The Door Below the Comic Store: An Urban Fantasy Story

When the answering machine at his best friend’s house came on the line, Colton slammed the phone down in its cradle and tiptoed past his mom’s room, where she and Barry were having it out in another screaming match. It was their third one this week. It was only Wednesday.

Some things never changed.

He could have listened in on their conversation, but what was the point? It was always some variation on the same theme: you don’t respect me, his Mom would say. Who makes the money around here? his stepfather would demand. And on and on. Colton’s name would drop into the argument at some point. His mom would get defensive. Barry would get angry. Rinse and repeat.

He never hit her. Barry usually had more bruises after a fight than his mom did. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t abusive behavior—on both their parts. Colton didn’t fool himself into thinking his mom wasn’t complicit in it. She chose to stay married to the prick, didn’t she?

In his room, Colton stuffed the bag of weed that Ajay left behind into his pocket, and climbed out the window. His mud-splattered mountain bike was leaning against the plastic siding of the trailer, siding so dirty it couldn’t respectably be called white any longer. It had been white once, Colton was sure, but he realized that he no longer remembered when that was. Years and years ago. In a different era.

Colton swung a leg over his bike and pedaled madly out of the trailer park.