Cursed (14 page)

Mason knew he had to say something but was at a loss of words.
She turned slightly back towards him and looked pleadingly, for what he did not know, for he had become dumbstruck with her story.

“I heard you screaming.
It woke me.”

“I was wondering how you knew to come.
I am so terribly embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”
He looked around the room nothing seemed out of place but he could tell the room had become just a little bit lighter as dawn was starting. It would be a gray day, however, as the snow had started back up already. He stood up, favoring his left side, and the pain shot through his body as a reaction to his hurrying up the stairs earlier.

As he crossed the room to the windows, he asked if the cat had come back.

“Not that I know of. After you left I did some needlepoint, and then went to sleep.”

“Needlepoint?”
Mason said it sharply, almost accusatory and was glad his back was towards her as a he felt his good eye tear up.

Sarah sighed and then laughed a little, sounding like she was starting to shake off the scare from earlier.
“Yes, I’ve always enjoyed needlepoint. Go ahead and laugh, I know it’s not something people really do much anymore, especially not my generation. My grandmother taught me when I was little and I had a knack for it.”

Mason stared out into the dark morning, watching the tiny flakes fall in the illumination from the street light.
“I would not laugh, Miss Carter, it’s a good, respectable hobby for any young lady.” As soon as the words came out he had a flash of a memory, as if it were yesterday. He felt nauseous with the sudden onslaught of memories and he felt beads of sweat break out on his brow.

“I thought we went through this?
It’s Sarah. No need to be so formal with me.”

He couldn’t respond as he fought to steady himself and control his queasiness.
He needed to confront his demons and tell her, but he could risk a lot in doing so and didn’t want to put her in danger. But wasn’t she already in danger? The cat was surely a sign last night yet they could not leave this fortress. The snow was holding them captive, with the rest of the building's occupants conveniently gone. She had to know, it might be her only chance to escape. But what if she didn’t believe him? How could she? The world was so different now; it was too difficult for someone like her to comprehend the true wickedness that lurked in the world. The evil that people now take as stories and legend, he knew of as real.

He removed his hand from the window sill where he had been holding on to steady himself and as he turned toward Sarah she instinctively pulled her body back at his sight.
Sarah was about to yell out in surprise and his split second response was he thought she was reacting to him. Something in her look made him realize it was something else. Turning his head quickly, he followed her gaze just in time to see a huge black crow heading straight for him, thudding against the window and breaking its neck instantly. The carcass began its slow plummet against the updraft wind to the ground three stories below.

“What is going on here?” her voice was shrill and he was afraid she would become hysterical.
“First the cat slamming itself against the window last night, and now this crow? What’s going on, Mason?” From where he stood he saw her eyes were wide with fright and she had pulled the blanket up under her chin and was holding the material in tight fists. She was scared and wanted answers. He was not sure he had them all, but he had some.

“Sarah, last night you said you trusted me.”

Sarah was staring at where the bird had hit, leaving a blood smeared mark in the middle of the window right where Mason had been standing moments before.

“Sarah?”

Her head turned towards his voice but her eyes lingered on the window a moment longer. She cleared her throat and answered. “Yes, Mason, I trust you.”

He looked into those gray blue eyes and felt himself melting away as he did the first day he ever laid eyes on her.
For now, he had to keep control because their lives may depend on it.

“How are you feeling?
Are you up for traveling today? It's Christmas Eve and you need to get home.”

“I know.
I am feeling much better. The fever broke last night which might be the reason for such a strange dream. They say your fever sometimes spikes before it breaks.”

“Hmmm.
So will you be leaving soon?” If these creatures can’t enter, what will happen when she leaves? If she steps outside of the door, will she be safe? Is it her or me that is in danger?

“I’m not sure.
I want to get home, but we haven’t heard the news on the weather and if Amtrak service is back up. I still don’t want my dad to drive up here, but I don’t want to miss out on Christmas either. I just don’t know yet.”

He looked at the cable box by the television and read the lit up blue time of 6:20am.
The room was definitely getting lighter and he had been here for some time. He still needed time to think but he also needed to get dressed before she could see just how hideous he looked.

“Sarah, I am going to leave you for a few minutes to get dressed.
Put the television on and see if you can check the weather and transportation situations. When I get back, I have a story to tell you about my past. But I want you to keep an open mind. Will you do that for me?”

“Is it about your, um . . . condition?”

“Yes, the story I need to tell you directly impacted my . . . condition. There is more, too, and I think it’s important for you to know. Just sit tight and I will be right back. I will leave this door open so you can hear me and I can hear you. OK?”

She looked like a little girl huddled under the blanket, with her wide eyes and long dirty blond hair spilling over her shoulders and the top of the blanket as she nodded back her consent.
Her hand snuck out and grabbed the remote control from the table and she snapped the television on before he slowly made his way out of the apartment.

Mason returned to his apartment as quickly as he could. On his way through the front lobby he had stopped to look out at the snow and could see that not only was the wind causing drifts but the new band of snow was starting to accumulate; it would be treacherous to try and get out in this weather. He also noticed on the top landing, right outside the door, what looked like cat shit that was quickly getting covered with the windblown snow. He swore under his breath and retreated across the front hall to his apartment to change clothes and collect a few items he might need later.

He returned to Sarah’s apartment in under fifteen minutes which was a feat in itself given his physical limitations, and set his bag down by the door.
Sarah was in the same spot, staring at the television with the remote pointed at the cable box. She had been channel surfing and quickly gave him an update.

