You're Cursed

by Kat Quinn

  “Of course I can, dear, anything else?” Daddy replies, one foot already flirting with the doorway.

  “No, that should be all,” Pops pauses. “On second thought, perhaps some clothing for both of our guests is in order.”

  “Coming right up, handsome!” Cheerfully, Daddy saunters off, smiling brightly as he leaves.

  “Hey, Broski, you don’t look so hot. You doing okay?” He reaches for me, but I lazily wave Morgan off, resting my head back against the wall.

  “S’been a rough ‘un,” I slur. “Gimmieabit.” My eyes are barely more than slits, now.

  A few grinding, crunching sounds come from the bed, Kieran’s nose no longer flat. His head rounds out as I watch Pops methodically run skilled hands along each plane of Kieran’s skull. My own head feels too heavy to keep up any more, even with the wall’s help.

  “Uh, Pops?” Morgan says, usually lackadaisical voice pinching slightly. “I think maybe Monty needs you for a sec?”

  I don’t hear his response.

  40. Zeke

  “Hm,” I grunt. “We’re using swift travels. Two hours,” I tell Monty. Hanging up, I put the phone back into my pocket, addressing Lin and Connor from the driver’s seat. “The Henderson’s house. They were attacked by David and more of his kind at the farm. Kieran’s the only one injured.”

  Lin leans his seat back and kicks both feet up onto the dashboard, crossed at the ankles. “Well then, seems we’ve got a long drive ahead of us and not much else to do. You boys up for a little game of I-spy?” He fingers the necklace dangling around his neck, rapidly flicking the milky stone back and forth. “And for the record, Kieran’s not the only one hurting.”

  While it is reassuring knowing that the focus I provided to him is functioning, it is of little comfort otherwise. With my connection to her thoughts severed, Lin’s awareness of her pain is our only verifiable proof that Dizzy is alive. I’ve no reason to doubt Monty’s self-assessment, and assume he’s capable of returning Kieran to his feet.

  The more troubling aspect of our conversation is his mention of David, and more like him. The shadowy creature of a man has proven before to be an unexpectedly capable and ruthless foe—any compatriots of his would only cause us further trouble. If they do not intend to cease their attacks, then we are more likely to be compromised if they have greater numbers. I will need to assess our resources and determine what success looks like, and how to achieve it.

  “Sooooo… Is that a no on the game?” Lin drolls, arms crossed behind his head. “Because I spy with my little eye something that could use a good distracting.”

  A faint scratching sound halts. “Hmm?” Connor tunes in from the SUV’s back corner. “Sorry, wasn’t really here. What was that?”

  Pouting exaggeratedly, “Aw, you don’t want to play with me, cutie pie? And here I was, thinking we’d made so much progress up on that rooftop.”

  There’s silence. I don’t waste my time looking back to see Connor’s reaction, much more focused on accurately navigating through our accelerated journey.

  “Fine, have it your way. Wake me up when we get there, would you?” Lin closes his eyes, but one hand betrays his act—resuming its constant assault on the necklace still keeping him from losing his own awareness to Dizzy’s experiences.

  There’s the desperate clattering of nails against a side window, Colonel Stubbs begging for it to roll down. “It would be irresponsible to lower the window at these speeds. You will need to wait.” His scrabbling continues for a long portion of the journey. I do not attempt to use reason again.

  41. Connor

  The more I draw them, the more real they get. I can almost hear them. People, inside the blackness—dark silhouettes barely distinguishable from an even darker background. They’re moving, different every time, different every shape. Why am I seeing them in every blank page? Are they seeing me back?

  On and on I scribble their likenesses onto the page, endlessly seeking some new detail, some new clue about its meaning. Where do they come from? Why do they come to me?

  When the SUV stills, it’s like I’m broken from a trance. I don’t remember the ride, don’t remember all the drawing, but my book is full, the leg of my skinny jeans my pen’s final victim. Blinking, I look up, confused about how I missed so many details. I’m always in the details.

  Home.

  My heart leaps. Home! Papers crumple and disappear into seat cracks as I carelessly push them aside, rising from my artistic fugue like a dolphin bursting free from the sea. I’m already opening the car door and stepping out before I consciously think to do so. A small white bundle of fur leaps ahead, making it past a barrier of legs into the house, even as I rush to meet the large, open-armed man hulking in its door frame.

