Cursed

by Jeremy C. Shipp

  “I don’t mind driving you,” I say.

  “I can do it,” Abby says. “It’s no problem or anything.”

  “Thanks,” Gordon says, and begins to put the harness on Meta.

  Abby bites her fingernail. “I’m really sorry about what I said before. I feel really bad.”

  “I never wanted you to feel bad. I wanted you to hear me out about why I felt offended, and you did. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “How about we drop the subject, and you tell me more about your favorite bugs.”

  Abby smiles.

  When they’re gone, I take my usual spot on the couch.

  Cicely, hers.

  Then she stands and says, “On second thought, I should go visit flushie. He gets lonely if I ignore him for too long.”

  So while Cicely’s in the bathroom, my mind wanders back to Pete. I think about him lurking in this house, watching Cicely as she:

  1. Sleeps.

  2. Undresses.

  3. Showers.

  He could be watching her right now.

  Suddenly, rage grips my jaws and hands, and won’t let go.

  Cicely:

  1. Returns.

  2. Sits beside me, close.

  3. Says, “I’m tired of thinking about the curses. Maybe for tonight we could pretend we’re normal weirdoes, with normal problems. Sound good?”

  “Sounds good,” I say, and take a deep breath.

  “Do you want to finish the movie? Or we could talk more.”

  “Let’s talk.”

  And so we do.

  We talk about:

  1. Marshmallow Peeps that time travel to the Mesozoic Era.

  2. Tooth fairies who embezzle gold fillings from sleeping adults.

  3. Coconut monkeys that participate in Civil War reenactments.

  4. Our happiest memories.

  5. Our most ridiculous and wonderful hopes and dreams.

  On and on.

  And maybe I don’t deserve such a fairy tale evening.

  But at this point, I don’t care.

  #29

  In my dream, everyone’s lying on the floor, covered with blood. I’m trying to tell them how sorry I am that I didn’t burn up the beast when I had the chance, but they can’t hear me. Or maybe they’re ignoring me.

  I can’t see outside the window with all the boards in the way.

  Then everyone’s bodies contort. They kick and punch at the air and mouth words I can’t hear.

  My mind clears.

  And I know I can’t escape this nightmare.

  I’m already awake.

  “Oh god,” I say.

  Cicely, Gordon, Ruth, they:

  1. Stop moving.

  2. Open their eyes.

  3. Sit up.

  Ruth shrieks.

  “Something’s wrong with Abby,” Cicely says, because Abby’s still convulsing on the floor.

  “You were all doing that,” I say. “Maybe I was too, before I woke up.”

  “Whose blood is this?” Ruth says, holding her red hands out to Cicely. “Am I bleeding?”

  Then I:

  1. Remember my bathroom sink full of fake blood.

  2. Smell my hands.

  3. Lick my finger.

  4. Say, “I don’t think this is blood.”

  “What’s going on?” Abby says, sitting up, finally.

  Cicely:

  1. Smiles.

  2. Hugs her.

  3. Says, “We don’t know, hon.”

  “Why is there so much blood?” Abby says.

  “We don’t think it’s real.”

  “Where are we?” Gordon says.

  I glance around and say, “A big room. The walls are made of logs.”

  “We’re in a log cabin?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is Meta here?”

  “No.”

  And Gordon:

  1. Stands.

  2. Walks toward the wall.

  3. Recoils his hands, yelling.

  4. Stumbles back.

  “Are you alright?” I say, rushing beside him.

  “Get me out of here!” Gordon says.

  “What happened?”

  Gordon:

  1. Squeezes my arm, tight.

  2. Says, “It’s gonna kill me, Nick!”

  Then Ruth:

  1. Races toward the door.

  2. Stops, screaming.

  3. Turns around.

  4. Staggers to Cicely.

  5. Collapses.

  6. Curls up.

  7. Covers her face with her hands.

  8. Cries.

  “Are you OK?” Cicely says.