“They are expecting six to eight more inches in
Boston before this storm tapers off. That’s well over two feet of heavy snow. There are power outages from New Jersey and New York across Connecticut and up into Massachusetts. Rhode Island seems to have been spared.”

“Lucky them,” he interjected.

“Yes, and lucky for us most of the outages are in the suburbs from downed tree limbs and the city is faring pretty well for the moment with no outages called in.”

“What about train service?” He held his breath for her answer.

“Well, no planes, trains and they have just added cars to the list.” Route 95 is down to two open, plowed lanes that they want to leave open for work crews and emergency vehicles. Too many cars stuck in the snow from people trying to get to where they were going yesterday. It sounds like a disaster out there. There are a lot of people who will be spending Christmas right where they are, including me.” Her eyes welled up and he watched as she fought for control in front of him. “I will be calling my parents later this morning and letting them know it’s not looking like I will make it there any time soon.”

She cleared her throat, wiping away the tear that escaped from her eye and put on the best smile she could muster.
“The good news is, Mason, you will not be alone this year for Christmas Eve. You’re stuck with me. I think we should plan to spend the day together. Make popcorn, watch old movies . . . what do you say?”

Mason didn’t expect this friendly gesture and surprised himself by laughing for the first time in a very long time.
So long that at first it came out as a bark, like he had forgotten how to laugh. He looked at her sweet face and hopeful smile realizing how hard she was trying to make the best of this horrible situation, and include him. Easily she could have sent him away and watch her old movies alone, wallowing in realization she was missing Christmas for the first time ever with her family and was stuck alone in this building with a deformed man that causes people to shudder when they see him. Instead she is welcoming him in to join her and making it sound like it would be a fun day.

“Ok Sarah, but first I need to tell you that story.
It’s very important.”
And, old movies and popcorn are going to be the last things on your mind, unfortunately, after you hear this.

“Sure, but I need coffee. Do you want some?”
He nodded, averting his eyes, unsure of how to deliver so much information yet strangely eager to get started now that he’d decided to share it.

“Yes please, just cream.”

Sarah got up and went into the kitchen area, returning with steaming mugs of coffee.
She carefully set the coffee down on the table, returning to her seat on the couch. Mason was in his now usual place in the chair facing the windows. He had thought about moving it to put his back to the light but had instead closed the sheers knowing full well they would only diffuse but not block the light. Sarah was watching him and turned the television off, smiling encouragement for him to begin.

“Do you remember what I said?”
He started, taking a sip of his coffee. “This is a long story, and a true story, but you need to keep an open mind. It’s going to cause you to want to ask questions, but it should all make sense as you listen.”

“Ok, Mason, I’m ready.” Her brows furrowed and she had taken on a pensive look. “But I want you to know, no matter what caused this affliction; I know you are a good man.” She looked towards the windows and back at him.
“I do not see anything but you, the inner you, when I look your way so please don’t try to hide away from me when this room gets lighter.”

He took a deep breath, realizing it was the deepest breath he had been able to take in some time, and relaxed a little.
“Agreed.”

“So…tell me your story.”

Mason sat forward in his seat, elbows leaning on his knees and hands clasped. The purple blotches on the back of his hands seemed fainter in this dimly lit room. His eyes stared down at the marks and then moved to the rug and the intricate woven details and wondered about where or how to start.
The tale wasn’t made to be told, he thought, just experienced. Plus, there are some things I will never know for sure
. It had been several minutes of deep thought and she was patiently sipping her coffee and waiting for him to speak, so he must start somewhere.

“I guess I will start off simply, at the very beginning.”

“Mason, I told you. Whatever it is you can tell me.”

“I’m Irish.
I was born in Ireland.” He hadn’t thought of home in years and a feeling shrouded him of all he lost, all he would never see again, and the sadness was almost too much to bear. How was he going to get through this?

The corner of her mouth twitched a little before she said, “I’m part Irish, too.
I think that’s almost a given here in Boston. I thought I could hear a little accent in your voice.” Encouraging him with her tentative grin.

“Yes, well, I am from
Ireland and I came here when I was eleven. I was an only child and my parents had saved since before I was born to come to Boston and give me a life in America. They planned to emigrate to start a business in Boston. A hat business. My father was a hatter, or milliner. The winter I turned eleven we went to Dublin and they took all the money they had saved, and my father’s designs and hat tools, and bought tickets to come to the America by ship.”

Sarah took another sip of her coffee, listening intently, but not yet understanding.

“The year was 1872.”

Sarah spit out a little of her coffee, coughing, and looking at him strangely.
He felt like she was eyeing him warily, like he was deranged and she had previously missed some sort of sign. Thankfully she quickly recovered her composure.

“I’m sorry,” she wiped her mouth and the coffee that had spilled on the blanket with her hand. She then pulled on her earlobe as she offered a plausible explanation.
“Did you say 1972?”

“No, Sarah.
I said 1872.”

He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and remembering that clear cold morning that they set sail.
How scared he had been at all the change since he had never been on a boat before and until just the prior week he had never even traveled as far as Dublin. He could remember his father on deck with his favorite hand carved pipe and how he pointed things out to him, always with one hand on his shoulder. The memories all flooded back in one torrential downpour that he could not stop. Talking might be best, he thought, so he began to tell her his story the way he remembered it, with his eyes remaining closed.