The Veil
by Kevin O’Cuinn
I open the book to The Veil, the last story. It’s gone. The pages are still there, but blank. It looks back at me like a silenced radio. I close, reopen. Nothing. I get out of the bath, check the phone book and call the auth r.
‘Hmm,’ he says, ‘creepy. Who g ve you this number?’
‘I just dialled random n bers.’
‘Hmm,’ he says again, ‘what the chances?’
I suspect he’s trying change the subject.
‘Back to the story...’ I say.
‘Maybe that’s why they called it Best N n Required Non-R ading. I wondered ab t that, the title.’
‘I paid hard-earned cash for that book,’ I say. ‘I want story.’
‘It’s not your story,’ sa s. ‘It’s mine.’
I see his oint.
‘Point taken,’ I say, ‘but I think you under tand.’
‘Well, I’d love to stay on n chat but...’
‘But what?’ I say, wi just the right amount of indig tion.
‘But, I have a life, see?’ I hear a t flush.
‘Are you in the bathr m?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘You take c lls in the bathroom?’
‘Why not? Writers re just like n mal folk.’
I have a t g or two to say about n rmality but in rup d, ‘You’re breaking up —’ He was g ne, strange.
I remember I had the book subway and call the transit pe . I explain my case to Derek, who puts me th h to Shirley in Lost and Fo .’
‘Yeah,’ says Shirley, ‘we’re getting a lot of that. Which title pl se?’
At last, someone who u
‘It’s called The Veil,’ I say, ‘by Maya somebody or o .’
‘It wasn’t a Dubos, was it? I have an unclai d Dubos.’
‘No, it wasn’t a Dubos. And I bet he doesn’t take calls while he’s on the can.’
‘Okaaay,’ says Shirley. ‘And you tr ed the fri , right?’
‘Affirm tive.’
‘S k drawer?’
Maybe I’m tired, but I can’t locate my s k dr . It could be the failing light, the grow sh dows.
‘Nothing,’ I tell Shirley.
‘Well, it doesn’t sound good,’ she says. ‘What about HLT?’
‘ ?’
‘Helpl e for Lo t Stories. They’re really goo . If anyone can find The Veil, it’s . Let me gi e you their um .’
I ank Sh ey, mm her on her listening skills hang up.
I dial the HLT number and an answering machine tells me the helpline is mann d Tuesday, Thu ay, Sa urday, from t to lev a.m. I can also visit them online and contribute to t r oru .
Having given the st ry up for l st, I go back to my b th. I’m shiv ring by now turn on the h water. The light recedes from the wi w, sh dows grow. The sha ws erase the walls, they er e the end the tu , my fee , they erase eve
Kevin O’Cuinn lives in Frankfurt on the Main; he comes from Dublin, Ireland; he co-edits fiction at Word Riot.