Curtain of Darkness

Everyone said sixteen-year-old Chelsea Small had lost her mind. She argued that she had full control of her mind, even after the illness; that it only made her senses stronger, and more powerful.

The drive to Florida in the blue Toyota was long, flat, and boring. In the backseat, Chelsea rolled down the window and stuck her head out to take in some fresh air, a faded bruise lay in the crook of her neck.

“I can’t breathe.” She complained as she rolled up the window. “Mom, turn on the air.”

Chelsea’s mother glanced in the rear-view mirror at Chelsea. “Stop being so dramatic and calm down before you have another episode.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t know how it works, but it has to be controlled.

Chelsea leaned forward in the back seat.

“So that’s it, the real reason we’re moving is because I can’t control my episodes, and it embarrasses you? You took me away from my friends.”

“You don’t have any friends, remember? And we’re moving because you’ve managed to get expelled from the last three high schools.”

“I’m not crazy, Mom.”

Chelsea’s mom turned onto the bumpy cobblestone driveway up to the southern-style ranch house. The house once green with white trim now faded, old, and in disrepair. The house looked tired, as if it hadn’t breathed in more than fifty years. The yard untrod, and unkempt lay overgrown with weeds and brier.

“Great, a haunted house.”

“It’s called a fixer-upper.”

Chelsea wheeled her suitcase over the dreary red carpet that covered the sagging hardwood floor into the living room. She looked around, still convinced that the house was haunted. Pictures of people probably long dead hung askew on every wall, sheets draped the furniture, and musk lingered. Chelsea suddenly had the sense that someone, or something, was watching her, and she knew it wasn’t good. She quickly turned to look, but nothing was there.

Chelsea’s room was covered in a faded yellow wallpaper, everything about the room was old: the bed, the lamp, the bedside table, but the sight of an electrical outlet partially hidden by an old chest of drawers brought a gleam to her eyes, it meant there was electricity, hopefully.

Chelsea emptied the contents from her suitcase onto the bed. She fumbled through the pile of clothes and pulled out a silvery, heavy-duty flashlight along with her phone charger. She pushed the chest of drawers aside and she saw the etching of a white barn owl on the back panel. She dismissed it and plugged the charger and phone into the outlet. The charging indicator light came on. Chelsea exhaled, relieved.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Chelsea inspected the battery compartment of the flashlight, reassuring herself that the batteries were properly positioned in place. When satisfied, she toggled the power button on and off several times. Fully convinced that the flashlight was in excellent working condition she positioned it on the bedside table, only to retrieve it a few moments later and placed it close beside her on the bed.

“Don’t forget we have a 1:00 at the DMV tomorrow.” Chelsea’s mom yelled from the other side of the closed door.

“Great.” Chelsea mumbled to herself.

Chelsea typed something on her laptop and printed out a calendar titled: Episode free in haunted house. She taped it on the wall. Chelsea lay back on the pillows and scrolled through her phone until she fell asleep.

The next morning Chelsea noted her flashlight still beside her. She walked over to the calendar and drew a line through Thursday, day one.

Chelsea stared into the mirror on the dresser. She studied the bruise on her neck. Most of it had faded, but not the memory. Chelsea remembered everything about that night and exactly what happened. She prayed that all that was behind her, and that it wouldn’t happen again.

“Hurry up Chelsea, it’s time to go.”

Chelsea ripped off the t-shirt she’d been wearing and threw on a turtle neck sweater.

Chelsea sat in front of the wall at the DMV and waited to have her picture taken.

“Smile,” Chelsea’s mother said.

Chelsea stared blankly into the camera. Afterall, why smile? She hated Florida. The DMV clerk snapped Chelsea’s picture.

On the drive home Chelsea stared at her driver’s license picture. Chelsea’s mom glanced over for a look.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah right.”

“I got you beat, look.” Chelsea’s mom pulled out her license. She handed it to Chelsea.

“Mom, that’s horrible.”

“Is it terrible, terrible or just terrible?”

“Okay it isn’t that terrible.”

They both laughed.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“I’ve always been here, Mom.”

That night, Chelsea sat on the edge of the bed and inspected the battery compartment of the flashlight, reassuring herself that the batteries were properly positioned in place. When satisfied she toggled the power button on and off several times. Fully convinced that the flashlight was in excellent working condition she placed it close beside her on the bed.

Getting ready for bed, Chelsea brushed her teeth and threw her hair up in a bun. She walked over to the calendar and crossed off day two. She settled back in bed and called Joey. It went to voicemail. Disappointed, she hung up.

