The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, its golden rays beating down with merciless intensity.

  David stood at the edge of the open grave, sweat trickling down his back. The heat was suffocating, amplified by the fact that every single person in the small cemetery was dressed in heavy, heat-absorbing black.

  To his right stood Jonathan. The usually laid-back joker looked wrecked, his shoulders shaking as he wept silently. Beside him were Aunt Dorothy and her husband, Dan. Even Miss Madison had shown up, standing a few feet back, her face hidden beneath the brim of a massive black sun hat.

  The priest was reading verses from the Bible, his voice a steady drone against the buzzing of cicadas.

  But David wasn't listening to the scripture. He was fighting for his life.

  Tears streamed down his face. His nose was running uncontrollably. His eyes burned as if someone had rubbed chilies into them.

  Aunt Dorothy glanced at him, her expression softening into surprise. She knew David. He had always been a wall, tired, unreadable, and emotionally distant. To see him standing there, tears flowing freely, clearly overwhelmed by the loss... it moved her.

  She reached out and squeezed his hand.

  David squeezed back, mostly to stop himself from sneezing.

  *This perfume is killing me*, he thought, gritting his teeth.

  It wasn't just the doctor this time. It was a conspiracy. Jonathan was wearing it. Dan was wearing it. Even the priest smelled like he had bathed in the stuff before putting on his vestments.

  *What is up with these people?* David thought, sniffing loudly and wiping snot from his upper lip. *Is there a sale? Did a truck overturn on the highway? This has to be a crime.*

  He felt like he was standing inside a chemical weapon cloud. But he couldn't leave. He had to endure it.

  He forced himself to stand still as the service dragged on. People stepped forward to say their final words. Even Aunt Dorothy composed herself enough to speak.

  David listened, trying to ignore the fire in his sinuses.

  "James had his faults," Dorothy said, her voice trembling but clear. "We all know that. But he was loving. Even when he failed, and he failed often, he never stopped trying. And that is what made him a good person. That is what made him a father."

  He stood beside Jonathan, listening to the final prayers. He looked at his cousin. Jonathan’s usually messy brown hair was actually combed, even trimmed for the occasion. He looked genuinely sad.

  The service ended. The casket was lowered into the dirt, and James Sanchez was buried.

  As the small crowd broke up, Aunt Dorothy and her husband walked over to speak with Miss Madison and the priest. David was left alone with Jonathan by the grave.

  "I didn't think Miss Madison would come," Jonathan said, wiping his nose. "I always assumed she hated him."

  David glanced at the woman in the black hat. "Well, you know how it is. She’s just doing it so people don't call her heartless. She probably doesn't really care."

  Jonathan nodded slowly, staring at the fresh dirt. "Did... did Dad say anything before he died?"

  David paused. "Well..."

  The memory of James dying on the floor flashed in his mind. He remembered his uncle extending a trembling hand, looking like a dying brave hero, his eyes yellow and glistening as he delivered his final, heroic words.

  “The wardrobe... I missed your aunt...”

  David shook his head, physically clearing the thought.

  *Why the hell am I thinking about his porn stash right now?*

  He looked at Jonathan, who was waiting desperately for an answer. David pushed the "wardrobe" comment away and found the other part of the message.

  "Before he passed," David said softly, "he told me to tell you that he will always love you. And that he tried."

  Jonathan’s face crumbled. He let out a fresh wave of tears. Suddenly, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around David in a tight, desperate hug.

  David froze, surprised by the sudden movement, but after a second, he lifted his arms and embraced him back.

  Aunt Dorothy heard the muffled sobs and turned to look.

  David’s eyes were red and streaming. He was crying right along with Jonathan, the two of them locked in a tight embrace.

  Looking at it broke her heart. She took a step toward them, instinct taking over, until Dan grabbed her arm. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

  "Wait, don't," he whispered. "Let them cry. It’s a funeral. That's the only way they can heal."

  "I know," Dorothy said, her voice trembling. "But I've never seen David like this. This is the same reaction he had a very long time ago... when his parents passed."

  Meanwhile, David was trapped in the hug, thinking,* Oh man, this is worse than I thought.*

  Jonathan smelled like he had marinated in the body spray. Being this close to him felt like being buried in sand; the scent was suffocating, clogging David's nose and burning his throat.

  *If he doesn't stop hugging me,* David thought, holding his breath, *I think I’m going to die.*

  Finally, Jonathan pulled back.

  David gasped, sucking in a lungful of relatively fresh air. He wiped his streaming eyes and sniffed loudly, trying to clear his sinuses.

