Plague

Chapter 1: Playing Among the Dead

She opened her eyes to nothing but the void of darkness.

It was darkness so black that she couldn’t see herself or her surroundings. The girl couldn’t even see what she’d been dressed in. It was as if she’d been purged into some sort of endless abyss, robbed of sight, forced to rely on her other senses to determine whether what she was witnessing was fantasy or reality.

The floor was frigid, so much so that it burned her bare feet, and the air held an unsettling chill. It pricked her skin, which caused goosebumps to surface. She seemed to be alone.  The girl couldn’t hear any footsteps, nor could she hear breathing. The air was seasoned with the smell of salt and rust with a hint of iron. Something that was far too close to the stench of blood for her liking.  She attempted to rely solely on her ears as she picked up a low, almost unrecognizable, quiet noise.  It was so distant that she could barely hear it, much less be able to point out some sort of source. 

It sounded like music.

She attempted to stand so she could venture towards the sound, but something inside of her that felt like a swirling mixture of fear and dread told her to stop.  The girl tried her hardest to act on the conflicting urge that beckoned her to travel towards the sound, but her body denied her. It was as if she was being held down by the cruel grip of hands, clenched tightly around her ankles.

Slowly, her pale white hand reached down in some feeble and cautious attempt to touch what bound her; however, there was nothing but the chill of dead air at her fingertips.

The feeling of being watched crept through her form. It traveled up her spine and spread through her with a tingling sensation. It was so profound that she couldn’t ignore it.  She glanced behind her. Long, wavy hair brushed against the bare skin of her arms as she did so.  There was nothing but silent darkness. How could someone be watching her when she couldn’t see or hear them?

It was silly…but she still couldn’t shake that feeling.

It was so certain that she closed her eyes tightly for a moment, squeezing her lids shut as hard as she could before they flew open like shutters that exposed her widened, green pupils to the darkness once more.  She concentrated, staring into the abyss.  She swore that she heard voices whispering in indecipherable languages.  The chill from the breath of darkness felt clammy against her skin.  A shiver crawled up her spine that caused her body to tremble and she could hear distant laughter reverberating in her ear drums.

The quiet giggles that haunted her within the cacophony of voices that whispered, taunted, and knew of her pain.  The laughter burrowed deeper in her ear canal, and she could feel the breath that was subtle enough not to be ignored.  The darkness pressed against her curvy body and she attempted to move. A deep guilt seated itself in her stomach like an anchor and for some unknown reason, the unshakable feeling of being held down kept her from doing so.  Her throat was dry, but she tried to scream regardless. Nothing came out, breath lost to the dead air as more whispers filled the void around her.

All that could be heard were whispers, laughter, and the beating of her own heart.

Suddenly, her senses were deprived. She smelled nothing, felt nothing but ghostly hands on her shoulders and the feeling of being watched remained and grew in intensity.  The wavy-haired girl knew she was being watched and that feeling bore into the marrow of her bones.  In that moment, she was thankful that the sensation of her fears was numbed.

The feeling of being watched was still prominent. It was obvious, unshakable, and undeniable. It lurked deep within her very core. She tried to ignore it, but she could never forget it.  Her heart raced, slamming against her sternum as her body began to tremble with emotion to the point of feeling as if she were going to break down or have an anxiety attack.

The girl was unable to glance behind her so she remained in place, perfectly still as she wondered when whoever was watching her would show up and claim her life.

She couldn’t glance behind her, but curiosity was in her nature.

Green eyes set sight on the very thing her racing heart and subconscious mind would expect from a room of deep fear, but not what her conscious mind would. She desperately tried to hang onto whatever pathetic hope she had, and then-

-

Bare legs kicked white linen covers away.  She thrashed around like a cornered, wild animal, caught in a cage and desperate to escape. A white, ruffled nightgown’s cloth waved frantically in the awkward flurry of limbs that tossed about. White covers cascaded from the wooden-framed bed as the girl shot up in a jolt from her slumber. Her dark green, wavy hair smacked against her face in mounds of unkempt glory. Green pupils darted across the room in a frenzy as she breathed heavily, a small hitch of noise caught between gasps.  A thin layer of sweat glistened over her pale, ivory skin as she glanced around the room to get a bearing on her surroundings.

