Jack Kursed

by Glenn Bullion

  Jack took some trash to the curb, and was halfway back to the house when he heard a voice.

  "Hello, there."

  He cringed. There was no doubt he'd love his new home. The beach, the sun, a movie theater down the street, plenty of sights to see. But there was one bad thing about his neighborhood.

  Neighbors.

  The man trotted across his lawn, uninvited. Somewhere in his forties, blond hair, blue eyes, khaki shorts, button-down collar shirt, sandals. Wedding ring. Short little man, only coming up to Jack's jaw. His hands had small green stains, most likely from gardening.

  "Hi, I'm Larry," he said. "I'd shake your hand, but they're a little dirty right now."

  "That's fine. I'm not a big handshaker."

  "So, do you have a name?"

  "Yes."

  Larry waited patiently. Jack said nothing, and enjoyed the moment of awkwardness.

  "Uh, what is it?"

  "Jack."

  "Nice to meet you, Jack. I take it you're our new neighbor? I've seen people cleaning the place up for the past few weeks, moving furniture in."

  "Yeah. I'll be living right next to you."

  "The couple who was here before were real sweet. It was sad to see them go. They told me the landlord was a real dickhead. Very unfriendly."

  "You don't say?"

  "Yeah. I hope I never meet the bastard. Listen, Jack, I was hoping I could ask a small favor of you."

  Jack raised an eyebrow.

  "My son, he just turned seventeen. He's been driving all over the place. Well, since this house has been empty, he's been parking where your truck is now. Would you mind moving down just a bit?"

  Jack nearly choked holding in laughter.

  "He can't park in front of your house?"

  "Uh, my wife has the Lexus. And I drive the BMW. I really don't like it when he parks close to us. And there's plenty of room in front of your house-"

  "I don't care about your son. I won't be moving my truck. Any other friendly requests?"

  Larry's face fell. It took him a moment to slowly shake his head from side to side.

  "Okay, then," Jack said. "You have a good day there, neighbor."

  He shoved his anger aside as he turned around and headed back to his house. He could feel Larry's beady little eyes on him. Hopefully the rest of the neighbors weren't like him.

  Jack scrolled through his iPhone for some good moving in music. He settled on Elvis as he worked through the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. He unpacked, pulled the plastic from the furniture, moved things around. Physical work was easy when fatigue wasn't an issue.

  It was a shame his curse didn't come with extra strength.

  He spent most of his time getting the kitchen in order. Cooking was another passion of his, and he made sure every house he owned had a nice kitchen. His new kitchen took up nearly the back half of the house, with an island in the middle and a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living room. There wasn't a dining room, as there wasn't really a need for one, just as he had no use for a bed.

  It was nearly two in the morning when he finished. He stood on his front porch and watched the neighborhood sleep, wishing he could sleep right along with it. His brain told him this was the time he should be asleep. The world slowed down and rested when it got dark. But he could never join the world, and it drove him mad sometimes. He was truly apart from it.

  His mind raced for something to do. The cable wouldn't be hooked up until tomorrow, but he did have plenty of DVDs to watch. He could read his Kindle Fire and listen to music.

  He decided to go for a walk. The heart of Parkville was only a few blocks away, with shops, businesses, places to eat. They were all closed, but it would be nice to acquaint himself with Parkville once again.

  *****

  One month after Jack Kursed moved into his new home, eight-year-old Tiffany March lay on her bed. She wore headphones and the music was loud, but could still hear the punishment being handed out in the kitchen below. Sara, one of three foster children living in the home, had dropped a dish, and needed to be disciplined.

  Every few seconds the house would seem to shake, followed by cries of pain and Miss Simmons' shouts of rage.

  Tiffany lost her parents when she was four. Her mother died from cancer, and her father abandoned her. He literally walked out the door, leaving Tiffany to play in her room, and never returned. Police found her in their old apartment, living off whatever food was left. She'd been moved from foster home to foster home ever since.

  Miss Simmons was, by far, the meanest foster parent she ever had.

