For a moment, the two of them just stared at one another. Then Emmet brought his heel back, hard. He had intended to kick the stranger in the face. What happened instead was that he brought his heel back hard, right into the bed frame. He grunted, and tried to exclaim, but he was too worked up to get the words out.

A hand darted out from under the bed and grabbed Emmet by the ankle. Panicking, Emmet wrenched his foot back out of his grasp and kicked back again. This time he at least succeeded in crushing his assailant’s fingers against the metal of the frame.

There was a yelp and Emmet took advantage of the situation by leaping from the bed and spinning around to face his opponent.

From under the bed, a smudged, dirty boy was wiggling out. Emmet glanced around and grabbed the thing closest to hand. A three foot wooden polka dot cat statue.

He gripped one hand around the neck and the other around the midriff, brandishing it like a club.

The boy scrambled to his feet and with surprising agility, leapt towards Emmet.

Startled, Emmet stumbled backwards and toppled into his laundry basket. He hit the ground hard with his elbow and the cat statue flew out of his hand, sliding across the hardwood floor and coming to rest near his half-open closet door.

Emmet rolled off of his basket and swung it around to use as a shield, but the boy, instead of attacking, was pulling the door open.

Without even a glance towards Emmet, the boy darted into the hall.

“H-hey!” Emmet shouted after him.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs, followed a short moment later by the sound of the back door sliding open.

Emmet hoisted himself up with difficulty and staggered towards the window. He was just in time to see the boy hop the fence and disappear around the side of the neighbours house.

Rubbing his elbow, he tested out a few of the words he had learned from Ian. Part way through what he thought was a particularly impressive string, he noticed the draft.

Frowning, Emmet glanced around the room. None of the windows were open, and the draft from the open back door shouldn’t have affected him upstairs. Not to this extent.

Getting back on his knees, he lowered his head and peered underneath the bed.

There, in the space the coke bottles and dirty socks had occupied, was a mid sized rift.

Hastily, he pulled his kit, which had been tottering precariously near the edge, back into the relative safety of his room. Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself fully to the ground and wormed his way under the bed to get a better look.

He found himself staring into what looked like an endless expanse of sea. No matter which way he angled his head, all he could see was steely grey water. It smelled like the ocean.

He wiggled back out and sat cross legged on the floor, contemplating.

While he had to admit, the overall aroma of his room was much better, he didn’t  particularly like the idea of keeping an open portal to an alien ocean under his bed.

With a sigh, he dug his phone out of his pocket and slid open his contacts list. He only had three contacts and the first one didn’t work anymore. Of the other two, one was his Dad, and the other, the newest one, belonged to Brock. That’s the one he tapped with his finger. He hoped Brock texted because he could never get all those words out. Not today. He was too tired and too scared.

>>There’s a rift under my bed. Some guy crawled out of it and took off down the street. What do I do?

He hit send and waited, his eyes continuously drifting back towards the hole under his bed. He could hear the crash of waves. His phone pinged.

<<Under your bed?

>>Yes

Another moment passed, then

<<Ian wants to know where it goes.

>>To a great big ocean

<<Any land at all?

>>Just water

<<Did you see a Nagra?

>>No

<<Is there a film or a sticky liquid around the edge of the rift anywhere?

Emmet lowered his head, and turning on the flashlight of his phone, took another peek under the bed.

>>Not that I can see

He heard the lock flip on the front door and his father’s footsteps in the front lobby. He typed frantically.

>>My Dad’s home. What do I do?

<<Stay calm. Pull a blanket over the edge of the bed, try to cover up the noise with something else. Ian and I are almost there

Emmet sprang to his feet and quickly pulled his blanket down over the side of the bed. Tossing his kit into the closet, he righted the wooden cat and flipped the TV on in his room. It was the Evening news.

There was a light tap and then the door cracked open. His father, still dressed in his maintenance coveralls, stood illuminated in the hall light. Emmet hadn’t realized how dark it was getting outside.

“Did you leave the back door open?” his father asked.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Emmet said. “It-it-it was h-hot.”

“Next time, don’t forget to close it again, please. It’s freezing in here.” He glanced at the TV, but made no comment other than, “Did you finish your homework first?”

Emmet nodded.

“Good,” Emmet’s dad said. “I have to head back out. Marco asked me to cover him tonight. There’s money on the counter if you want order a pizza.”

He backed out of the doorway and the door clicked closed behind him.

Emmet heaved a sigh of relief. For once grateful of his father’s lack of interest.

He didn’t have to wait long before his phone buzzed in his pocket again.

<<We’re just pulling up. Was that your dad we saw leaving?

>>Yes. He had to go back to work. I’ll come unlock the door.

Emmet took the stairs one at a time, his stiff knee throbbing with each step. He unlocked the door and let Brock and Ian in.

Ian glanced at him before stepping in.

“I think you actually look worse than when we left you,” he said.

Emmet shrugged and fingered a rip in the cuff of his sleeve. “I fell.”

Ian snorted. “Now you want to try out those excuses?”

It took Emmet a second to remember the conversation in the car.

He shook his head. “N-no. I-I-I act-t-tually fell. H-honest. C-c-come on, I’ll t-t-take you up-p-pstairs.”

Ian and Brock, each carrying small backpacks, followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Ian flipped up the comforter and stretched himself out on the floor to peek under the bed.

He let out a soft whistle. “Yeah, that’s an ocean  all right. Brock, pass me my Thingamajig.”

Brock rolled his eyes and bent to grab a grey disc out of Ian’s backpack.

“That’s actually what he calls it,” Brock explained, passing the disc to Ian.

“It’s as good a name as any,” Ian replied. “Flashlight too?

Brock passed him the flashlight. Ian flicked it on, then popped the unlit end into his mouth so he could shimmy under the bed.

“Want to clip in?” Brock asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Ian said around the butt of the flashlight. “Not going far.”

Brock put a hand on Emmet’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Every detail you can remember.”

Emmet took a deep breath and began.