Seven Years Later
A remarkable stage had been aged by the years, the wood floor having turned dark brown, and the boards no longer completely aligned. Once upon a time, the most magnificent of plays were portrayed on this grandstand. Now only a layer of dust performed in the broken spotlight.
In the back of the playhouse was a petite young woman with locks of ginger hair that radiated like fire. She dressed simply in a grey sweater, denim jeans, and slip-on flats, yet she appeared rather sophisticated because of the professional expression on her face. She was currently working, the strap wrapped around her neck and a camera held in her hands acting as proof.
Rachael stood in the empty audience where not even chairs remained. Looking forward at the beautiful scene made her smile. The second-floor balcony was casting a shadow on the level below, which was the area where she was standing, while light beamed from the glass ceiling onto the stage ahead like a signal of hope. It was as if she was lost between life and death and was being beckoned toward peace.
She lifted her camera to take a picture. The lens was adjusted to focus on what she intended to snap. As the blur faded, a shape of darkness came into view. It stood in the circle of light where she was aiming.
Taken aback, she pulled the camera just a bit from her face to look over the top. The darkness remained. After a second, she looked back through the lens. Her mouth was tightly shut as a thought passed through her mind, please don’t jump at me. She pressed the button. The shutters snapped and the shadow vanished.
Sighing with minor relief, she hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering the camera, still expecting something to be just before her. Eyes gazing barely over the top of the camera found that there was still nothing. Completely relieved, she quickly lowered her hands and the camera to her waist. Then in the peripheral of her right eye appeared shadowy fingers stretching out from behind her, beginning to gently stroke her cheek and brush her hair back behind her ear. She stood nearly paralyzed, only her finger moving to switch the flash of the camera on. Once armed, she spun around and took the picture from her hip. The flash disintegrated the dark figure.
She threw her fist up and shouted, “Stop bothering me!” and then lowered her stance as she mumbled to herself, “Stupid Aswang. Already back to stalking me. I just fricking got back into town.” The reality was that ever since she played ‘The Game of One Hundred Ghosts’ with her friends years back, when they were still in high school, the entity had attached itself to her and the rest of them. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about it at the moment.
Rachael went back to her reason for being here. Turning around, she gradually made her way down the stairs that led to an open landing where the orchestra would have performed in the past. Then crossing that area reached the stage. The platform was level to her shoulders. She removed her camera from around her neck and set it aside on top of the stage so she could pull herself up, rolling around in the dust before getting to her feet. Patting her pants down and brushing her sweater, the particles puffed off her clothes and drifted in the air, being caught in the light and showing as a thin cloud of white that lingered like a fog. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she forced a cough to clear her throat and then exhaled out her nose. The camera was left where it was placed as she moved to perform her scene.
Just through the fog was a radiance beyond, a spotlight made from the sun that shined from above. Rachael took her place in the glow and looked out into the dark, seeing the empty aisle. Placing her arms at her side, lowering her head, and shutting her eyes, she whispered under her breath, “Macbeth.” The ritual had begun now that the accursed word had fled from her lips.
Letting a moment pass, the bleak darkness beneath her eyelids and the unsettling silence in the abandoned theater numbed her senses. A chill crept over her skin as a cold wind swirled. Three decrepit beings appeared, surrounding her. They were so withered, their dried skin pulled taut over their boney bodies as their backs hunched and knees bent like they were shriveled. A tattered, dirty, black cloth cloaked their disgusting rotted torsos and heads, but tears in the gown showed black sores and gashes with pus oozing. Their hands were like talons, fingers curled, and nails overgrown and sharp. Their beak of a nose protruded out from the hood. Covering their faces were pulsating boils and overgrown warts. Black gummy mouths held sharp, grey teeth which there were only a few. And their eyes were hollow, empty sockets.
Rachael dared not open her eyes, knowing the mere sight of the Witches would drive her insane. She dared not scream for her tongue would be ripped out. And she dared not run, even as the repulsive hands ran over her body and face, leaving a putrid-smelling, sticky moisture that made her want to vomit.