  “Oh, sweetheart, welcome home!” Daddy folds me up into his embrace, a butterfly’s cocoon wrapped so tightly around its contents, there are no cracks available to see what grows within. Protection from the outside, space to explore and evolve on the inside… Daddy’s was the first touch I ever trusted, ever welcomed willingly. The brown sugar and vanilla scent of his constant baking still like stepping back into the safety of those arms. It clings to my memories like a lifeline leading back to our secret haven.

  “Missed you, Daddy,” I whisper, barely loud enough to reach the edges of our bubble. So many secrets kept inside the same space.

  “Missed you too, honey bun.” Just a bit longer, just a bit firmer, his arms squeeze—tucking me back inside my own skin and compressing my errant thoughts. “Come on, let’s get you boys inside to see your brother. With any luck, he’ll be right as rain and happy to see you after a teensy little nap.” Loosening his hold and pivoting just enough to make room through, Daddy talks over my shoulder. “Nice to see you both again as well, I do wish we’d had a bit more time to show you some proper hospitality. Please forgive the state of things—you’ve really all managed to catch me by surprise.”

  “Now, Tyson, I can’t imagine any house you’re in being less than the most wonderful of homes,” Lin’s smile is wide—a humble truth flickering at its edges. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you for welcoming us on such short notice. You truly are a lovely host.” Lin proffers a small bow, Daddy completely charmed; cupping one cheek swollen with a smile of bashful pride. With his other hand, he waves us in, stepping back to widen the gap far enough for easy entry. The bottoms of his fuzzy pink bunny slippers scrape softly with each sliding step, well-worn ears bobbing with every motion.

  “Hello, sir.” Zeke addresses our welcome party. “I will be fortifying your defenses. This will require marking many surfaces. Where am I not permitted to work?”

  Still smiling, eyes crinkled shut with good humor, Daddy doesn’t stop to question Zeke’s request. “You go on ahead and do whatever you need to, honey. Don’t worry about the mess—we’ve had enough aspiring artists in the family that Jack and Remy won’t even bat an eye at it.” A fond whisper of memory slips between the crow’s feet tapping next to his eyes, wrinkled with years of love tending to them daily.

  Zeke nods. “Okay,” he says, striding inside and whipping around to face the wall, an assortment of tools already in hand. Rows and rows of new bracelets clink like a sack full of marbles with the movement of his arm. “I’ll begin.”

  The entryway opens to a living room scattered with a few stray toys and well-worn pillows strewn about the couches. Every surface is dusted, no soiled dishes or dirty clothes in sight, but every piece of furniture bears the scars and stains of a life well-lived. Layers of paint on the walls show signs of chipping, peeling back to reveal the strata of colors come and gone like a jawbreaker licked down to its core. More than one pillar is missing from the wooden banister, leading towards the second-floor walkway. Carpets and floorboards both show lifetimes of footsteps scurried along their surfaces.

  But, amongst the wear and tear, vases full of fresh flowers shine proudly from the coffee table; tucked amongst framed portraits on the fireplace mantle; as a mass
ive centerpiece in the dining room. There’s beauty, and life, and growth everywhere.

  Lin casually snatches up a cookie from the kitchen countertop as we stroll through, headed toward Pops’ office. A glittering of crumbs twinkles their way down his crisp black tie, polluting his immaculate appearance with their secret deviance.

  “You know, Kieran was in rough shape when Monty showed up with him, but there’s nothing to worry about now—Pops got him all healed up,” Daddy mentions as we follow down another hallway. “Just wanted to give you the heads up, since he still looks a little messy. Tried my best to clean him before you boys got here, but there’s only so much you can do without a real bath. As soon as he wakes up, I promise to force him into the tub. In the meantime, sorry about the… residue.” A sideways glance my way, small quiver at the corner of his tight smile. A warning. Subtly, I nod; ready.

