I have no idea what’s going on. Yesterday night was…strange. I’m re-reading through the drafts, and somehow I got my phone back? It definitely wasn’t with me when I entered the library.
Someone pointed it out in a comment, and I wracked my brain, but I simply can’t remember when I got it back. It had to have been sometime after 12:00, because I know if I had the phone before that I’d have taken a picture of the stained glass window.
And how did I get here? Sure, I was being super duper dramatic and saying shit like “I’m going to die!” but…the fear felt real? I woke up today in the abandoned house. I know Mr. Cohen could not have known where I lived. That has to mean that Joshua does. But how?
I have so many questions.
But first things first. I can hear the tap dripping from inside the house again. So far, I’ve only stuck to the living room and sometimes ventured into the kitchen in search of food, using the first bathroom in the hallway when I can. There is no toilet paper. I use water from the tap when I need to wash myself. The sound isn’t coming from the first bathroom, and I’m waaay too spooked to check out the rest of the house.
Listen, I think I’m imagining all this. Any minute now, I’ll wake up somewhere on the floor in some rancid apartment with adrenaline pounding in my ears from running away. I get up, and I notice something on the floor.
It’s Joshua’s cloak.
I know it’s his because I’m still wearing Mr. Cohen’s one. I hear footsteps, again. I freak out, run outside and shut the door. I hold it shut, assuming there’s a murderer in the house. There’s banging on it, and then I hear Joshua’s voice.
“My god, you idiot, open the door!” Shame courses through me. I was obviously freaked out by what had happened. His face seemed softer in the morning light. “Get inside.” He seemed to scan our surroundings before pulling me inside.
I stopped by the door, refusing to let him drag me wherever he wanted. I pulled out my phone, and started typing out my questions in the Notes app.
How did I get my phone back? What happened last night? Why can’t I remember anything apart fro-
He grabbed my hands. “Honestly, I don’t want to answer your panicked rambling right now–” I felt my anger rise up when he rolled his eyes, treating me like a child, “–but Simon probably will. C’mon, let’s go eat something before you turn into an angry bird.”
I huffed, and held up a finger, telling him to wait. He yelled after me as I walked in, telling me to get my bags. I went to the first bathroom, and brushed my teeth and washed my face. The mirror was cracked, and the rust that coated the bottom of it was honestly creepy. Right under the window was a metal cross that was rusted too.
Right as I was turning the doorknob, I swear I could feel someone look at me. I turned back and caught a glimpse of the mirror. Something was behind me. The door wasn’t opening as quick as it should’ve either, my toothbrush and paste clutched in my right hand and I tried jiggling the lock open. Joshua must’ve heard the commotion because he grabbed the door and forced it open.
“Alright there, Mary?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust myself to look at anyone or anything. I dropped my brush and paste into my bag on the way out, and we left the house. We used his bike, which I suppose was what he used to drag me back to the house. It was an old thing, a Honda SuperClub. It sputtered like a wheezing grandma before it started, and the sound almost made me laugh.
I hadn’t been on a bike in years. The last time I’d been on one, I’d gotten in an accident and was legally proclaimed dead for 13 minutes. I think I was around 15 when this happened. Anyway, I held on for dear life, even though Joshua seemed to be going slow. This didn’t mean I disliked him any less, just that I was scared. The light reflected off his black leather jacket, and I wondered if he always wore black. His box braids, though, were brownish-orange at the tips. They looked like they’d been licked by flames.
My hair was almost always loose and tangled. Despite it being straight, I hadn’t counted on external factors like the weather, or becoming homeless to affect my hair. In fact, I hadn’t brought a comb with me when I was packing my bag, assuming I’d find a good place to stay the second I landed in America. The original plan was to stay at some hotel while I got a job, severely underestimating the amount of money it took to stay alive. And by the time I landed in the U.S, it wasn’t just me, but Sarah too. I was spoiled as a kid, and so sure we’d be allowed to stay at a high-end hotel on minimum wage while also on the run. I was so, so wrong. And so naïve.
I was a teenager, and I was running from my influential parents who ended up hiring troughs of detectives to find me. As a result, I had to hide in crack dens, and at one point I burned through the cash so I had to learn how to pickpocket and steal. I was running from not just them, but the monster I’d found on the boat, too. I remember telling you all about it, and Sarah too. Sarah was a good friend. Maybe even my best friend. The monster killed her as soon as we landed in California.
She was brilliant. Just like me, her first language wasn’t English either. She was Nigerian, and her birth name was Sareola. She called herself Sarah so that the English speakers didn’t have a chance to butcher her name. She used to say, “Names hold power, Mary. Always remember that. But more than that, names hold identity. Sareola was the girl who was captured. Sarah is the girl who escaped.”