  She looked over to Carrie, the girl she shared the bedroom with. Tiffany tried to get her attention, but Carrie ignored her as she read a book. Carrie was a few years older. Tiffany didn't like her all that much. She had, on more than one occasion, passed blame onto others in the house to avoid the discipline.

  Carrie still had a fresh bruise on her shoulder from when she spoke out during home schooling.

  The music in Tiffany's ears wasn't providing a good distraction. She grabbed a coloring book from under the bed and began filling in the colors on a princess. One day, she was going to be a princess, like in the cartoons. She would have friends and animals and people that cared about her. Adults like Miss Simmons would have to go to the dungeon.

  Tiffany and Carrie both jumped when the door to the bedroom flew open. Miss Simmons led Sara into the room by the arm and threw her to the floor. Tiffany's first instinct was to run to the girl, give her a hug. She held her ground. Sara was Carrie's age, but a lot nicer. They would play dolls together when they could.

  "Sara will be staying in here from now on," Miss Simmons said. Tiffany couldn't remember a time she didn't sound angry. "She's lost her bedroom rights."

  Tiffany looked at Sara. The older girl didn't bother getting off the floor. She kept her head low, so her hair covered her face and hid her tear-stained cheeks.

  "Sara," Tiffany said, her voice quiet and soft. "You can sleep in my bed."

  Miss Simmons stepped forward and grabbed Tiffany by her chin. She stared into the child's terrified eyes.

  "What part of no bedroom didn't you get? She sleeps on the floor. I swear, I don't know why I put up with you. Eating my food, destroying my house-"

  She ranted as she closed the bedroom door behind her. After her footsteps disappeared down the hall Tiffany climbed off her bed and hugged Sara around the shoulders. Sara sobbed as she put a hand over Tiffany's.

  "You shouldn't have dropped that dish," Carrie said. "You should have been more careful."

  Sara looked at Carrie, fury in her red eyes. She shouted and ran toward Carrie. Tiffany kept her arms locked around Sara, slowing her down as she neared the bed. Carrie curled into a ball near the headboard.

  "Get away from me!"

  "Shhh!" Tiffany said. "Miss Simmons will hear!"

  Sara balled her fist and slammed it down on Carrie's bed. She had been with Miss Simmons longer than anyone. Tiffany knew it was hard for her, like it was hard for all of them. Sara skulked across the room and sat on the floor next to Tiffany's bed.

  "You can have my bed," Tiffany said.

  "Didn't you hear what Miss Simmons said?"

  "I'm running away."

  Sara and Carrie traded looks as the plucky eight-year-old dropped to her hands and knees and pulled items from under her bed. A pair of shorts, sunglasses, a hair clip. Also her two most prized possessions, her digital camera and photo album.

  "Do you remember the last time you tried to run away?" Carrie asked.

  Tiffany remembered. Miss Simmons found her not even an hour later, two blocks from the house. The discipline was severe. Tiffany had to spend an entire day locked in the closet with no food.

  "I won't get caught this time."

  Sara grabbed her by the shoulders.

  "Tiffany, don't be stupid. Where will you go? Who will take care of you?"

  "I don't know. But I don't want to stay here."

>   Tiffany shoved her few belongings in a backpack and slid open the window next to Carrie's bed. Their bedroom was on the first floor, not a far drop at all.

  "We should stop her," Sara said.

  "Let the stupid girl leave. She'll get caught...again."

  Tiffany dropped to the ground and adjusted her backpack on her shoulders. It was dark, although she had no idea what time it was. She moved in between the houses to the alley. The alley had no lights, and would let her make it to the next street without Miss Simmons knowing.

  She simply walked. She wasn't familiar with the town. The only reason she remembered her house address was because Miss Simmons forced everyone to memorize it before the social workers came. She turned down one street, and then another, watching the few people around her. Eventually she made it to the beach, but turned and went in the other direction. Tiffany loved the beach, although she'd only been a few times. But she certainly couldn't live on the sand.

