Chapter 1
October 28th 2017
"Ok I'll see you in the morning Jeff," Curtis said with a hint of sigh in his tone. The same sigh that he often lets out of his lips whenever he has completed the latest shift down at the local burger joint. Oh Curtis despises that job. The same scents of delicious oil, salt and mustard strewn into the air. Fresh at first, stale a short while later and then the same process repeated. Curtis knew a song describing a night out and hungover, then repeating it again. Never liked, but knew of it.
"Yeah sure Curt," replied Jeff, the shift manager. Curtis hated "Curt"- always felt it formal, short- no banter or general tone about it. "Oh… don't forget the improvement chart we discussed at supervision earlier today. I want at least seven that I can sign off," Jeff added as Curtis closed the staffroom door behind him. Improvement charts are given to staff working the floor down the burger joint whereby if there are what are known as concerns are raised about any particular performance- the word particular being of grave importance here- then the staff member is given an improvement chart which, if evidence of improvement is seen, then it can be signed off.
Curtis was only too aware of this.
Curtis sighed.
Walking through the staff floor, Curtis could smell ripe alcohol and feel the laughter from a good night out. Crowds of all different ages barely able to stand up, slurring even the most basic of words that very eye squint people do when they can hardly read the board was multiplied in this room. Curtis looked on, then walked away. He attempted to push through the door, not realising it was automatic then sighed again. Once outside, he could feel the pinch of late autumn air and observe a full moon. The night was clear, with droplets of ice water rain. He did not want to take any chances so undid the back of his hood and braced himself for the walk to the bus stop.
Glancing at his phone, Curtis was relieved to know he was well within time for his bus home- some twenty minutes and the walk to Joseph Causeway was about ten. He was also disappointed to learn there were no messages or missed calls of any description displayed upon the home screen- only a white clock reading '22.10pm' and a picture of a popular comic book before. Hint thrown out there, hint no doubt received- Curtis' love in life was comics. Lived and breathed them. Made it harder to meet the one possible, if not probable, lady. He never knew why as there were many liked minded individuals about the world.
Standing there in what felt like ice picks, Curtis could taste spicy tomatoes, linguine and buttery garlic bread sitting on a snow white plate amongst lamps and warmth. Until then, he had to simply bitter this one out.
As he waited for the bus which was now two minutes late, Curtis was bothered more about the fact his best friend of 16 years- Steven- had not been in touch rather than others. Curtis and Steven possessed an almost brotherhood- a pact, not stated but felt, not agreed but shared anyway, friedship. Steven had gotten himself involved with another girl Curtis could not imagine where he'd met. Steven often did that. Got with any girl who showed him the tiniest amount of affection. Whether that was a genuine fact or a hint of jealousy due to Curtis' unlucky streak when it came to meeting women was a matter for the individual mind- but one to consider nevertheless. Perhaps as they got older, Curtis sometimes felt they were drifting apart and that was a sad fact. He had already messaged the previous night to which no response was given so Curtis did not want to appear 'clingy', deciding to leave it there. Leave it there he must, does not necessarily mean the sadness disappears.
The bus pulled in. A usual crowd of late workers, night shift workers, young men as well as women laughing, joking sweet wrappers and half a newspaper scattered amongst seats which bore little comfort to the non-driver. Curtis picked his seat. Inward seat, 4 rows back just below the steps. Curtis felt a sense of comfort in this spot. Also, he enjoyed looking out the window Not that there was much to see, not at this time of night anyhow. The noise from the back of the bus of pre drunken laughter, music and social media 'pings' slow cooked Curtis' blood. This twenty five minute journey- correction- twenty seven- might be ever so painfully long, Curtis mused.
Outside, lights shone bright resonating warmth in nearby homes. And then that dissipated. "You…".
Curtis jolted awake. Confused. Then panicked as he glanced at his phone thinking, at first, he had missed his stop. Nowhere near. He had ten minutes to go. Had I fallen asleep? Curtis thought, frowns to go with.