She proceeded with the ritual, lifting her head with her eyes still shut and saying in a booming voice, “Angels and ministers of grace defend us.” After her words, she stood perfectly still, waiting. Her skin seemed to literally crawl over her body and tighten, beginning to squeeze her. She felt trapped in her own flesh, claustrophobic in her own body. Then the wind returned, this time as a heavy gust that slammed into her like a wall of ice. Her eyes snapped open, she spun around three times and then spat over her left shoulder. The curse she placed on herself by speaking that word, Macbeth, was now cleansed, and the Witches would grant her eternal fortune.
This was the time to leave or suffer a truly sickening end. Rachael grabbed her camera, dropped down from the stage, and quickly made her way back up the stairs. In the doorway, she came to a stop as heat pressed on the back of her neck. Heavy breathing spewed rancid breath that made her shiver. She could sense the haunt behind her. Its hands hovered right overhead. She exhaled away her curiosity and walked forward, passing through the tattered red lobby with pulled-up carpet and peeling wallpaper, and left the theater out the doorless front entrance. She would never return.
The chain link fence that surrounded the theater rattled as she climbed over to return to the street. She had passed the obstacle when she first came to this place, ignoring the warning signs to feed her obsession with the occult. But now, back outside in the cold weather of Fall even with a sunny sky, the barrier between her and the building stood as a guard that would keep what happened locked away.
She breathed heavily from fear and excitement. The danger she had faced could have taken her life, but the reward for completing this undertaking gave her protection against all evils of this world. Having succeeded seemed unbelievable. Her exhilaration was overwhelming. She had to lean against the fence otherwise she might have fallen. Still her legs soon started to shake, and she slid down to sit. The crosslinking surface rubbed roughly against her back, pulling her sweater up a little and scraping her skin. The pain was ignored as she continued to smile, thinking only of what happened. The events replayed in her mind, again, and again.
Focus eventually shifted to the camera as she thought about the pictures she had taken. So, she began looking through the recent images. The first to be viewed was the last picture taken, one that she herself had not snapped. Three black shrouds surrounded her as she held her head high while the light beamed on her position. It was quite beautiful and completely phantastic. Clicking next, her blind shot of her Aswang stalker appeared. Its shadowy arms and head extended outward as the body was being vaporized by the light, the center of the picture appearing as a dark cyclone. Another amazing, supernatural image. Clicking next again, her first picture came up. Darkness led into the light that was displayed on the stage to offer peace. However, the scene was ruined by a black shadow standing in the foreground. This one was as hoaxy feeling as the others.
She sighed knowing that none of these pictures could be presented for artistic prowess. All would instead only sell to the local spook forums. That was what her reputation had become as a photographer. Being a conduit for the supernatural made work difficult in densely populated, superstitious places like Darkess Noir. Her pictures were always ruined by some ghost or ghoul thinking themselves a model. Only in nature and places barely touched by humans could she get unruined images worth an International Photography Award, which she did have one.
A sudden ringing startled her back to reality. She was left confused during the transition and it took a moment before she realized what was making the sound. Searching her pocket, she pulled out her cellphone. The screen read, ‘Brother.’
She answered, “What up, Andy?”
He responded, “Rachael, where you at because I’ve been waiting here for almost ten minutes now.”
“I’m just right down the road,” Rachael let him know. She stood up, slung the camera around her neck, and began to walk. “Sorry for making you wait. You should see me soon. I can already see the red umbrellas from where I’m at.”
“Why did you want to meet out here anyway?” Andy wondered. “It’s on the outskirts of the city.”
“Convenience,” she explained.
“Wouldn’t it be more convenient to go to a café closer to home?” He argued.
“For you,” she admitted, “but I had business.”
“What business?” further explanation being needed.
“Camera business. By the way, I see you,” she remarked over the phone when she was near enough to recognize her brother who was seated outside of a little eatery.
Andy was a mature gentleman these days, with a tall and stocky build, dressed in a suit and tie. His black hair was well-groomed and his face cleanly shaven. The only real resembling feature between the two siblings was their honey-hazel eye color.
Rachael raised her hand high in the air and began to wave. He caught sight of her and was not afraid to return the gesture while adding a bit more franticness as a childish tease. Other diners could not help but look at him and toward her. Of course, if he knew how to feel embarrassed, he would be more so than her who was left red in the face by the judging stares of strangers.
When Rachael reached the table, she stood on the opposite side with a blank look, and said, “Hey. Lovely weather for mid-November.”
“Hey hey,” Andy responded equally as non-serious. “I would agree.”