She was sold into the skin trade when she was 10. In the places she stayed in that she refused to tell me about, she said she learnt how to read, write and speak English with the help of a good soul. The same person helped her escape.
If she’d lived past California, we’d have celebrated her 23rd birthday 17 days back.
Before I came to this town, I was constantly plagued by nightmares of Sarah. Always of her reaching out to me, asking me to help her, to save her. The monster had slit her throat, and I was asleep in the next room. I couldn’t even hear her gurgles for help. To this day, I don’t know why the monster had left me alone that night. Maybe it was satiated with one desperate murder for the night, and had planned on taking me the next day.
I woke up the following morning, cheerfully. I went straight to the kitchen, calling out for Sarah. I had started on the eggs, when I got suspicious. She’d generally be thrilled if I was making breakfast, since I was pretty good at eggs and bacon. I remember it vividly.
The pillow was red. Red, red, red. Everything was red. Sometimes, I can still feel it on my hands. When I dream of her, I wake up screaming.
There are tell-tale signs of the monster. In every city I’ve gone to, L.A, San Francisco, Washington D.C, there are always the same signs. Everyone’s eyes linger on you for more than five seconds. You step off a train/metro, or walk into a crowded space, and your shoulder gets bumped exactly three times. And the last one, always the one that’d tell you how close the monster is–the clocks, They stop randomly around you, or your phone reads a different time to the clock.
I left my watch with Sarah when I called the police and booked out of there. The clocks stopped in all the cities and towns I stayed in for the next one and a half years. Except for this one. I told you, this town was weird. Along with the erasure of my (what used to be) regular nightmares, my memories of Sarah are slowly slipping away too.
I’ve only been here for about three days, and it already feels like there’s a big gap in my memory. I can’t seem to remember exactly how I got here, only that I did. And I know I’m somewhere in Kansas. Which is why I’m so fervently typing out what I can remember.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. That is physically impossible, since we are on a bike that’s speeding, the streets turning into a blur. I felt nauseous, but I’d never tell him to stop, lest he laugh at me again. I swear that all the eyes on the road are staring at us. Instead, I grip him tighter and lower my head, hoping the stares and the world, would disappear. I only lift my head when I smell something rotten again, catching a glimpse of everyone’s favorite soup kitchen.
I tapped on his shoulder as we passed by Sal’s Kitchen. “What?” I could barely hear him over the sound of the engine and the air around us, so I let it be. He’d have to pay if we were eating somewhere else.
To my surprise, we pulled up to a tiny diner next to the library. I hadn’t even noticed it yesterday. It smelled much better than Sal’s Kitchen, and went by the name, “Bethany’s.” We walked in, and I saw the same guy from Sal’s Kitchen. How the hell did he get here?
He didn’t look up when we entered, manning the till in all seriousness. He seemed to be counting what looked like…leaves? Twigs? All the coins he got, he seemed to be dipping in water. This town is so fucking weird. I walked in behind Joshua.
The seats were all covered in faux red leather. Some sort of slime seemed to cover all the tabletops, except for the booth in which Mr. Cohen seemed to be sitting. He smiled when we walked over, pushing his glasses up. I think he dyed his beard last night, the salt-n-pepper look gone.
“Joshua, Mary! There y’all are.” He smiled warmly. He clasped my hands as Joshua slid in opposite to him. “Mary, darlin, I’m so glad you’re alive. Joshua, how was the night? Anything awry?”
Joshua smirked at this, and I knew from the gleam in his eye he was going to throw me under the bus. But I needed that to happen, because I needed answers. I needed to know what happened, why I couldn’t remember any of the things I’d posted about the previous night.
“Yo deaf-n-dumbo, you wanna tell him?” He looked at me, and I wanted to slap him. Mute people are not dumbos, and all of us are certainly not deaf. But I’ll admit, I did act a bit like a dumbo. I sat down next to him, and grabbed my phone, showing him my post. Specifically, the last few lines.
Mr. Cohen paled in seconds. He handed the phone back to me, and we sat in a stilted silence for two minutes while Joshua, ever the asshole, laughed at the look on Mr. Cohen’s face.
I pulled out the Notes App. I’m sorry, Mr. Cohen.
He sighed, pushing his glasses up his face again. “It’s okay, Mary. We all make mistakes. But I need you to remember the rules from now on. Keep them with you at all times. See, we have these rules for a reason. They’re for your safety.”
I nodded. I was so frustrated with myself. I had to prove that I needed this job.
“Wait, so how did y’all get home safe?” He looked over to Joshua. I whirled around to face him. This was what I wanted to know too.
“Simon, before that, I think you need to ask her why a Murk seems intent on following her.” A voice appeared from behind me. The boy from Sal’s Kitchen was standing behind me. I also found it really weird that none of these places had nametags.
“A Murk? Goddamn, she really is more trouble than she’s worth huh?” Joshua snickered, and I felt my cheeks grow red-hot from embarrassment.