  She sat on a bench under a street light. Cars, buses, and late party-goers passed by. She kept her head low as a group of men and women crossed the intersection near her. They noticed Tiffany and wondered aloud what a little girl was doing out so late, but didn't stop to talk to her.

  Tiffany felt tears coming on, and wiped them away with the bottom of her shirt. Tears were bad. Miss Simmons lost her temper very quickly when she caught one of them crying. Tiffany pulled out her camera and took a picture of a couple walking across the street. She loved taking pictures. Her photo album was full of pictures she'd taken, along with a few from her old home. Photos of people smiling and having fun made her happy. They took her away from her life with Miss Simmons, if only for a moment.

  She had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide for the night. She had nothing to eat, and no one to care for her. Her own father didn't want her.

  She had nothing.

  Tiffany stood up and walked once again. She nearly headed for the beach, but changed her mind and continued walking the streets. There was no way she could find her way back to Miss Simmons now.

  What would the discipline be this time?

  All of the alleys looked the same, but Tiffany took a chance turning down one. With luck, perhaps she'd recognize Miss Simmons' backyard, and could sneak back through the window.

  She was halfway down the alley when she realized there weren't any houses. There were only the backs of businesses on both sides. She turned on her heels and took a step, but froze when she heard a voice.

  "You made a mistake, Paul. I'm not trying to be a dick here. But mistakes cost me time and money. Do you understand?"

  Tiffany knew she should have kept on her way, but curiosity got the better of her. Dropping low to the ground, she made her way along the brick wall and crouched behind a large trash bin. Her camera still dangled by the strap from her wrist. She peered around the side and saw three men talking near a single light pole.

  "Hey, this is all on you. You said she'd be gone all night. She came back home, and caught me stealing her shit. I had no choice. I had to kill her."

  One man was dressed like a policeman. Blue uniform, blue hat, gun on his belt. The other two looked like normal men to Tiffany, although the man standing next to the policeman was taller than the rest of them. The tall man didn't say a word.

  "You're supposed to be a professional," the policeman said. "I've given you three jobs. You've screwed up two of them."

  "This is bullshit. I've done everything you've asked. I can't help it if-"

  The policeman nodded at the tall man. The tall man stepped forward and grabbed Paul by the face. From Tiffany's angle, it looked like the tall man leaned in and kissed Paul on the neck. She cringed. Kissing of any kind was gross.

  Her mouth fell open when she saw blood running down his neck. Paul screamed in pain, like Miss Simmons had given him discipline. Then the strangest thing happened. Paul looked like he was beginning to enjoy being bit, even as more blood coated his shirt. The tall man made the most disgusting noises Tiffany ever heard, sucking and slurping like Paul was one big lollipop.

  She raised her camera and held it steady. As her finger hovered over the shutter release, the tall man turned and looked in her direction.

  Tiffany screamed.

  The tall man had large teeth with blood dripping onto his chin. His eyes were black and red. He held Paul easily with one hand around his neck. Paul didn't move, and Tiffany could see his eyes looking up blankly into the night sky.

  It wasn't a man, but a monster.

  She took a picture, and then turned and ran.

  She didn't dare take a peek behind her. As fast as she ran, the alley didn't feel like it was coming to an end. One car sped by, and then another. They looked like they were miles away. She expected someone to grab her from behind at any moment.

  No one did.

  Tiffany would have run clear across the sidewalk into the street, had it not been for the man crossing her path. She ran right into him, her nose crushing into his side, and fell on the ground.

  *****

  Jack looked down at the young girl at his feet, his eyes narrowing in anger. It had not been a good night for him. His garden was coming along smoothly, but his favorite all-night ice cream place had closed down. The movie theater wasn't showing anything worth watching, at least not at two o'clock in the morning. The beach was always nice late at night, but a bunch of twenty-somethings were making idiots of themselves, starting a bonfire that certainly would get them noticed by the cops. To kill his boredom, Jack figured a walk around Parkville would be nice.