Chelsea crossed off the next two days of being episode free. It’s been four days and each day she routinely checked the batteries in the flashlight and toggled the power button on an off to make sure it was working; then she placed it next to her on the bed.

The living room was like a battlefield littered with boxes that seemed to have exploded all over the place. Chelsea’s mom had surrendered to sleep on the couch with a wine glass and a polished-off bottle of Pinot Grigio next to her on the floor.

Chelsea was jolted awake from a deep sleep. She scanned the room. The darkness was heavy, and familiar. She reached for the flashlight that was next to her when suddenly, something grabbed her by the throat with a grip that seemed to have no intention of letting go. Chelsea tried to scream but couldn’t, it felt like her vocal cords were being crushed. She clawed at her throat to pry away the hands of the attacker, but no hands were there—at least not human. The invisible grip tightened. Chelsea flailed about on the bed, kicking, gagging, struggling to breathe. She fumbled around for the flashlight; snatching it up, she aimed the bright light into the place where the face of the attacker would be if it had one. Suddenly, whatever it was released its grip. It left. Chelsea curled up on the bed and cradled the still illuminated flashlight in her arms. She sobbed silently.

The next day at breakfast Chelsea’s mom noticed the black and blue bruise on Chelsea’s neck. Chelsea covered it with her hair.

“Chelsea?”

“It’s nothing, Mom.”

Chelsea’s mom pushed Chelsea’s hair out of the way.

“You call this nothing? It’s happening again, isn’t it? I’m calling Doctor Bronson”

“You can’t, they’ll put me away again”

“Then snap out of it.”

“Why can’t you be like Joey?”

“Joey? You mean gangster Joey?”

“He cares about me, and he doesn’t look at me like all of this is all my fault!”

Chelsea knew Joey had been in a gang and that he had done some jail time. But none of that mattered to her. Joey was her only friend. He never made her feel like she was weird or crazy.

Chelsea sat in the front row of third period science class. She hated science, but what she hated even more was being the new kid. Each time she felt like she was being dissected by a thousand eyes. Chelsea tuned out the lecture and focused her attention on the large oak tree in the middle of the school yard. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief as she watched the tree turn black, as if it had just been burned. The branches jerked then gyrated as a mysterious creature, imp-like phantom with piercing red eyes, slinked down the trunk, then charged across the yard toward the window where Chelsea was watching. She looked on in shock, her eyes plastered open while the creature slammed into the classroom window after her. Chelsea screamed, throwing her arms across her face.

The class became pin drop quiet; everyone jerked their attention to Chelsea.

“Weirdo.” A kid shouted from the back of the class.

A wave of laughter exploded across the room. Chelsea lowered her eyes, wishing she could disappear.

Chelsea’s walk of shame to the infirmary was all too familiar: students pointing, laughing and staring.

In the infirmary, the nurse offered Chelsea the bed. She sat in the chair instead.

“You okay, Ms. Small?”

Chelsea shrugged her shoulders.

“Can you explain what happened?”

Chelsea looked out the window.

“I saw something, that’s all.”

“An imp-like creature that broke the science room window?”

“Look, I know what I saw.

“The window isn’t broken, Ms. Small and the tree is fine—see for yourself.”

Chelsea looked deep into the nurse’s eyes.

“I’m not crazy.”

The fifteen-minute ride home was long, silent and excruciating. Chelsea’s mom stared straight ahead, thinking of how to say what she’s about to say.

“I’ve decided to call Doctor Bronson for a referral."

“No, they’ll take me away.”

“They’ll help you to get better.”

“But I’m not sick, don’t you get it?”

“Chelsea, please—I don’t know what else to do.”

It’s midnight. The lights are on in Chelsea’s room. She’s propped up in bed scrolling through her phone. Her eyelids become heavy, and she dozed off to sleep.

A mysterious voice called out Chelsea’s name. It was harsh, abrupt, and demanding. Her eyes exploded open; somewhere in the space between being asleep and being awake, where nothing was clear. She sat up and waited. The voice called out again. Chelsea now fully alert sensed something beside her. What happened to the lights? She wondered. Chelsea grabbed the flashlight and powered it on. An imp-like phantom with piercing red eyes came into view. It was the same creature she’d seen at school and many times before. Chelsea screamed. The creature swatted the flashlight from her hand. It crashed to the hardwood floor with a thud.

Chelsea’s mom heard the commotion and raced upstairs. She tried the door, it was locked. She heard Chelsea gagging, struggling to breathe. Again, she pounded on the door.