  “Help me,” Ruth says, through her fingers.

  “How do you want me to help you, hon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cicely puts her free hand on Ruth’s shoulder.

  “Please take me outside,” Gordon says, his voice breaking.

  “I want to,” I say. “But it seems like something’s happening when we get close to the walls or the door. You were both about a yard away when you yelled. Maybe we should stay here for now.”

  Gordon rubs his chin. “You’re probably right.”

  “Did something hurt you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  Gordon holds out his hands.

  I examine them. They’re:

  1. Red.

  2. Shaking.

  “Here,” Abby says, handing me a water bottle. “There’s a bunch of them in that box over there.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m gonna wash off your hands, Gordon.”

  “Wait!” Gordon says. “What if it’s poisoned?”

  “I already drank some,” Abby says. “I don’t feel sick at all.”

  Gordon sighs. “Alright. Wash them off.”

  So I do.

  Then I:

  1. Study his hands again, slow and careful.

  2. Say, “I don’t see anything wrong with them.”

  And Cicely says, “I can’t find any marks on Ruth either.”

  “What part of your hands are hurting, Gordon?”

  “My hands feel fine,” Gordon says. “To be honest, the attack wasn’t that bad. All the pain disappeared the moment I moved away from the wall. After that, I just freaked out. It seems ridiculous now, but for a while I was sure some big creature was gonna…well…eat me. I’m sorry I panicked.”

  “Don’t you always tell me not to apologize for my feelings?”

  “Yeah. Still, I’m sorry for squeezing your arm.”

  “It’s alright.” I turn to Cicely. “How’s Ruth doing?”

  “She’s terrified,” Cicely says.

  “Of a big animal?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if it’s Pete?” Abby says. “What if he’s in here with us?”

  Ruth cries harder.

  And I scan the room.

  “We might want to arm ourselves,” Gordon says. “If there’s anything to arm ourselves with, that is.”

  “There’s this,” Abby says, picking up a hammer.

  “He’s going to kill us,” Ruth says.

  “No one’s going to kill anyone,” Cicely says.

  “Maybe he left us a note,” I say.

  “I hope so,” Gordon says. “But I doubt he trapped us in some secluded area to talk. We are in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t know. The windows are all boarded up.”

  “There’s some lanterns in here too,” Abby says. “They’re made of metal. We could swing them, you know?”

  “Good,” Gordon says. “We should all probably sit back to back, in the center of the room. That way, we’d only have one side to defend.”

  “Should I pass out the weapons?”

  “Yeah.”

  After Abby hands me a lantern, I:

  1. Search the room for a note, keeping my distance from the walls.

  2. Clutch onto the
hope that Pete didn’t bring us here to die.

  But all can I find is:

  1. A box of nails.

  2. Rope.

  3. Duct tape.

  4. More water bottles.

  5. Permanent markers.

  6. Wigs.

  I don’t want to give up yet, so I look over the room again.

  And my eyes pause on Cicely. She:

  1. Unwraps the duct tape from her tennis ball hand.

  2. Grimaces as she flexes her fingers.

  For a moment, I hate Pete for wrapping her hand so tight.

  Then I realize Cicely must do this to herself every evening, to keep the world safe while she sleeps.

  I can’t help but imagine Pete:

  1. Sneaking into her room in the middle of the night.

  2. Dragging her out of bed.

  3. Changing her clothes.

  4. Carrying her to his car.

  Finally, the obvious hits me.

  “Would you all mind checking your clothes?” I say.

  They check.

  I end up finding the letter in the first place I look.

  “I have it,” I say. “Should I read it out loud?”

  “Yeah,” Gordon says.

  So I read:

  Dear Everybody,

  I hope you’re in the mood for a bloody massacre, because in a couple minutes, I’m going to kill you all.

  No, I just wanted to see if I could make any of you crap your pants. Seriously though, whether or not you survive this experience depends entirely on your performance here today. But before we get into all that, I need to clarify a few things.