Rachael then smiled as she set her camera down on the table, took her seat, placed her elbows on the table, and put her hands together, her fingers intertwining. “Thanks for meeting me here. I know it’s out of the way from your office. So, I’m really appreciative.”
“Don’t worry,” he returned to a casual tone. “Of course, I came. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my little sister—”
“I’m older,” Rachael corrected.
“Are you?” He acted genuinely surprised. “It just doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“You still act like a child—” she playfully accused.
But he was quick to counter with, “You still believe in magic.”
Rachael had no response because he was not wrong.
Afraid he might have offended her with his last comment, he moved the subject along, speaking in his casual yet adult manner, “I do have to get back to work in the next fifty minutes, so I have thirty of those to spend with you.”
“So that’s all the time we have? Let’s make the most of it, I guess.”
“Not planning on staying around too long?” Andy assumed from how she said what she said.
“You know I don’t like being in Darkess for too long,” she answered.
“Alright,” he accepted without argument. “Now, there’s no need to keep talking about when you’re leaving. Let’s talk about what you’ve been up to. It’s been a long time since we’ve actually been together. Where do we even start?”
“Six months isn’t that long,” Rachael felt. “Though, I guess a lot happened in that time. How is the new Missus Liminal?”
“My wife’s good,” Andy smirked at his own words.
Rachael was even giddier with the implication, smiling widely. “I’m so happy for you!” A frown then followed. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.”
“I know. You called me and told me several times how sorry you were. I also got your texts, letters, and emails. It’s not the biggest deal.”
“It is a big deal!” She impulsively shouted. Her outburst brought sudden embarrassment. She lowered her head and looked at the others who were seated around, a few of which were glancing over out the corner of their eyes. Shaking her head to get rid of the humiliation, she continued with her insinuation, but speaking calmer, “Your wedding was a big deal. Everybody was there except for me.”
“You travel a lot as a photographer,” he gave an excuse for her. “By the way, how were the Marshall Islands?”
“Screw the Marshall Islands!” She enunciated loudly but made sure not to shout this time. “Well? Don’t. Was amazing. But while I was off …” looking for the words.
“Having fun,” Andy plugged in his own thoughts of her career.
“Yes, it’s enjoyable,” she confessed. “But because of it, I’ve become pretty disconnected.”
“You keep in contact all the time,” he again argued in her favor.
“Even so, I missed your wedding. I missed …” she paused at the cheerless thought, “I missed mom and dad’s funeral.”
The waitress approached the table without knowing what was said, not even realizing that Rachael had only been sitting for a few minutes and did not even have a menu, but simply gave the spiel, “Hi, I’m Anna. I will be your server today. Start you off with waters?”
Andy flared his nose, frustrated by the intrusion, but remained his likable self as he quickly ordered to get her gone, “Sure, but also, I’m good to order.”
“Of course,” said cheerfully enough.
“I’d like tea to drink and a pork sandwich to eat.”
Then attention was placed on Rachael. She scowled. She did not ever get the chance to know what she wanted, but not wanting to be a bother, she just said, “Same.”
The waitress jotted down the order on her pad, took the singular menu, and gave an “Alright then” before leaving.
Staring straight at Rachael, Andy returned to the previous conversation with a harsh, “Shit happens. And if you don’t like it, then stay and be a photographer in the city.”
“I can’t,” she blatantly rejected the idea.
“Why?” he pressured but his expression already revealed that he knew.
She felt at odds explaining, saying, “You know.”
“Please don’t mean that superstitious stuff.” He sighed with disappointment but did have a sympathetic look.
“Ghosts cling to me when I’m here,” she spoke openly.
Andy grabbed his brow, covering his eyes with his hand, then pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He sighed and gave the same look again. “What were you doing before meeting me?”
“Do you want to know?” Her question was pretty much an answer.
“Just tell me.”
“I took a few pictures and …” not feeling fully comfortable talking about her beliefs with her no longer believing brother, she said anyway, “then I did the Macbeth ritual.”
“What is that?” he continued probing. “Is it like when you broke grandma’s antique mirror—”
“The Dark Reflection Ritual,” she specified.
“—saying it would cleanse you of all your bad luck?”
Rachael bobbed her head side to side, saying sheepishly, “yes.”
“Mom wasn’t happy about that but chalked it up to a rebellious teenage phase.”
