lead deeper into the chamber. Did it matter? He might not be losing his vision or his mind, but where did that leave him?

He put a hand on the wall. Hey! His cry reverberated from the walls, filling his own ears. "Hello! Anyone?"

He pounded at the interior wall with his fists, but the material—whatever it was—held firm. Massaging his aching hands, Klem leaned in close enough to feel the heat of his breath and held as still as possible.

Movement.

Klem trained his eyes on the diffused form as it shifted from left to right. Though it lacked definition, it wasn’t just drifting like a cloud. This was something moving with purpose. He took a step back from the wall and squinted as the scattered patches of color coalesced into a solitary figure.

It was a person, just outside the chamber.

Hey! Klem shouted, slapping at the walls. "In here! Hey!"

The person continued along the passage without pause, and Klem followed along, waving his arms. Can you hear me? Hey!

The figure took no notice of him. Klem hit the wall once more with resignation. How could a surface so thin and translucent be so solid? How could a person just feet away not hear him? Unless they were in on it.

If this is some kind of prank, it’s not funny! Klem called, expecting no response.

The person outside took a step toward the barrier, close enough, finally, for their face to resolve into something recognizable. Klem gasped, and he launched himself at the wall with renewed strength.

"Dad!"

Klem’s father stood motionless, as if lost in thought, but made no indication that he heard the commotion before him. In fact, he appeared to be staring straight through the container walls to something in the distance.

Klem slapped at the walls, his heart pounding at his ribs. "Dad, if you can hear me, say something. It’s Klem! Hey!" Klem waved his arms, but his father didn’t respond.

"Oh, come on," he said. Still out of breath, Klem rested his arm against the wall and his forehead on that. It made no sense. Even assuming that he had become trapped inside something at the cemetery, how did that explain his dead father outside, wandering around?

Maybe I did black out. Maybe I’m on the ground right now, mumbling about my dad while everyone is gathered around me shaking their heads.

At least that explanation would explain several things at once. The doctors might have underestimated the severity of his concussion. It wasn’t a comforting thought, but was it any better to assume this tube to the afterlife was real?

Whatever the answer, Klem could only watch as his dead father turned slowly away and returned to the blur beyond. Klem gave the wall a halfhearted kick, but his foot glanced off the surface without making a scratch.

So, fine. What now?

He pushed away from the wall, putting his hand on the membrane and sliding it along as he walked. The interior extended for quite a way, actually—as far as he could see.

Like a tube, Klem said to himself, his voice muted against the inner walls. He sighed and shook his head as he faced the passage before him. What choice did he have?

He followed the tunnel until he was well outside the Scarp Hill Cemetery grounds.

Chapter Four

The walls of the tube remained as smooth as polished stone, even as it wound and undulated. Putting both arms out, Klem braced against both sides for support when the grade grew steep.

That meant he was somewhere, even if he couldn’t tell where. The tunnel wasn’t entirely divorced from his Sea Scarp home—didn’t just bore straight through to its destination.

Did no one notice the tunnel carving through town? How had it not blocked traffic? Nothing about it made sense. But that didn’t matter at the moment—it wasn’t going to do him any good just to give up, even if he were insane, or dead, or blacked out on the ground with his mother fanning his cheeks.

As he progressed, the light outside varied in intensity, growing dim or dazzling by turns. Isolated splotches of color tinted the murky walls, but no detail was apparent beyond that. Wherever he was, he must have made decent progress—an hour’s walk would surely put him toward the edge of town.

As the path finally leveled off, Klem looked ahead and spotted the tunnel’s end—a shimmering disc, like a mirror made of quicksilver. In the vortex whirl, he was greeted by a fractured image of himself, a tentative figure in black. Klem approached it with caution, hands out as if to show it he meant no harm.

A current of cool air crossed his palms.

So it wasn’t just a solid dead end; it was an opening, or at least permeable. Any doubts about that impression were dissolved by the close by cry of a seagull. On hearing that, Klem’s tension turned into urgency. Whatever that thing was, it was the only thing standing between the confines of the tunnel and the coast of Sea Scarp.

Klem brought his left foot up and slipped off his uncomfortable dress shoe. Taking aim, he tossed it straight at the swirling circle and watched as the footwear vanished from sight. It landed somewhere outside, and rolled to an uneven stop. That was promising, but it didn’t tell him everything. What if the shoe had been singed, or irradiated? Or what if the shimmering field dissolved organic material?

Then again, nothing would be more pitiful than starving to death in an invisible tunnel just feet away from its exit hatch.

And if he were unconscious, maybe this was the way to wake himself up.

Klem put out his left leg, face pulled into a grimace.

This better not hurt.

He lowered his toe into the radiant field, but felt nothing save for the cool coastal air outside. Squeezing his eyes shut, he held his breath and ducked through.

---

✧ ✧ ✧

---

Klem stood alone on the pier at the edge of town, an unlikely figure in his funeral black. He turned back to the tunnel exit, but found no visible trace of it. He waved his arms around just to be sure, but felt not a thing out of place.