  "He was a great uncle," David said, putting a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder to steady himself. "He was always kind of fun to be around."

  Jonathan wiped his eyes with his sleeve and nodded. "Yeah. I'll never forget the times I had with him."

  He looked up at David, his expression earnest. "So... if it's alright... can I come to your place later? To the house? I kind of miss it."

  David’s eyes widened. His pupils dilated.

  His heart started ramming against his chest, but not from grief. It was panic.

  The memories he had been suppressing all morning surged back. He remembered the day he threw the golden rope outside the yard. He remembered the scrawny gang member watching him. He hadn't seen the gang member since, but the rope...

  The rope didn't stay gone.

  The very next day, he had found it back inside the house, coiled neatly in the sitting room.

  His mind flashed back to the backyard.

  He remembered trying to destroy it. He had thrown the golden coil into the metal drum, doused it with lighter fluid, and struck a match. He had watched the flames roar, melting the trash bags and consuming the paper. But when the fire died down and the smoke cleared, the rope was sitting there in the ash. Pristine. Untouched. Not even a scorch mark on the golden fibers.

  That had frightened him more than the water. It was unnatural.

  But since then... things had changed. Or rather, they had stopped.

  Nothing else was going on. The rope kept coming back,he’d find it on the couch, or on the table, but he wasn't waking up naked anymore. The plumbing wasn't screaming at him. The TV stayed off.

  It was just... a rope. A weird, indestructible rope, but just a rope.

  *I can't stop him from seeing the place again,* David thought, debating.* Plus, nothing weird has happened in the last couple of days. The house is quiet.*

  He looked at Jonathan’s hopeful, tear-streaked face.

  *In the end, it's not really all that dangerous, right?*

  David cleared his throat, pushing down the knot of anxiety in his chest.

  "Uh, sure," he said. "Yeah. You can come by."

  The walk from the gravesite to the parking lot felt longer than the service itself. The gravel crunched loudly under their dress shoes, a dry, rhythmic sound that seemed to amplify the silence of the group.

  David walked on the periphery, keeping a calculated distance from Dan and the priest, trying to find a pocket of air that didn't taste like chemical lavender and musk.

  It was a losing battle. The heat of the midday sun had baked the scent into their clothes, creating a mobile cloud of body spray that moved with them. His nose was itching deep in the sinus cavity, a persistent, prickly irritation that made his eyes water more than the grief did.

  He kept his head down, watching his boots kick up small clouds of dust, just wanting the day to end.

  When they reached the asphalt of the parking lot, the heat radiated up from the blacktop in shimmering waves. Aunt Dorothy stopped near her rental car, a sensible silver sedan that looked too clean for Riverdale. She turned to them, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

  "We were thinking of going to that diner on Main Street," she said, her voice thick but hopeful. "The one James used to like. Just to have something to eat, maybe talk a little more before we head back."

  David felt his stomach tighten. The idea of sitting in a booth, trapped between Dan and Jonathan, inhaling that perfume while trying to eat greasy eggs, sounded like physical torture. He couldn't do it. He would sneeze until his nose bled.

  "I... I can't," David said, forcing an apologetic look. He didn't have to try hard; he already looked wrecked from the allergy. "I really need to get back. The house is a mess, and I have to be up early for work tomorrow. I’m exhausted, Aunt Dorothy."

  "Oh," Dorothy’s face fell slightly, but she nodded. "I understand. You’ve had a long week, David."

  "Actually," Jonathan piped up. He stepped forward, looping his thumbs into the pockets of his black dress pants. "I think I’m gonna skip the diner, too. I want to go with David."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Dorothy looked between them. "Are you sure? You don't want to eat?"

  "Nah, I'm not hungry," Jonathan said, glancing at David with a faint smile . "I just want to see the old place. It’s been years. Plus, I want to see if Dad left any of those old comics he promised me."

  David stiffened slightly at the mention of the house, his mind flashing to the golden rope coiling on his pillow. But he pushed the thought down. The house had been quiet for days. It was just a house.

  "It's fine by me," David lied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I didn't bring a car. I'm taking an Uber."

  "I'll ride with you," Jonathan said immediately. "Mom, you and Dan go eat. I'll meet you back at the hotel later."

  Dorothy hesitated, her motherly instinct warring with the realization that her son was nineteen and grieving in his own way. She sighed and pulled Jonathan into a hug, which David watched with sympathy, she turned to David.

  "Take care of him, David," she said.