  Daddy smooths one edge of his frilly pink apron, knuckles rapping twice on the wooden door before turning the knob and letting us into the bright, white room. Everything is pristine; clinical. Pops is sitting against one wall on a rolling stool, arms and legs crossed while scowling, both greying eyebrows furrowed hard down the middle. Dizzy, Kieran, Monty; all three are unconscious. Monty’s in an old waiting room chair, head slumped against his own chest, one hand dangling over a wooden arm rest. Dizzy’s laying on one bed, Aria stretched out along her torso, long nose resting on her own furry arms with both eyes closed. Beneath the creature, crusted lines of black peek out; a cure she’s still protecting.

  Instinct pulls me forward, feet drawn magnetically towards the woman whose presence transforms me into someone better than before. I need to touch her, reassure myself she’s still safe. Every time, it’s like this; she goes down, and I rush to follow.

  Until my eyes snap to Kieran, motionless on another bed. A helmet of dried blood cakes his hair stiffly to his head, matted ginger locks tainted a deep brown. His cheeks and eyes are sunken in, skin pulled tighter than normal around his frame, normally pink complexion dulled and grey. Lifeless. Around him, hazy black tendrils flicker in and out of sight, wriggling their dance inside his soul, making a break for the outside world. My feet divert from their path, something in my gut pulls, stretches, squeezes, writhes. It works its way into my chest, pinching as it tunnels up my throat, banging a hammer once it reaches the inside of my head.

  I lunge towards him, hands outstretched, landing hard on the supine man, immediately clawing at his chest. In a frenzy, I rip at his flesh, dull nails tearing into the skin. Someone tugs at my middle, trying to drag me away, but I push at them without straying from my goal, a force erupting from me in a shockwave to blast the interloper back. Something’s inside him; someone’s inside him, and I need to get them out before he’s gone. Begging, I hear begging, but it’s not as loud as the hammer pounding in my head. The voices overlapping, urging onwards.

  Warmth coats my fingertips, blood spilling from fresh gashes in Kieran’s skin. Grabbing, pulling, tugging. I yank it free, the nightmare swirling around him, coiling its tendrils inside his veins, seeping into the bones, possessing his spirit. A small black ball writhes in my hand as I raise it, glaring.

  “Found you,” I say, strong words forming on their own. “This is not where you belong. You’ve had your time.”

  It stills its movements, trapped in my grasp, then shivers in desperation. Pleading. Apologizing. Blaming.

  “Enough. No more.” I crush it in my fist, obliterating the intruder; snuffing it out. Eliminated from The After, permanently. No more second chances.

  Job done, I follow my heart to the glittering visage of a woman on another bed, climbing up and crawling into it with her. As my skin makes contact, she gasps, bright, golden eyes flying open, darting wildly until they fall on me. Glowing, then receding. She lifts a shaking arm to caress my cheek, warmth radiating from her tender gaze.

  We click together, two opposites of a larger whole. I yield to her embrace.

  42. Dizzy

  Sometimes I see her. She’s older than I remember, but still, I recognize. Sometimes I follow. Sometimes I am me. Sometimes I arrive, not the one who followed. Glimpses. Plunged back into nothing, nobody, sometimes voices. Then, I’m there, she’s there, we’re there, darling. Opening a door and walking through. Black jacket, purple hair, golden eyes—I find her. Safety. She’s always there. Will have, mine. Must do, darling, or make you. Beaches, forests, cities, lakes. Inside, outside, anywhere. The only thing I see. I need. Forget, now. Work to do, darling. I follow. Good boy. Good boy. Good darling.

  Darkness again. Nothingness. Sometimes, I slip away. Sometimes, I slip back. Wake up, boy. Hello? Who’s there?

  Lights. I blink, trapped awake inside them.

  “Ah, yes, finally. Good, you’ve made mother proud, darling. My patience was beginning to wear thin, it’s about time you finally stopped being so selfish and performed my commands in a timely manner.” I’d begun thinking we’d have to dispose of him and start again. A shame, of course—his mind is more useful than his body. But if his mind is no longer of use, then neither is his body, and there are plenty more bodies.

  “Yes, mother,” I say, obedient boy. Good, good.

  “Good, good. I’m tired of this cat and mouse with that ungrateful, treacherous whore, it’s time we finally brought her to heel. Her and that bellirae have enjoyed the fruits of my generosity for far too long. It’s been generous of me to allow her so much freedom, yes?” There’s a boiling feeling under my surface, how dare she defy me for so long. How dare she waste my time and my resources? I deserve my reward. I have been patient long enough. “Come here, darling, let me give you something. When you find her, use it at sundown—it will bind her, and she’ll finally be yours, just as mother promised. But you must bring her and the creature to me alive, or you will be punished.” Alive, for now.

