by Kim F.G. Olav

“The vault’s new security system is online,” Declan says, pointing to the chequered tiles.

“But…how do we cross without triggering it?” Octavia asks.

“There’s a safe path over—the technician wrote it down.” He hands Octavia a sticky note, her brows furrow.

“Huh? This handwriting’s atrocious.”

“It’s easy. Watch.”

Declan hops onto a tile, then navigates: left, forward, forward, right, forward, forward. He’s almost at the opposite end. “Another left and—”

“No, right!” Octavia yells, decoding the scribble.

Declan veers left. “Nope. I told—”

Crackling. Screams. Thud.

A charred-pork stench.

Octavia sighs, crumpling the note. “He never listens to me.”

Kim F.G. Olav

Kim F.G. Olav is a South African/Norwegian amateur writer with a love for penning weird and speculative fiction with a splash of dark humour.