PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr
‘Step over it,’ he said, when his daughter hesitated before the chain. ‘No-one must know we’re here.’
Her mother, leaning over her swollen belly like it was the bed she’d been longing for, said, ‘I’ll manage. Do as he says.’
The door gave way with a shove and, with another, gentler this time, the girl was inside the grey space, her nose wrinkling against some smell she couldn’t identify.
‘Bats,’ Mama said, over the chain and already on her knees in a pile of ancient straw that squeaked and rustled. ‘Pull the door closed.’ Her voice came in pants. ‘It’s almost time.’