Suddenly, a deep chill invaded the bus sending it across his body. Then he could see ice white breath going in and then out. Curtis looked around. Still pre drunken laughter, yet no sign of any cold.
"You… hmmphhh."
Curtis sat upright. Where did that voice come from? He swivelled around like a cheap office chair, muscles aching from the action and looked. A few "Yes can I help you?" glances from the scattered crowds at the back but no indicated that it was they who were responsible for that sudden randomness. Curtis was baffled.
"You **** hmmphh," a little louder this time.
Curtis swung around and groaned. "Leave it out." The scattered crowds at the back stopped momentarily, then looked at Curtis, at each other and continued with whatever they were talking about before this creepy guy's outburst.
The air hung freezing cold, Curtis shaking like a wet leaf. He could see the end of this journey in sight now as the bus pulled into the tail end of his avenue. Often there were avenues in this area. Never long straight roads. Only to go in and out of the avenue. Curtis feared for that voice. Part of him felt foolish on the count he made an announcement, feeling it was weird nobody gave him the tiniest response- only weird glances. Not glances of those who bully, glances of genuine 'what the hell' types. Also, that voice. It wasn't like a typical voice. It was deep, very deep. With evil and pure untampered hatred laced in every echo, every syllable, every consonant and every vowel. Evil.
Before he knew it, Curtis had to ring the bell. The bus jerked and jolted then arrived somewhat safely at the closest stop to Curtis' home. Right now, anywhere felt too far. Curtis thanked the driver, a moral he witnessed and projected, then stepped off. An awkward silence entwined with the usual laughter and talking hung in the air. The doors closed.
The air outside was cold, but not as cold as the bus. That was a different kind of cold. A cold Curtis never experienced before. What made it worse, it felt like it was individual- not shared amongst others. Curtis could feel his analysis deepening so he shook himself and put it down to a weird experience. Only a quarter of a mile into his avenue and he would be home. Safe and sound, as they say. The only thing Curtis was unsure of- was being alone.
Curtis lives with mum Patricia and dad Jack Malone- happily married with one child- Curtis. Now that Curtis has grown into young man, Patricia (Pat) and Jack were only too eager to pursue many of their life's dreams…singing at various clubs, boats, travelling and fine dining. Some of that was achievable as things stood now on the count of Jack being a successful senior manager of a local car dealership and Pat striking up a good name in singing- working her way up from Sunday slots to clubs/weddings and the like. Curtis looked on at this success dreaming. Dreaming of being a famous comic book artist. He had many ideas, just not the confidence. Curtis had completed a degree in graphic design, so it was not the case he had no skills. What was contributing to him not designing a game? One of downfalls of friends- some supportive, some not so much.
Pat and Jack had ventured on a luxury cruise on this cold night. Curtis was fine with that. Gave him an opportunity to relax in the quietness of the house. Music up if he wanted to, walk around naked too yet none of that bore any resemblance to Curtis' personality- instead he would take a shower, grab a burger from the fridge and continue with his other love- videogaming.
He continued to walk down the avenue and took a left onto Brimton Avenue- his avenue. Still the air was a pregnant cold. Still nowhere like the bus. Yet there was a strange, indescribable feeling in the air. The best Curtis could offer was silence. He could see lights in the nearby houses, dimly lit street lamps and felt pellets of rain dropping which was fairly standard yet a silence hung in the air. Almost like an awkwardness. Perhaps he was overly tired and a sense of disconnect enveloped him. That must be what it was. Curtis had put in some overtime down at the burger joint this past week or so. Exhausted, in need of a good sleep. Curtis was off the following two days- provided he did not have another puppy dog eyed phone call weaving its way into the voice from Caroline- one of the other supervisors. Caroline was nicer. A lot nicer.
Curtis thought perhaps he should just eat the burger and play thirty minutes of his video game. Yes, that was a much better idea. Gives him a chance to get a good sleep.