  First of all, Nicky, I know you were trying to entice me to reveal myself by calling me a coward yesterday. It was a good plan, but it had some flaws.

  1. I have absolutely no need to prove myself to a petty underling like you.

  2. Like I told you before, I’m the one who gets what he wants. Not you.

  3. I’m not a fucking retard.

  So you failed again, buddy. I’m sure you’re not surprised.

  Another thing, your invisibility idea is dead wrong. Sure, I have the ability to sneak around your houses like some brainless chameleon, but I’d find that a little degrading. I prefer watching you all from the comfort of my own home. That way, I can focus on the TV when your mundane lives start to bore me to death.

  And I hate to tell you this, but you’re not the only people who I keep tabs on. There are thousands of you out there. I’m sorry if that makes you feel less special.

  But in all honesty, you are some of my favorite projects. I wouldn’t take the time to write you such a long letter otherwise. And I certainly wouldn’t have gone out of my way to meet you in person, Nicky. You’re a very special person, and you’re doing me proud.

  Still, you should all give up hope that any of you will ever see me in person. I’m a very busy being, and I hardly ever leave this room. I leave most of my grunt work to my children.

  That’s right, Ruth. You’re not an only child. You have siblings all over the planet. For instance, it was one of your bird brothers who put the letter on Nicky’s windshield right outside your house.

  And by the way, Ruth, you were the one who brought everyone here today. You boarded up the windows, and you activated the barrier in the cabin by saying a very special word. I’m telling you this, because I want you to know that once you join my family, there’s no getting out. Kin’s never coming back. Your free will is finito.

  Cicely, I know you believe Kin’s soul still exists inside Ruth. That’s a sweet sentiment, but there’s no such thing as souls. There’s nothing eternal about you humans. That’s why you’re called mortals.

  The only reason there’s still a few of Kin’s memories inside Ruth is because I left a few crumbs when I devoured her.

  As for you, Abby, I don’t want you to hold onto any false hopes concerning your family, because that would be cruel. The truth is, I swallowed them whole, body and mind. There’s nothing left of them anywhere, and there never will be.

  Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk survival. As I already mentioned, there’s a barrier in the cabin. I could try to explain the nature of this barrier to you, but none of you have the intelligence to understand, so I’m not going to waste my time.

  All you need to know is that you can’t cross the barrier. If you go too far into it, you’ll pass out from the pain. And there’s no point trying to go above or below it, because it’s spherical. The only way you’re getting out of there is if the barrier breaks. And that won’t happen until the door opens. And the door won’t open until you complete the list of tasks on the other side of this parchment.

  Kind regards,

  Pete.

  P.S. Gordon, I’d be remiss if I didn’t address you at least once in this letter, since you’re now an official member of the club. I know you think you have me all figured out, but you don’t. Remember when you told Nicky serial killers never become the gods they imagine themselves to be? Well, that may be true, but you’re dealing with the god of serial killers and psychopaths. I’m Jesus’s long lost evil twin.

  P.P.S. The barrier eats fire, so don’t waste your time trying to burn down the door. And FYI, even if the barrier wasn’t fireproof and you tried burning your way out, you’d end up killing yourselves in the process anyway.

  P.P.P.S. I forgot to mention, you’ll find all the necessary items for today’s performance in the cardboard box Ruth prepared for you. And remember, you each have to participate, or your actions will have no effect on the cabin door. Break a leg.

  After staring at the letter for a while, I:

  1. Flip the paper over.

  2. Read through the list of tasks.

  3. Imagine my friends doing all this for Pete’s amusement.

  “What does it say?” Gordon says.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, crumpling up the to-do list. “We’re not doing what he wants. We’re gonna find another way out.”

  “What if there is no other way?” Abby says, crying.

  Suddenly, I see a blur of motion in the corner of my eye. So I:

  1. Tighten my grip on the lantern.

  2. Look around.

  3. Listen hard.

  4. Will myself to be Batman.

  But the bloody massacre I’m imagining doesn’t begin.