Mr. Cohen looked exhausted, even though it was like, 10:32 a.m in the morning. It was most definitely my fault, and I’m going to apologize to him in a big way later on. The poor man didn’t deserve my mistakes. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The boy slid into our booth, which I suppose was okay because we were the only people in the diner. I guess people in this town are really early risers.
The boy looked me in the eyes and started signing in ASL. Don’t pay attention to him, he’s a dick. (He meant Joshua, not Mr. Cohen).
I laugh at that, loudly. I know my eyes are lighting up because it’s the first time someone I’ve met in almost 10 months who knows sign language. You know how to sign?
Yeah, my little sister is deaf. I understand that you don’t speak?
No, I don’t. I’m smiling very hard for the first time in a while. I’m so, so effing grateful I don’t have to type out stuff. But then I remember what he was talking about. Wait, so what is a Mark?
Not a mark, a Mu-
“Oh my, could you guys stop doing all that-”, Joshua waves his hands around, the utter dick, “–weird shit and just speak? God.”
I get that being mute can sometimes cause issues in communication, but Joshua literally stole all the light I’d found in those few moments. I dropped back into myself.
The boy looks at him, anger shining in his eyes. “Joshua, you need to calm the fuck down before I-”
“Before you what, bitch?”
“Okay, that’s enough from the both of you. Mary, meet Raj.” Mr. Cohen still looks tired and I feel horrible. But I wasn’t going to let a grade-school bully like Joshua deter me from finally talking to someone without needing a phone, or a book.
I sign to him pointedly ignoring Joshua’s groans. We met yesterday, at Sal’s Kitchen. I offer him a smile, but he suddenly looks grave.
“That wasn’t me in Sal’s Kitchen.” I promptly shut up at that.
Guys, I’m thorougly scared. It wasn’t him? What did he even mean by that? I’m freaking out as I recall all this, typing it down on Joshua’s couch. I did a quick google search, and there are so, so many myths that steal other people’s faces. If he was serious about that, then the thing I met yesterday may as well have been trying to…kill me.
I think almost everything in this town is trying to kill me. Okay, but what the fuck is wrong with this place? Yeah, it’s the only place the monster shows no signs, but it is so fucking scary. I can’t even leave here because I’m don’t want to die. I will die eventually, but not like this. I need to do what Sarah couldn’t, what she would’ve wanted me to do–make eggs and bacon at least a few more times for breakfast.
“Mary, you are going to give me a heart attack.” Poor Mr. Cohen looked like he was going to pass out. Raj was rubbing his shoulder. “I told you, rotten means you run away. Did you eat any of their food?”
I hesitantly shook my head. I looked over at Raj, and started signing again. You spilled some on my other shirt, so I’ve been wearing the same one since yesterday night.
Raj frowned, his hazel eyes reflecting worry as he reiterated what I signed out loud. “She says that the Forge spilt some on her only other shirt.” At that, even Joshua seemed to be concerned. (I guess the Forge means the creature that wasn’t him, but I’m not sure. I need to ask them more questions.)
“Only other shirt? Wait, Mary, I think we need to talk-” My stomach grumbled loudly, interrupting his sentence. Whatever charged tension there seemed to be in the air was suddenly broken, as Joshua chortled. “Goddamn, her stomach is louder than my engine!”
I was embarrassed, but I laughed along. Raj shook his head, brushing hair out of his eyes and even Mr. Cohen smiled a bit. “I’ll run along and get you something good to eat, yeah?” I nodded, thankful.
Raj disappeared behind the counter and returned two seconds later with two warm sandwiches, three red velvet cakes, four croissants that were slightly cold, and a water bottle. He placed the sandwiches, two of the red velvets and two of the croissants in front of me and Joshua, and the water bottle in the middle. I dug in, as Joshua said, “Look at how she devours all that food up,” with a shit eating grin. I didn’t respond because honestly, he isn’t worth it.
And yeah, I was hungry. Of course I’m going to devour the food I see.
After a bit, I was full and my plates were empty. I poured some water in the clear plastic cups Raj had brought, four for each of us. Joshua was still picking at his cake, and Mr. Cohen and Raj seemed to be communicating through their eyes. I hadn’t looked up for even a second while I was eating. I was honestly just grateful for the food.
Thank you, Raj.
His eyes twinkled. No problem.
Mr. Cohen cleared his throat. “Okay, so, Mary. We need to clear a few things with you.” Joshua puts down his half-bitten croissant. “Honestly, it’s my fault–”, Mr. Cohen continued, “–for not warning you adequately. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill town. Things are very very different here. Now then, do you believe in the Devil?”
I shake my head. I don’t.