  My body moves, I’m there already. She lifts my hand, I take the vial, keep it within. I’m coming, darling, I’ll be there soon enough. I promised. We’ll have our prize.

  “Go now, darling. You will not like what happens if you fail me this time.” The lights flick off. We are released.

  Greed. Desire. Want. Will be mine. It’s insatiable, the need. It drives me, fills me, takes control and cracks the whip, propelling onwards. Through the cracks we slip, flitting from darkness to darkness, the further away we get the further away we are. Never freedom, but distance makes the heart grow stronger. The head grow clearer. Still, we are never alone. But in some ways, it’s almost clearer. The haze circling my thoughts starts to flutter away, still tugging in the back towards mother, but no longer smothered out completely. She is good to me, mother, and I am good because of her. Just a little bit more, darling, and we’ll live away, safe, my promise. She promised.

  ****

  Blinking, it takes a few seconds to figure out where I am. Who I am. Sometimes, it seems like I’m not entirely sure.

  “Mmm, hello, handsome,” I purr, tucking a wild blonde lock behind Connor’s ear. Whispering, I slide my hand down to link with his. He melts into me like a popsicle in the middle of July. “Why do I always seem to wake up next to you?” Not complaining, of course, GOSH, I would never. Just making sure he’s not knocking the other guys out cold and muscling his way through a pile of bodies to mind control me into only believing I’m awake if he’s there. Not sure what sort of sinister plot that could really turn into, but there’s probably the beginnings of one buried somewhere in there. Fondly, I imagine Connor in a luchador outfit, of all things, posing victoriously atop a mountain of his fallen brothers.

  Oh, shoot, wait, sinister plots! Looking beyond the lanky blonde cuddling closely in our bed, I take in our surroundings—noticing straight away this isn’t one of our beds at all! A++ detective skills right there, super sleuth D.Z. Jones has solved another case!

  But... where exactly are we? An older, white, business-type man with dark gray hair is slammed up against a wall, classic ‘what the fuck is even happening here?!’ expression
on his face. Man, if I had a nickel for every time someone gave me that look, I’d be queen of the nickel kingdom, living in an enormous nickel castle. The man who owes me a nickel for my kingdom is next to a cold, metal desk; a few clear glass jars filled with stuff on it. There’s a small sink and a shiny chrome cabinets, plus a single rolling stool and a couple old, wooden, armchairs. Monty’s in one of them, totally zonked out. Lin and some big black dude wearing a pink apron are at the foot of another bed, mouths agape. Kieran’s lying in it, wearing...pants? Who the hell cancelled my favorite kilt channel? Were the ratings really so bad the network had to make drastic changes? Or was it just no longer in the budget? Blegh. Will definitely need to write a letter to the editor. My nickel kingdom for a kilt!

  Kieran’s normally free-flowing, copper waves are matted down with a pretty obvious layer of dried blood, and quite a bit of the fresh stuff near his neck; suddenly becoming a way more important detail than the kilt thing.

  “Hey, so, super swell to see we’ve gotten ourselves some bonus friends in this episode—hi, nice to meet you, I’m Dizzy—but anyone want to fill me in on what’s happening so I don’t mistakenly decide we’re being held captive in an evil lair somewhere and try to summon up a fireball to make an escape? Because one man down and another one missing doesn’t really give me confidence that we’re here cuz we wanna be.”

  “Not missing. Busy.” Zeke’s familiar voice speaks in my head. Well then, Jonesie, you’ve solved another case! Two in two minutes? That’s got to be a record of some sort! They’ll have to promote you to super detective if you keep this up!

  Lin’s jaw slams shut, followed by the gentle shaking of his head and trademarked amused smile. “We’re at Connor and Monty’s parents’ house, Love. Remy here,” he gestures to the nickel-owing man now straightening himself up, smoothing the sides of his suit jacket, “was able to tend to yours and Kieran’s wounds while we were en route. And Tyson,” now he waves a product model-displaying hand towards the pink apron guy beside him, “has graciously offered to let the lot of us stay until we’ve all recuperated.