“Open the door, Chelsea.”

Chelsea wanted to scream, to call out to her mom, but she couldn’t. She pulled vigorously at her throat to loosen the creature’s grip, but it was useless, she needed the flashlight.

“Chelsea, open the door!”

Chelsea’s arm thrashed about the bed, searching for the flashlight. She found it and blasted the light into the creature’s face: it growled, then disappeared.

Chelsea’s mom continued to pound on the door.

Chelsea shivered in a corner of the room. She stared into nothing as tears streamed down her face.

“That’s it Chelsea, I’m calling Doctor Bronson in the morning.”

Chelsea still shivered in the corner of the room; her hands still gripped around the flashlight. She glanced over at the clock, it’s 1:00 a.m. Chelsea sprung to her feet with a steely-eyed determination. She jerked her suitcase from the closet, and stuffed it with clothes.

Chelsea managed her luggage down the stairs and passed her mother asleep on the couch. She grabbed the keys off the counter then reached into her mother’s purse. She pulled out the wallet; shoving aside the five and the ten, she took the one-hundred-dollar bill. She wrote an IOU, and slipped it inside the wallet.

The car rolled slowly across the bumpy driveway.

Chelsea plugged the phone into the car’s USB port and entered Joey’s address into MapQuest. In thirty-two hours, she’d be back in Cleveland with Joey.

Twenty minutes into the drive the car sputtered and jerked, the engine light came on. A sickening lurch and the car floated to a stop in the middle of a busy road.

“No, no, no, no.”

Chelsea guided the car to the side of the road where it stalled. She pumped the accelerator pedal over and over, but the car wouldn’t start. Chelsea recalled hearing her mother talk to a mechanic about bringing the car in for a battery check as it stalled during the drive from Cleveland to Florida. But a jump from a passerby with cables and they were back on the road.

Chelsea had no idea where she was, she dialed Joey’s number, but the call went directly to voicemail. She wondered why he hadn’t answered any of her calls. A group of up-to-no-good teenagers passing by banged on Chelsea’s car and window. She screamed. The teenagers continued on their way, laughing and satisfied with the results of their prank. Chelsea dialed her mother. Her finger hovered over the send button, but she decided that now wasn’t the time for a lecture or for being grounded for life for stealing the car—she canceled the call.

Suddenly, Chelsea sensed something in front of her, just outside of the car. She raised her eyes, and screamed at the sight of the silhouetted face that watched her. Chelsea reached for the flashlight only to remember it was in the back seat. She continued to stare at the thing, but couldn’t make out its features; only half of its face, neck and head were visible, the other half was hidden behind a veil of darkness. It was as if it had peered from behind the veil to look at Chelsea, but when she caught a glimpse of it the thing quickly slid back behind the veil and disappeared. Chelsea sensed this thing was somehow different than the other creature; although she wasn’t quite sure how.

Chelsea found herself in the seedy part of town: drunkards slept in store fronts, garbage littered the streets, abandoned buildings covered with graffiti.

Two thugs approached Chelsea. Snake, tall, greasy, and edgy. Ajax, well built, tattooed, and stone-faced. She sensed they were up to no good.

“Hey princess,” Snake said.

“Run!” A mysterious voice echoed. Chelsea stumbled back, covering her ears to block the searing pain. The voice was urgent, almost insistent, but unlike the other voice it was non-threatening—somewhat caring.

“Run.” The voice thundered again.

Chelsea ran, the thugs followed after her. They took their time in their pursuit, knowing there was nowhere for Chelsea to hide.

A white barn owl perched on a rusted sign in front of an abandoned warehouse seemed out of place, but Chelsea didn’t question it, its incessant stare indicated that she should enter.

Chelsea ran inside the warehouse. It was dark, rays of light from the streetlamp spilled through the upper tier of windows, casting long shadows on the floor. A menagerie of junk littered the concrete floor: a broken air-conditioning unit, stray boxes and used syringe needles. Chelsea looked for a place to hide; up against the wall were lockers. A possum waddled across her path. Chelsea wanted to scream, but forced herself to hold it in.

Chelsea tried the first locker-rusted shut. She tried the second and third: both rusted shut. To Chelsea’s weary surprise the fourth locker opened. She slipped inside, and closed the door.

“Hey Princess!” Snake called out with a melodic sneer.

Tears poured as Chelsea clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the cry that wanted to punch its way out.