  "I will."

  Ten minutes later, David realized he had made a severe tactical error.

  The Uber was a small, compact sedan with dark tinted windows. The driver, a guy who looked like he’d been driving for twelve hours straight, had the air conditioning blasting on high.

  The windows were rolled up tight. The air was recycled.

  And sitting right next to David in the backseat was Jonathan, radiating the scent of ‘Midnight Musk’ like a radioactive isotope.

  David pressed himself against the door, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. His throat felt scratchy, shrinking with every inhale. He stared out the window as Riverdale rolled by, the new brick buildings and the jarringly new white concrete of the construction zones.

  "Man," Jonathan said, leaning back and stretching his legs as much as the small car allowed. He let out a long breath. "Funerals suck. I mean, I knew they sucked, but... damn."

  David glanced at him, breathing through his mouth to bypass his nose. "Yeah. They do."

  "I kept waiting for someone to say something real, you know?" Jonathan chuckled, a dry sound. "The priest didn't even know him. He kept calling him 'James the servant of God.' If Dad heard that, he would have laughed his ass off."

  David managed a small, tight smile. "He probably would have bet money on how many times the priest said it."

  Jonathan laughed, and for a second, the tension in the car broke. "Five bucks says over ten times. I lost count."

  He turned to look at David, his expression sobering up. "Thanks for letting me come over, man. I know you're tired. I just... I didn't want to sit in a diner with Dan staring at me while I eat pancakes. It’s weird."

  "It's okay," David said. He meant it. despite the smell, he preferred Jonathan’s company to being alone in the empty house. "The place is a bit of a wreck, though. Don't expect much."

  "It's Uncle James's house," Jonathan said. "I expect chaos."

  The car slowed, turning off the main road and navigating the narrow, potholed streets of David's neighborhood. The houses here were squeezed together, a Tetris game of siding and brick.

  "You have arrived," the GPS voice announced flatly.

  The car pulled up to the curb. David didn't wait; he opened the door before the car had fully stopped rolling, stepping out into the hot, heavy afternoon air. He took a massive gulp of oxygen, feeling his lungs expand without the chemical sting.

  Jonathan climbed out the other side, looking up at the house.

  It looked tired. The paint was peeling in long, sunburned strips, and the roof sagged slightly in the middle like a swaybacked horse. The "landlocked" nature of the lot made it look like the neighboring houses were slowly swallowing it whole.

  "Home sweet home," Jonathan said, but there was no judgment in his voice. Just a heavy kind of nostalgia.

  David walked to the gate, the metal latch hot under his hand. "Yeah," he muttered. "Something like that."

  He unlocked the front door, the key sticking slightly in the old lock before turning. He pushed the door open, bracing himself for the stifling heat trapped inside, and for whatever else might be waiting in the living room.

  As Jonathan stepped across the threshold, he stopped and let out a long, satisfied breath. He rubbed the sides of his shoulders, looking around.

  "Whoa, man," Jonathan said. "It's so refreshing in here. Did you guys install an AC or something?"

  David walked in behind him, closing the door. He paused. Jonathan was right. The stifling, oven-like heat he had left earlier was gone. The air inside wasn't just shady; it was actively cool, crisp like a fall morning.

  "No," David said slowly. "We didn't install an AC. I... I can't afford that."

  Jonathan looked at him, surprised. "Oh. Well, the house has always been unusual. Maybe it's the insulation or something. But man, the area here is so relaxing."

  David didn't answer. He walked past Jonathan, his eyes scanning the living room.

  His gaze landed on the couch.

  There it was.

  The golden rope was coiled neatly on the cushion, right where he had seen it before the funeral. It sat there innocently, shimmering slightly in the dim light.

  *It’s because of this rope, isn't it?* David thought, a cold shiver running down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. *I threw it away, and it came back. And now my house feels like a freezer.*

  "Can I get a glass of water?" Jonathan asked, breaking the silence. "Where do you keep the cups?"

  David snapped his attention away from the rope. "Uh, there’s a cup right there on the sink."

  Jonathan walked into the kitchen. David watched him grab the metal cup and turn the handle.

  HISS-ROAR.

  The water blasted out of the faucet with incredible force, hitting the bottom of the sink and splashing up.

  "Whoa!" Jonathan laughed, filling the cup. "Did you guys fix the plumbing situation? The pressure was always low when I visited."

  He brought the cup to his lips and downed the water in long, greedy gulps. He lowered the cup with a satisfied sigh, wiping the wetness from his lips as if he had just finished a cold beer on a hot day.