  He didn't count on little kids assaulting him.

  "You want to watch where you're going there, munchkin? The last thing I need is mutant kid snot all over my pants."

  The girl said nothing. She had a look of pure terror in her eyes. Scrambling to her feet, she ran down the sidewalk. Her backpack bounced on her shoulders, her camera swinging as she moved her little arms. Jack laughed at the sight.

  He took a step to resume his walk, and then paused. The strangeness of what just happened settled over him, and curiosity took over. What was a little girl doing running around the alleys of Parkville at two in the morning, like she'd seen a ghost?

  Craning his neck, he peered down the alley. There was a single light, but no people that he could see. He certainly didn't hear anything, except for what sounded like critters running around, maybe rats.

  The little girl continued to run ahead of him. He was maybe a full block behind her. She would stop for a few seconds, rest against a pole, and run once again. Jack laughed. She wasn't very fast, but she was determined to get somewhere. He half-expected someone to sprint past him, maybe an upset mother or father.

  Jack kept walking, not gaining ground, but not losing any either. If he caught up to her, he'd ask her what she was running from, to settle his own curiosity. If she got away, he'd just have to press on with life.

  There were four men standing on the street corner ahead, drinking beer and smoking. The little girl moved around them and stood near the curb to look for traffic. As she took a step, one of the men grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her in the air. Jack was close enough to hear.

  "Whoa, there. Where you going, kid? You got any money in that bag of yours?"

  Jack smiled and shook his head. They were just some young punks having fun. His smile faded when one of them actually looked through her bag, and another tried to grab the camera from her.

  "I need me a camera. Hey, Mitch, get her camera."

  Jack didn't bother walking faster. The girl held on to her camera with all her strength as he approached. The one named Mitch noticed Jack and stepped forward to cut him off.

  "This isn't what it looks like," he said, faking a smile. "This is my little sister. We're trying to get all the stuff she keeps stealing, and give it back."

  "Yeah," the punk holding her said. "That's what we're doing."

  "Okay, guys, you've had your fun. Zip up her backpack, put her down, and leave."

&nbs
p; "And what happens if I tell you to-"

  Jack cut him off with a kick to the groin. As Mitch doubled over, Jack punched him in the throat. The punk fell to the ground and assumed the fetal position, gasping for breath.

  Jack looked at his three friends. The punk in front pulled out a knife. He was opening his mouth, no doubt to say something stupid, when Jack snatched the knife from his hand by the blade. It stung for a moment, but healed quickly. He spun the knife in his hand and stabbed the punk in the shoulder. The punk fell to the ground next to his friend.

  The other two decided their health was more important than their friends. The little girl was dropped on her rear on the ground, and off they went.

  Jack had learned over two hundred years that humans loved to talk, but it didn't always get results. He could have traded witty banter for ten minutes and not be any closer to achieving his simple goal of having the girl on her own two feet on the sidewalk.

  Direct action was needed, something he excelled at.

  "You alright, kid?"

  The girl climbed to her feet. Jack didn't offer a hand to help her, and she didn't ask for one. His respect for her went up just a little.

  She pushed long brown bangs out of her eyes and looked at the two men on the ground. They still writhed in pain.

  "Wow," she said.

  "Let's get away from the stooges here."

  Jack used Mitch as a step, planting his foot on his chest and stepping over him. The girl stuck her tongue out at them, and jogged to catch up with Jack.

  "What's your name?"

  "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

  "That's good advice. So, I'll go first. I'm Jack."

  The girl hesitated. "I'm Tiffany. Tiffany March."

  "Good. Now that that's settled...what were you doing in the alley back there? You weren't turning tricks, were you?"

  Tiffany turned and looked behind her at the mention of the alley. The terror returned to her face, and she reached for Jack's hand.

  "Don't grab my hand," he said, yanking it away.

  "What's turning tricks?"

  "If you have to ask, that's probably a good thing."

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  "I...I think I saw a monster."