“Listen here, you mightn’t believe in the Devil when you come into Flavius, but you sure as hell will when you leave. Did’ya know that if you Google our town, the population shows up as 0? This isn’t to scare you away. I know that you came here to run from somethin’, otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up here at all. We’re all running from something or the other. They call us a ghost town, but we’re anything but.” He looks out of the window, and all three of our eyes are enraptured by his story-telling. “Mary, there are a few places in this town that you can be sure you’re safe in. Not only from your Murk, but from the other hellions that thrive here. Stick close to the library. This diner, and our homes are the only, ONLY places you should eat from. Follow the rules EVERYWHERE. Give them no reason to swoop in. They’ve got eyes on you now, for sure.”
I was still confused. I pulled up the Notes app, and typed out as quickly as I could. What is a Murk? And “they”?
This time, it’s Joshua who answers. “Murks are some nasty, nasty creatures. They’re spirits, or parts of spirits that follow you. They’re usually vengeful, but there are cases of Murks not having any connection or tie to the person they follow. Most people don’t survive them past one year, which means your time may well be coming to a close.” He leered at me.
Wait, so the thing that’s been following me is called a Murk?
“Yeah, it is. You must’ve done something really horrible to have a Murk at such a young age. Not going to lie, that makes you a bit more interesting, gobbler.”
Mr. Cohen looks at him disapprovingly, but I suppose he’s given up on trying to make Joshua act decently.
Raj rolls his eyes. “You’re both the same age.”
“Wait, for real? Christ on a stick, she looks so much younger than I do.” I huff, because that’s totally not true. It’s not my fault Joshua looks like a potato on steroids and I was basically starving while on the run.
How do you know how old I am? And, how old are you?
Raj grins. I’m 23, and Simon sometimes brings his paperwork here. I saw your resume.
Mr. Cohen gets a text then, and he gets up. Raj moves out of the way as he slides out of the booth. “Joshua, you have to provide her sanctuary.” He looked down at me. “And Mary, we’ll talk tonight about your clothes and situation. It needs to be addressed, and I’m only sorry we didn’t talk about it before I hired you.”
Then he walks out of the diner, and I seem him and his checkered, yellow dad shirt fade into the distance as he walks to the library. I think something is wrong, but my thoughts have been betraying me as of late, so I don’t listen to them. Instead, I turn back to Raj.
I ask him, what does he mean by sanctuary?
Before he can respond, Joshua interrupts our conversation by standing up abruptly. “Welllll, I’m off. I’m still tired from lugging this one around after she managed to get a Queen Sprite on our tails and pass out, all during the wee hours of night.” He looked over at me. “Get up, and c’mon. You’re going to be staying with me for a few days.”
I guess he must’ve understood the question in my eyes, because what he said next spooked me, “Because you’re staying in the house my mother was murdered in.”
I shiver, and get up obediently. I can’t believe that that’s where I was staying. It didn’t answer how he knew where I slept, but Mr. Cohen trusted him. Which meant, that by extension, I could tentatively trust him. Most employers don’t want their employees dead.
We leave the diner after waving goodbye to Raj, who I assume will stay here for the rest of the day to cater to his other customers.
I can…still feel something behind me. Behind us. I sat on the back of Joshua’s bike, and I feel something staring at me. I follow Rule #10 and shut my eyes, reaching for Joshua. He holds the front of my hands and that’s when I know I’m safe.
He tells me, “You can clap to get my attention, since you don’t speak.” His voice surprisingly feels warm.
He gets in front of me and starts the engine. He makes some douchey comment about how my stomach could run for “engine voice actor”, and I pay him no mind.
His house, or his apartment, rather, is very comfortable. There are two bathrooms and two bedrooms, attached to a living room. The carpeting is a warm beige and the sofas, recliner and curtains are all shades of brown. I drop my bag by the table in the living room, and ask for the bathroom. Joshua tells me where it is, and I go to wash my face.
I look in the mirror, and this is where it gets really freaky. My eyes are red. There is blood on my hands, and I’m smiling and mouthing something. There’s a rock in one of my hands. I grab my face and I’m sure that my mouth isn’t moving. I was petrified, until the door started shaking. I squeaked, and fell to the floor as Joshua opened the door.
“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, huh?” He must’ve noticed my expression, because he crouched down on the bathroom tiles with me and asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. I needed to get out of the bathroom, to explain. I rush to my phone and unlock it, writing down whatever I can remember. Joshua reads through it, becoming more and more frantic.
“Stay here. Switch on the T.V. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’m going to go figure out what’s wrong. And–”, he grabs my hands and looks me in the eyes, the most serious I’ve seen him act, “–don’t think about what you saw. Okay?” I nodded my head, thinking that’d be the easiest thing to do. Who wants to remember hair-raising images that mentally disturb you? But reader…I think something’s really wrong.
I can’t get it out of my head. The image of Simon’s head battered in by a rock.