"dry socket cure" by Max Peerless

last night I went down to the basement

and found that a new room had gone

and grown itself where before there was

only flat wall

I looked inside to see it was a bathroom and that

someone had left a mug of toothbrushes next to

the dripping sink, giving me the idea

that soon the owner would return and I would be unwelcome

this was my home but I had recently moved in

so maybe the old owner just didn’t know yet

or maybe the house just didn’t know yet

and was softly making space for new teeth

when I asked, the house said:

“that’s just how it goes sometimes,

with a move. it’s good to leave

a little gap behind.”

“house,” I said, “when I move away,

will you leave a gap for me, too? I’m afraid that

no one will remember how much I cared or how much

I wanted to stay.”

“well you remember,” said the house,

“how that old couple left in such a hurry—they left

their entire menagerie of birds and their dining set and even their wedding rings, tucked beneath the bed.”

“and you remember how the fourth floor burnt down and

when they came to rebuild it, they never left

because I think a part of them wanted to stay and make sure

everyone could hear how much it hurt to fix it.”

“places keep themselves,” said the house.

“old teeth fall out. new teeth fill the gap.

corn grows where they buried him.

if you care, you will remember.”

I left that new bathroom undisturbed and in the morning

found that it had grown over with a fresh coat of paint

and the basement smelled of cloves.

behind the wall, quietly, the sink dripped in peace.

Max Peerless is a trans horror and sci-fi enthusiast currently residing in Montreal. Since growing up on remote Haida Gwaii, he loves reading stories about isolation and family ghosts, and has been writing them for over ten years. When he's not working in tech, he’s writing poetry, baking croissants, and trying to re-learn math.