Curtis was at home just five minutes later. He put his key into the lock and was delighted to hear the crunching sound of the door opening. Then a low creak. Pure darkness welcomed him followed by cold. He turned on the hallway light and reached for the dial to put the heating on. He was relieved to know this cold would soon disappear, soon to be replaced by warmth.
He pulled out his phone to check for any messages. Still nothing. Curtis suddenly thought that his friendship with Steven Roberts had flatlined. What could he have said and done to cause this ignorance? Nothing. Not that Curtis knew of. I got to call him, Curtis thought. After he warmed up his burger and settled into a dressing gown, video game ready to play he would call Steven.
Curtis went up the long flight of stairs (at least it felt long) and arrived at the top. Cream carpet, canvasses of famous singers lined up on each side of the upstairs hallway and Curtis found his bedroom. One on the left, further on down was the bathroom. Curtis opened the gold spray painted door knob, instantly turning on the light. Getting inside he peered (as always) at his decorative room- walls filled with comic book heroes. On the ocean blue bed spread was a dressing gown and a brush to tune in his thick dark hair.
Just as Curtis reached for the dressing gown, darkness invaded the room. Strange, he thought. Curtis reached behind and turned on the light. But there was nothing. Must be the trip switch or a bulb, he thought. Curtis went downstairs past the kitchen and into the garage area where his initial thought was confirmed. He flicked the switch and could see faint light coming from inside the house. He pacified that and went straight upstairs to his room again. Just as he put his phone down on the table to undress, the light went out again. Only this time, crackling was heard.
Curtis turned around sharply. Not like last time where he thought 'Darn the trip switch must've gone or the bulb has blown' but because there was something different about this. Warmth began to fill the house just before he ventured downstairs, that had now gone. Instead the same ice air he felt on the bus was present here. Curtis began to fear. All around him darkness deepened. Beyond any kind of darkness Curtis had ever felt.
Scratching, banging, tripping.
"You killed….."
"Fuck you!" Curtis bellowed.
"You…".
Curtis went to run outside of his bedroom but just as he arrived there the door swung shut crashing into his face, sending him falling to the ground, his back aching from the shud on the wood flooring. Curtis could feel hot liquid drip from his lips and taste fresh metal.
Curtis heard scratching then a snap. Scratching, then a snap. Scratching, then a snap. Scratching, then a snap.
"What the fuck is this?" Curtis stated.
No response.
Curtis got up and rose to his feet. Back feeling in half, liquid pouring from his nose Curtis felt he was in pain. He was breathing heavily, seeing white breath billow out like smoke from a weak fire. He took small steps forward, hand on his back.
Then he could feel, hear a shadow bore down onto his back sending him forward. Curtis could feel bangs shoot every pore of his body and the canvasses of famous singers present like a Ferris wheel at a hundred miles per hour.
At the bottom he agonised. Cried for help. But who was going to come?
He scrunched forward in preparation to stand up. Once there he could call an ambulance. Get to the safety of a hospital. Get out of this house.
Curtis was about to be sick. A vice grip of an odour boiled in rotten meat hung and then shot at his taste buds, then inside his nose. Whatever Curtis had eaten that day as well as drunk began to bubble then shoot out of his mouth. Yet he couldn't. Two hands with little skin, sharp bone and rotten meat odour laced gripped his neck, the fingers inserting themselves and wrapping around like a python on his airway. All Curtis could hear was: My beautiful Margaret. My darling Margaret."
"Hmmphh, arrrrr, urrghhhh." Curtis painfully screamed. A headache began to form, his muscles relaxing. Then air, Rotten, but air.
Curtis moved back gasping for whatever air he could force into his lungs. Then a sharp kick to his chin. Curtis screamed. More hot liquid laced with metal poured from his chin. He was sure some sort of hole had been left.
He lay back, barely able to move. Then those two bony hands circled his chest area, beginning to dig deep.
Deeper.
Curtis screamed.
Deeper.
Curtis agonized in unimaginable pain.
Curtis felt his life being torn away.
"For my darling Margaret."
Curtis saw white light.
He felt comforted.