  "David," Jonathan said, looking at the cup. "The water... it's cold."

  David stared, his mind racing. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I'm not sure."

  *The pressure is fixed again,* David thought. And *the temperature...*

  An idea struck him. It sent an electric shockwave through his body, connecting all the weird dots from the last few days. The folded clothes. The water pressure. The AC.

  He immediately asked, his voice tight, "How's the water taste?"

  Jonathan looked at the cup, then back at David. "It actually tastes pretty good. It doesn't have that weird Riverdale taste, you know? That metallic thing? I don't know. I kind of thought it would be hot or mild coming from the pipes, but this is ice cold."

  David rubbed his forehead, his gaze falling to the floorboards.

  *There’s no way,* he thought. *Was this rope actually just being helpful all along?*

  He ran the timeline in his head. Back when the pipes were dry, the water started flowing in the middle of the night, enough for him to refill the jugs. Then the laundry. It was weird that he woke up naked, sure, but his clothes were folded.

  His memory flashed back to the moment the TV had flipped itself on. He remembered the woman’s distorted voice: “Don't worry, I'll take care of you.”

  *It happened right after I complained, David realized.* I sat there monologuing about how much my life sucked.*

  "Dude, what's wrong?"

  Jonathan’s voice snapped him back to reality. He was looking at David with concern.

  "Oh, nothing," David said quickly, masking his panic. "You want to check out your dad's room?"

  "Yeah," Jonathan said, looking down the hall. "I haven't been in there for a while."

  They walked down the hallway. David pushed the door open, and they stepped inside. The room was sparse now that David had cleared out the trash and the magazines, though the smell of stale tobacco still lingered in the wood.

  "Whoa," Jonathan said, looking around. "I'm assuming you've cleaned it, right?"

  "Yes," David said. "Took a while."

  Jonathan smirked, a sad, nostalgic expression crossing his face. "Clearly. Dad never really liked cleaning. He only cleaned when it reached the point where a living thing couldn't survive in here anymore."

  David chuckled, a dry sound. "Yeah. That sounds like him."

  Jonathan glanced at the corners of the room, checking the baseboards. "Are the rats still infesting this place? I remember hearing them scratching in the walls last time I stayed over."

  David shook his head. "No. They haven't."

  He paused. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

  *I haven't seen a single rat since I found the rope.*

  There used to be rats in the walls, under the floorboards, skittering in the kitchen at night. But for the last few days? Silence.

  *It got rid of them,* David thought, a cold knot forming in his stomach. Whatever that thing is... it’s cleaning house.*

  "Oh, did you call pest control or something?" Jonathan asked.

  David shook his head. "Um, no. Honestly, I'm not sure what happened. They must have just fled."

  "Oh." Jonathan accepted the answer easily enough. He turned his attention to the wardrobe, eyeing the broken door frame David had propped back up. "Did he still keep the... stuff in there?"

  David winced slightly. "Oh, I cleared some of it out. But I think those comics you were talking about are on the other side."

  Jonathan pulled the door open and peered into the shadows. He reached past the empty shelf where the money had been and pulled out a stack of old, dusty issues.

  He blew the dust off the top cover and smiled.

  "No way."

  It was a comic featuring a round, bald man holding up a massive fist. The title was bold and yellow: The Eggman.

  Jonathan chuckled, flipping through the brittle pages. "Man, I used to love reading these. They were pretty funny."

  David grabbed another issue from the stack, skimming the familiar panels. "Yeah. They are pretty funny."

  They sat there for a while, just reading and talking. The conversation drifted from the comics to old memories, and then, inevitably, to the present.

  Jonathan started asking the questions David hated. He asked about the job. He asked about how David had been holding up. He asked about the future.

  The future.

  David leaned back against the wall, the comic resting on his knee. That was something he struggled to even visualize. He didn't know where his life was heading, but he knew where it was currently parked: at the bottom.

  He felt like he had given up on life, even at twenty. He didn't think he was ever going to be rich. He didn't have big dreams of escaping Riverdale or becoming a CEO. If anything, his only goal was just to keep himself from dying of starvation or exposure.

  He had to face it. He was the "dishwasher boy" at Benny’s. That was his title. He scrubbed plates for minimum wage while his coworker, Kate, made better money just because she was a waiter and got tips.

  It didn't seem fair, he worked just as hard, sweating in the back while she smiled in the front, but that was how the world worked. And David didn't have the energy to fight it.