Snake kicked over a metal paint can, a rattling, metallic clang echoed throughout the warehouse. Chelsea squeezed her hands even tighter over her mouth when suddenly she heard the voice, “Get ready to run!”

Confused, Chelsea shook her head: why would the voice tell her to run? What if the voice was wrong? She couldn’t risk it.

Ajax threw open the first locker. Chelsea jumped at the sound of the rusted door that jerked open.

“Wait.” The voice said with a calmness.

Snake snatched open the second locker. Chelsea shivered.

“Wait.”

Chelsea covered her ears. She shook her head in defiance, mouthing the word no as tears streamed down her face.

Delilah threw open the third locker.

Chelsea’s hands trembled. She placed them on the locker door.

“Wait.”

Ajax stood before the locker where Chelsea was hiding. He threw open the door when a flurry of gunshots exploded in the distance. Delilah and the thugs turned to flee.

“Run!”

Chelsea gave in. She squeezed out the locker and ran.

Chelsea entered McDonald’s, visibly shaken. At the counter she ordered a soda, burger, and fries.

“Here or to go?” The cashier asked.

Chelsea scanned the restaurant; she wished Joey was there to protect her.

“Here or to go?” The cashier asked again, this time with an attitude.

“Sorry, here.”

Chelsea handed the cashier the one-hundred-dollar bill. The cashier pointed to the sign: No bill larger than $20. A girl with blonde-tipped dreadlocks watched Chelsea from the other line.

“It’s all I have.”

“Next!” The cashier snapped.

“Please.”

The cashier ignored Chelsea and looked past her to the next client in line. Chelsea turned to walk away.

“Here, I’ve got it.” The girl with the blonde-tipped dreads paid for Chelsea’s meal.

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay, who knows, maybe one day you can pay me back.”

Chelsea took her tray of food to a table and sat down.

“Look like you can use some company” The girl with the dreadlocks plopped her tray down on the table and took a seat. Chelsea forced a weak smile.

“My friends call me Delilah”

“What’s your real name?”

“Delilah.”

“I’m Chelsea.”

“You from here?”

Chelsea shakes her head no.

“Didn’t think so. I get it, you’re scared and you can’t go home, been there. Hell, I’m there now.”

Delilah pointed out the window.

“See that street? It’s Fifth and over there is Main, and down there is a church, can’t see the steeple, but it’s got one.”

“A church?”

“Don’t worry, Father Bob is weird, talks about God a lot, but he’s nice enough. Tell him I sent you, he’ll put you up for the night, or until you can figure things out.”

Delilah checked out Chelsea’s rose gold, stainless-steel watch. “Michael Kors?”

“It’s from my mom.”

“There’s this gold Breitling Chronograph 44 in the window at Sorenson’s Jewelers, I’m getting it for my boyfriend. You think they take lay-a-way?” Delilah chuckled.

Bright headlights flooded the area where Delilah and Chelsea were sitting. A horn blew.

“That’s him, gotta go.”

Delilah slurped down her soda and left.

Chelsea watched Delilah get into a 1970, brown and yellow striped dodge van. It peeled off down the parking lot, making a high-pitched squeaking noise upon acceleration: indicator of the engine’s loose serpentine belt.

Chelsea walked down Fifth and Main. At the church she looked up at the steeple. She tried the doorknob, then knocked on the door. No one answered.

A squeaking sound in the distance drew closer. A van peeled across the parking lot towards Chelsea and squealed to a stop. It’s the 1970’s Dodge van. Delilah gets out.

“I don’t think anyone’s there,” Chelsea said.

“My bad.” Delilah smirked.

Chelsea noticed the guy driving the van, it’s Snake. She had the feeling she was in trouble. She turned to walk away. “Hey! You owe me!” Delilah said.

Chelsea looked at her shocked.

Ajax and Snake jumped out of the van.

“If it ain’t the princess,” Snake said.

Delilah held out her hand. “Give me the hundred bucks, then we’ll call it even.”

Chelsea turned to run. Delilah wrestled her to the ground. She took Chelsea’s money and her watch. She gave Ajax the one-hundred-dollar bill and slipped the watched onto her wrist.

“No. Please, leave me alone.”

Ajax waved the money in Chelsea’s face.

“Any more where this came from?”

Chelsea shook her head, tears streamed.

“I took it from my mom.”

“So, Mom’s got it like that?”

“No, please.”

“Take care of her,” Ajax said.

Snake clamped his hand around Chelsea’s throat and squeezed. As she struggled to breathe, she forced out, “I’ll help.”

