By Keith Hoerner
Every time he checks the blueprints, something’s different. When he questions the builder, he sneers, as if to demand “What are ya talkin’ about bub; you were on board with the designs – just yesterday.” But upon today’s examination, the roofline has taken on a monstrous fortress-like appearance. Worse yet, each day, it continues to grow in strangeness. Now, as the house is complete, he does not question its organic shapeshifting. He lies in bed aware—as walls fold and floors slide around him. The house lives, takes on new forms, and against his will, locks its doors and windows.
Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois. He is published frequently in literary journals like decomP, Fiction Kitchen Berlin, and Litro—to name just a few. He is founding editor of the Webby Award recognized Dribble Drabble Review, and his memoir, The Day the Sky Broke Open, is a Best Book and American Writing Finalist.