The Inbetweens

By Arys Gilbert

“But Dad!” I whined.

“No. Now don’t catch me in the inbetweens.” He sounded angry, and his answer was stern.

“It’s not fair!” I squealed in a shrill, whiny voice. He turned around for half a moment, only to shoot a mean look at me. His hand instinctively reached up to the plaque next to the door. “Non te deseram.” This was a traditional blessing written in Latin that was etched into the surface of the chunk of wood. A plaque was placed snugly next to every doorway in the house. It was a common courtesy to gently press your hand against the wood before you passed to the next room. When my siblings and I were younger, we were always scolded that it was bad luck to not touch the plaque.

I was warned about the in betweens all my life. Any doorway, whether it had a door or was just an arch, was an “inbetween”. It was the space between one territory and the next. I was always told, that when you enter in the inbetweens, warped, wretched souls lived there and would steal your soul away, or even kidnap you if you were caught lingering for too long.

My father briskly exited the room. I was not done arguing with him. I followed him in pursuit, still trying to make him see my side. He turned around the sharp corner in our hall.

“But Dad!” I screamed once more. I heard him start his normal rebuttal. He was near his office by now.

“I have had enou-” his voice was cut off by the office door slamming shut.

I turned the corner of the hall. He was gone. I was 11 when that happened. I haven't seen or heard from my father in almost 15 years now.

The Second Coming Universe

Games in the Second Coming Universe