  They walked back into the living room, the floorboards creaking under their weight.

  Jonathan stopped near the couch. His eyes landed on the cushion.

  "Oh," he said, reaching out. "What is this?"

  The golden rope was lying there, coiled and shimmering.

  David didn't think. He didn't breathe. He just moved.

  He lunged forward, snatching the coil off the cushion right before Jonathan’s fingers could graze it. He clutched it against his chest, hiding it with his arm.

  "Oh, this?" David said, his voice pitching up slightly. "Oh no, it's nothing."

  Jonathan frowned, his hand still suspended in the air. He looked at David like he had lost his mind. "If it's nothing, then why did you snatch it like that?"

  "Oh, come on," David stammered, stepping back. "It's just a stupid rope. I was just... I’m going to throw it away. I was using it to... tighten something."

  Jonathan didn't look convinced. He looked terrified. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on the bundle in David's arms.

  "Dude," Jonathan whispered. "You're not gonna..."

  He paused, swallowing hard. "I mean, you said life's kind of tough on you right now, and stuff. But you're not gonna..."

  "What?" David blinked. Then the realization hit him. "No! That’s not what I’m not gonna do that."

  Jonathan pointed a shaking finger at the rope. "Then why does it look like that? That knot... it’s a loop. It looks like it could fit a neck."

  David looked down at the ankle-sized loop. "It’s not—"

  "And why is it in your house?" Jonathan pressed, his voice rising. "On your couch?"

  David slapped a hand over his face, dragging his palm down. "Come on, Jonathan. We just came from the funeral. We don't have to talk about this kind of stuff. I’m not trying to off myself."

  "My bad," Jonathan said, exhaling a long, shaky breath. He ran a hand through his hair. "It’s just... that rope suddenly got me worried, you know?"

  He looked at David, his expression dead serious. The jokester veneer was gone.

  "Just don't do it, man," Jonathan said quietly. "I mean, out of all the people in the world... you're kind of the only one I have left, you know?"

  David lowered his hand, surprised. "What do you mean? You’ve got Aunt Dorothy. You've got Dan."

  Jonathan scoffed, a bitter sound. "What? I've got my Mom, sure. But Dan?"

  He shook his head, looking away. "Dan is just... I mean, come on. You don't expect me to just accept him, right? Dan isn't James. And he's certainly not you."

  David’s eyes widened slightly. "Oh. I never thought you cared this much."

  Jonathan’s eyes went wide, mirroring him. "Dude, of course I do. But don't make it weird."

  "What do you mean by making it weird?" David shot back, managing a weak grin. "How do you expect me to react when my little bro says he cares about me?"

  "Little bro?" Jonathan scoffed. "Dude, I'm nineteen. I'm literally one year younger than you."

  "Yeah," David said, crossing his arms. "But you're still younger."

  Before Jonathan could argue back, his pocket vibrated.

  He pulled his phone out.

  David looked at the device, and for a second, the envy pricked him. It was one of the new ones, a flagship model, massive and sleek. It was a deep, metallic red, with the stylized 'R' logo etched into the glass back. A Ryan Phone. Those things cost more than David made in three months.

  Jonathan looked at the screen and sighed. He swiped to answer.

  "Yeah?" Jonathan paused, listening. "Wait, you're already leaving? Oh. Yeah. I understand."

  He dropped the call and slipped the expensive red brick back into his pocket.

  "Oh man," Jonathan said, looking guilty. "I didn't realize how much time we took talking. Mom said they're already waiting for me. They’re leaving now, so I have to go."

  "Oh," David said. "Already?"

  "Yeah. Mom told me to say goodbye for her, and that she'll call you later."

  "Right." David nodded. "Well, it has been nice talking to you. Catching up and all that."

  "Same," Jonathan said. He stepped toward the door. "Anyways, man, I've gotta go. But don't worry I'll come back to visit more often. Seriously."

  David chuckled. "Yeah. Sure."

  "Well," Jonathan said, raising his hand and offering a fist bump.

  David bumped his knuckles against Jonathan's. "See ya."

  He watched Jonathan walk out the door, down the path, and exit the yard.

  David pushed the front door shut, locking the latch. The silence returned instantly, heavy and familiar.

  He turned back to the room. His eyes went straight to the rope still clutched in his hand.

  He walked over to the sofa and sat down, the cushions sighing under his weight. He leaned forward and placed the golden coil deliberately in the center of the coffee table.

  He stared at it.

  "Ok," he muttered to the empty room. " What exactly are you?"