He let his hands fall back to his sides as a cool breeze swept over the inlet, and the familiar brine funk brought him back to reality. In the light of day, the tunnel incident made less sense by the second, yet here he was on the opposite side of town. Maybe he had wandered across Sea Scarp in a trance, dreaming of his father in the haze.

Whatever the explanation, it didn’t bode well.

Shaking his head, Klem turned his back to the town, gazing out over the Maradaxee Strait. Several boats forded their way through the calm waters, the reflections of their colorful hulls dancing beneath them. Before his ailments had gotten bad, Klem had explored the piers at the western edge of Sea Scarp, usually when his mother took too long at the weekend farmer’s market. But no one was in sight now—dead or alive, real or imagined.

He snatched his left shoe from the old dock, then slipped off his right, followed by his socks. He set them next to a post, plopped down by the plank’s edge, and hiked up his trousers before dangling his legs into the luminous green water. Klem peered down at his feet and wriggled his toes. The rhythmic lapping of the wavelets across the support beams made everything else feel far away.

He was on borrowed time, of course. When he finally made it back home, he would surely answer to his mother for ditching his own father’s funeral. Then again, she might let him off easy if he played up his emotional distress; he wouldn’t have to exaggerate all that much, after all. As long as he avoided mentioning anything that had actually happened, he should be okay. Simple.

Klem glanced at his watch. Nearly eleven o’clock. He pictured his route. From the edge of town, his home was about twenty minutes by bus. Except, it now occurred to him, he hadn’t brought any money to the funeral. Okay, so an hour’s walk. Still, if he left now, he might make it home before the reception was in full swing.

Klem sighed. A house full of people was the last thing he needed. Just a few more minutes, then, and he would get moving.

The current swirled deliciously around his feet, and Klem leaned forward to study the barnacle-encrusted pilings descending into the murk. Exotic pink-and-orange starfish went about their business, creeping almost imperceptibly over the barnacle colonies. Klem reached out his finger and ran it over the rough skin of the nearest star, only to see the creature’s entire back open up like a flower. Within its maw, rows of needle-like teeth glistened in the sunlight.

Klem’s arm was yanked back.

Hey! he cried out, swinging his legs out of the water to maintain his balance.

The woman beside him let go of his sleeve and danced out of the way of the splash. "Sorry, man. But you really don’t want to be doing that."

Klem looked up at her, his cheeks warm. Did she work here? Feeling her eyes on him, he pulled his legs into his chest. Sorry, I didn’t mean to–

"No need to apologize to me," said the young woman, sitting back on the nearest piling with a half smile on her face.

How long had she been there? Had she seen him exit the tunnel tube?

The sea life in this spot is unusually aggressive, that’s all. She leaned toward Klem to show him the delicate white line across the underside of her right wrist. A scar. Had she been bitten by one of those things? Just saving you the trouble, buddy.

Oh. Well. Yeah, thanks. He moved his feet into the sun so they would dry more quickly. I wasn’t planning . . . I didn’t . . . His brain wasn’t talking with his mouth. So were you just . . . hanging out?

She couldn’t be more than twenty, with hair nearly as dark as Klem’s. Her clothes had been nice once, maybe even stylish. Now they were frayed at the edges.

I’ve been around, she said. Here and there.

And now everywhere.

Name’s Mays. She held out the hand with the scar on it.

Mays? He stood and shook her hand. Uh, Klem.

K-L-E-M? Is that short for anything? she asked with that crooked smile.

He shrugged. No, it’s just–

Oh, no worries. It’s super easy to remember, as I guess you already know.

Yeah, it’s pretty easy, Klem said, his own smile surprising him. She was weird, but in a good way. So, you live around here, or . . . ?

Mays smirked. Inquisitive. She put her hands in her pockets. "Okay, well I’ve been couch surfing. Stayed with a friend, but that ended horribly. Stayed somewhere else with a stranger, which was surprisingly better. Then I had a job for a while that covered a few weeks in a motel by the edge of town. So if that’s your idea of living . . . "

Klem’s cheeks grew hot. He had just been making conversation, but that smile of hers told him she enjoyed watching his reaction.

It’s none of my business.

She laughed. It’s not glamorous, I know. She made no move to leave. How about you? What brings you out here? Her eyes flicked down to his shoes, then back up.

Just . . . wandering. He shrugged. It’s quiet down here. It’s . . . nice. He looked to the sky, at a lone seagull hovering in place on an air thermal. I should probably be getting back. His feet had dried, and he was already late. He slipped on his socks and shoes while Mays waited in silence.

You’re probably right, Mays said, looking him up and down, about getting back.

Klem smiled. I may be around here later. He glanced away, toward a passing boat, to avoid seeing her reaction to that. Mays only shrugged and said nothing, giving him a wave and turning. He watched as she headed across the pier and up toward the nearest boathouse.

Klem took a deep breath and turned to the embankment. As he climbed back up to the street level, his smile faded. A nice conversation with a stranger hadn’t changed anything—he might still be insane. Mays hadn’t seemed to pick up on any of