  And I spot a moth on the wall.

  “He doesn’t look affected by the barrier,” I say, pointing.

  “Maybe it only works on us,” Gordon says.

  “Maybe that’s one of Pete’s children,” Cicely says.

  Then Ruth:

  1. Sits up.

  2. Rubs her eyes.

  3. Says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you all here. I don’t remember any of it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Cicely says.

  “I know. I’m a puppet.”

  “You’re more than that, Ruth. I don’t care what Pete says. He’s a liar.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ruth looks down at her lap. “If Pete’s telling the truth, then I’m safe. This is going to sound heartless, but I don’t want Kin coming back. I don’t want her to take over my body and make me into nothing. I know I’m only a pawn in Pete’s game, and I know Kin deserves existence more than I do, but I don’t want to die.”

  Cicely puts on hand on Ruth’s. “Your life’s just as important as anyone else’s.”

  “I appreciate the thought, Cicely, but it’s not true. The price of my creation was too high.” She turns to Abby. “You lost a good friend, and my daughter lost her real mother. All Rita has left are memories of me, and those aren’t worth remembering. I never treated her very well.” Tears escape Ruth’s face again. “I know there’s nothing I can do to make up for the loss of Kin. But I’ll do everything I can not to waste the life I’ve been given. I’ll be a good friend to you, Abby. I’ll try. Would you like to be friends?”

  Abby:


  1. Weeps, soft.

  2. Nods.

  I turn to Ruth and say, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened when you approached the door? Understanding the barrier might help us find a way out.”

  “I started reliving memories,” Ruth says.

  “Kin’s memories?” Abby says.

  “No. Mine. I don’t want to go into details, but I will say they were the worst moments from my childhood. Of course, it’s freeing in a way, knowing that my past isn’t real. Still, the memories feel real enough, and experiencing them is…dispiriting, to say the least.”

  And I can’t think of anything else to say but, “I’m sorry.”

  Ruth stares at the floor.

  Then I say, “Gordon. When you touched the barrier, did you connect with some event from your childhood?”

  “I don’t think so,” Gordon says. “Unless I was hunted by a giant Gila monster at some point, and I forgot. Sorry. I shouldn’t be joking right now.”

  “It’s alright. Have you ever feared being eaten before?”

  “Not that I can remember. Sorry.”

  At this point, I decide to test what Pete said about fire. So I:

  1. Tie the rope to my lantern.

  2. Inch the lantern toward the barrier with the hammer.

  3. Watch the flame swirl faster and faster until going out.

  4. Pull the lantern back to me.

  Time ticks on, and the only escape plan I come up with involves:

  1. Tying the rope to the hammer.

  2. Throwing the hammer at the door.

  3. Retrieving the hammer with the rope.

  4. Throwing the hammer again.

  On and on.

  But the door remains as solid and closed as ever.

  And really, I’m not surprised.

  Under Pete’s control, Ruth probably:

  1. Removed the handle from the door.

  2. Barricaded the door on the outside.

  3. Climbed in through the window.

  4. Boarded up the windows.

  5. Activated the barrier.

  “I don’t think this is gonna work,” I say, dragging the hammer back to me for the 50th time.

  “It was a good idea,” Gordon says.

  I don’t agree, but I don’t tell him that.

  Instead, I say, “Thanks.”

  At this point, Ruth breaks her hours of silence, saying, “Could you tell me about her?”

  “Kin?” Abby says.

  “Yes. But if it’s too painful…”

  “I don’t mind.” Abby sits up straight, as if this’ll help her remember. Maybe it will. “She liked animals and books. And spending time with people. I don’t know what she didn’t like, because she never talked about stuff like that, you know? Though I guess I know she didn’t like to criticize things. She was kind and friendly. Whenever I spent time with her, she made me feel like I was really special. Like there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.”