Rachael became coy, then sprung with energy when she realized, “BUT! But. I have proof.” She handed over her camera.
Andy took a look at her proof. The expression on his face showed his unchanging opinion. “Just looks like your camera’s broken.”
“Well—” she started just to be interrupted.
The waitress returned with “Here’s your tea and waters.”
“Thank you,” the siblings said together, Andy showing his gratitude as Rachael seemed to only say the words to say the words.
The woman left.
Rachael went back to explain, “They only look like shadowy blotches because you believe that they are blotches. You know what they say, seeing is believing. Well, the opposite is just as true.”
“So, if I think they’re ghosts, then they will be ghosts?” His question was filled with skepticism.
“I’m saying that you can’t see ghosts and don’t have interactions with them because you don’t believe anymore. Instead, they just appear as something you can explain. But remember when we were in high school? You still remember that experience.”
“Sure, I do,” he recalled. “One of you played a prank on the rest of us and still, to this day, insist that there was a ghost. I’m actually impressed by your commitment—”
“I’m impressed by your obliviousness,” she jabbed.
He continued on, “So, tell me about the ritual you just did. First off, what does it do?”
“It gives me eternal fortune,” she answered simply.
“Isn’t that what you just said about your mirror ritual?”
“No,” she disagreed. “The mirror ritual got rid of all my bad energy. There’s a difference between having good luck and not having bad luck.”
“Sure, I get it,” he did and did not. “So, what if I did the ritual?”
“Like I said,” she reiterated, “if you don’t believe, then nothing will happen. You won’t have to deal with the dangerous challenges, and you won’t receive any of the rewards.”
After a short pause, Andy said, “Okay,” to end the squabbling as he threw his hands up as if he was physically admitting defeat, and then changed the subject. “How long will you be in the city?”
Rachael sighed at her brother’s avoidance but gave an answer to his question, “I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“Where you heading next?”
“Unalaska Island,” she gave. “An Alaskan Island, if the name wasn’t clear enough.”
“Sounds cold.”
“Maybe for you,” she bantered. “I’ve never really been affected by temperature. All I know is that it will be beautiful and isolated.”
“You’ve never really liked being around people,” he assumed.
“It’s not people I have a problem with. I don’t like being in places with lots of people. I …” she stopped herself from talking about her spirituality and went with, “It makes me feel uncomfortable being surrounded by so many strangers.”
“Isn’t everybody a stranger though, no matter where you go?” he disputed.
“Sure,” she agreed. “But it’s easier to get to know the few people of a small community than it is to just know one person who you might never see again because they get lost among the other thousands.”
“True,” he had to admit. “That being the case, you should stay at my place until you leave. You can finally meet my wife. She’s part of the family now, our small community.”
“Since you’re offering, how can I refuse? By the way, didn’t you move?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Shortly after the wedding, Olive and I moved into a new condo together. It’s in the middle of downtown, the new building they just refurbished. I don’t know how comfortable you’d feel there, but you’re always welcome.”
“What’s your address?” she asked.
“So, you’re definitely coming over?” He was happy to hear. “I’ll make sure to tell Olivia. The complex is called Clearpoint and is on Main and Cherry St. You’ll love her when you meet her.”
“Well, if I do come over,” she was making clear her stay was still not determined, “I’ll be coming over a bit later. I have to meet up with Emily while I’m here.”
Andy smiled at that.
“What?” Rachael smiled at his smile but did not know why they were smiling.
“I won’t say. Just ask Emily.”
Rachael knew there was no prying information from her most trustworthy brother. So, she just accepted without a fight, “Fine, I’ll do that.”
“So how late are we talking?” Andy returned to the time.
“Nine-ish,” she guest, “but no later than ten, if that’s alright?”
“That should be okay,” he had no problem. “I’ll make sure to let her know. And it looks like our food is here.” He clearly saw the waitress approaching with a basket in both her hands that contained a sandwich and a side of fries.
Arriving at the table, she placed the meals down in front of Andy and Rachael, smiling and saying, “I hope you enjoy.”
Andy rubbed his hands together and stared with hungry eyes. “Let’s eat.”
Rachael looked at the food, dissatisfied that she never got an actual choice of what she wanted. “Don’t tip well,” she told Andy in a resenting tone. She picked her sandwich up and bit into it. Delicious but unwanted.