“What did you say?” Delilah asked.

Snake released Chelsea. She rubbed her throat, trying to catch her breath.

“Talk.”

“The watch at Sorenson’s, I can help you get it.”

“How?”

Chelsea thought of what to say, it came to her. “You can wait around the corner in the van. After I smash in the window and take the watch you pick me up down the street. The police will never know it was you.”

“What’s in it for you?” Ajax asked.

“You let me go.”

“What if she rats us out?” Snake asked.

“No, I promise. I won’t say anything”

Delilah snatched Chelsea’s purse from her. She went through her wallet and ripped out the driver’s license. “Insurance. Try anything stupid and we pay your mother a visit.”

Chelsea gets out of the van a block away from the jewelry store. Delilah fanned herself with Chelsea’s driver’s license to remind her of what could happen if she didn’t keep up her end of the deal. Chelsea understood.

Chelsea walked up to Sorenson’s Jewelry store and nervously scanned her surroundings. She looked at the gold Breitling watch displayed in the window. Brick in hand Chelsea raised it to smash in the window.

“No!” the voice roared loudly in her head.

Chelsea stopped. She shook her head as if trying to erase the command. Again, she raised the brick to strike.

“No!”

“You don’t understand. I have to!”

A police car on its daily beat wheeled around the corner. A bright light from spilled from the car. The flashlight illuminated everything that moved as the car drove by. Chelsea wanted to run over and tell them everything that happened, but she knew to do so would bring harm to her mother. Against her better judgement she dropped the brick and hid.

Chelsea emerged out of hiding and watched the police car drive away. Suddenly, Chelsea perked up to the eerie, squeaking noise that echoed in the distance. They’re coming. She thought to herself.

“Run!” The voice called out.

“Where?”

“Red door.”

Chelsea looked all around. She didn’t see the red door. Seemingly, out of nowhere the white barn owl flew out of the alley. There she saw the red door: a side entrance to an antique book store.

The screaking sound of the van echoed louder as it got closer. Chelsea ran toward the antique book store when she spotted the police station across the street. It didn’t look like the average police station, it was modular, similar to a trailer home with a wooden ramp and with a blue awning.

“Red door.” The voice insisted.

Chelsea contemplated the red door and then the police station. This was her chance to get help. She thought to herself. Chelsea dismissed the voice and ran for the police station.

Chelsea raced up the wooden ramp, when she stopped cold in her tracks. It was as if her blood had frozen solid in her veins, and she could no longer move. Horrified, she watched Ajax walk out of the police station and directly over to her. A wicked sneer curled up on the side of his face. “Hey, Princess.”

The squeaking van pulled up behind Chelsea. Ajax put his arms around her waist as if they were lovers. She stiffened at his touch. He escorted Chelsea down the wooden ramp and into the van.

Chelsea teetered on the edge of the Blue Heron bridge. Her hands and feet tied. Delilah ripped the blindfold off Chelsea’s eyes. Chelsea looked down at the sixty-five-foot drop into the Intercoastal Waterway. Tears streamed.

“No please.”

“You messed up,” Snake said.

I’m sorry, please, I just want to go home.”

A sneer spread across Ajax’s face. “We’ll take you home— for ten thousand dollars.”

“I don’t have ten thousand dollars.”

“I bet your mother does.”

“No!”

Delilah jerked Chelsea’s head back by her hair. “We’re getting that money with or without you.”

Chelsea looked up. The white barn owl circled above her then transformed itself into a bright light. It vanished. Chelsea finally realized that she wasn’t alone. What she had recently been seeing and hearing was an angel sent to watch over her and protect her from the imp creature. Chelsea wished she could see her mother again. Her mother loved her and wanted the best for her, she knew that now. Chelsea decided there was only one way to end this and to save her mother. She agreed to go along with the plan.

Delilah slid Chelsea’s driver’s license into the front pocket of her jeans. Chelsea noticed that it protruded out of the pocket. Delilah untied Chelsea’s hands. Without a moment’s hesitation, Chelsea snatched the driver’s license and jumped off the bridge.

Chelsea plunged into the river, rolling swirls of water weaving around her, pulling her deeper and deeper into the watery depths. She struggled for what seemed like hours to break free from the rope tied around her ankles. Her lungs burned as she held her breath. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold it. Unable to free herself, a weary Chelsea gave up. Suddenly, as if by some supernatural force the rope around her feet unwound and fell off, sinking to the bottom. With a sudden burst of energy, Chelsea swam for the river’s surface.