High Strangeness

The air in Nobility, Texas, hung heavy with the smell of rotten eggs, a constant reminder of the TexNation well explosion on Hausman Hill. Fourteen-year-old Tyler and his best friend, Isaac, lay sprawled on the roof of Tyler's house, the heat of the day slowly giving way to the cool evening.

From their perch, the orange glow of a roaring fire, spewing from a gaping wound in the side of Hausman Hill, illuminated the pouring, billowing smoke against the twilight sky. It looked like a wound in the earth, a beacon of unnatural light against the darkening landscape.

"Dad said it's not a hill, it's a burial mound," Isaac murmured, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of the town. "You think they punched into Hell?"

Tyler chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Great, Mrs. Christian can find her way home then."

They exchanged a look, a silent agreement not to laugh too loudly, lest Tyler's mother discover their illicit rooftop sanctuary once more. The roof, rusted remains of an old TV antenna serving as a ladder, was their escape, their only private space in a town that felt increasingly like a trap.

"You hardly notice the smell anymore," Isaac continued, waving a hand dismissively. "You get used to that rotten egg potpourri pretty quick, I guess."

Tyler shivered, despite the lingering warmth. "You might be used to it. I'm going to buy a gas mask from the surplus."

A soft thump from the ceiling below them, three distinct beats, shattered their brief peace.

"Fuck, mom found us," Tyler sighed, the quiet dread settling back into his chest.