“You don’t have any power over me!” She shouted in hopeless despair. “Just leave me alone! Stop it! Just stop it! There was nothing I could do!”

There was nothing there but her and her own crippling guilt.  Her room was decorated with dainty feminine themes.  Most things held within were those composed of lace, floral patterns, delicate items and frills.  The furniture was bathed in a dim light that came from her small, high window.  Beyond the wooden structure was a sky filled with fog and Victorian houses that were silhouetted in the distance.

The girl’s breathing slowed as she sat in her bed, still.  She attempted to calm her mind and shake off the residual fear and sense of illness that her nightmare caused her.  The air in the room felt cold against her blazing body, and the white, sleeveless gown clung to her damp skin uncomfortably. After the initial wave of anxiety and fear wore off, it was accompanied by a secondary wave of crippling guilt.

“Oh…it was a dream…” her voice was haggard, even though she had not remembered speaking, “thank god, that was scary!”

She was safe now. Safe from the guilt that plagued her. Safe from his persecuting gaze.

Her gaze fell back onto the window, concentrating on the dense fog outside.  The dismal colors of the sky somehow offered her some sort of comfort, some sense of familiarity and sanctity.  Never did she think that the disease ridden exterior of her town would offer any type of ease, but it wasn’t the depths of the darkness of her mind’s eye, and that was better in comparison.

‘It’s been the same dream every night, over and over again. I wonder what it all means.’ Her thoughts bombarded her as she moved her hand across her cheek to rid it of any hair that was stubbornly stuck to her clammy skin.

Just then, a loud knock jarred her out of her myriad of bewilderment. Her body jolted in place and eyes widened in shock as she turned towards the source of the sound. It originated from the living room. The girl made her way to the door, walking across the hardwood floor of her room.  She attempted to fix the mess of hair on her head as she walked through the living room to answer the door.

She grabbed the handle and opened the wooden door slowly, only revealing her torso to the figure that stood before her.  The cool, damp air hugged her face but didn’t rid her of the sticky feeling her body kept from her perspiration.

“Hello, this is Josephine,” she greeted and was met with an unusually happy reply.

“Hey!” A young, male voice beamed. He was in high spirits despite all the death taking place around him.

Before her stood a youth, a whole head and shoulders taller than her with a broad frame and long legs. He looked close to her age, being in his late teens.  He wore clothing of the period: blood red trunkhose with lighter tights beneath, a wide, billowy red shirt that hung over his hips that was synched with a brown, leather belt that was tight around his thin waist.  A half-cape was around his shoulders that had a high collar and sported a single golden clasp.  On his feet were red-tinted boots that went up to his knees with lighter brown covers that split up the middle.

The teenager’s face was masculine and angular with pale skin and sharp features.  He had almond-shaped, dark red eyes.  Atop his head was a mess of deep red hair with wayward spikes that was parted to the left and hung over one eye. They cascaded in a red heap across his face. He carried himself with pride, despite the fabrics he wore being those of someone of middle-class.

Josephine blinked a couple of times, trying to rid herself of momentary confusion before she opened her door a little wider. He was a familiar face, so the need to hide herself dissipated.

“Redway, oh hey. What are you doing at my house so early in the morning?” Josephine questioned.

Although it was difficult to tell, due to the heavy shroud of fog, the morning was young and not too many ventured out at this time. Those who did were running errands or going to work out in the marketplace.  The beaked doctors were probably also about. People like Redway were an uncommon sight.

“There is this rumor I heard. I was wondering if you knew anything about it,” Redway was excited to relay this news to her. Anything that was upcoming in the world of gossip was of utmost urgency. However, Redway was no ordinary gossip.  He delved into a more…uncanny territory, taking a deep fascination with anomalies, the paranormal and what laid beyond the grasp of death.

“Rumor?” Her green eyebrow arched, “not another one. What is it about this time? If it’s anything about the Memorial Building being haunted, you can skip that. I’m tired of the ghost stories.”

Every time this guy had the slightest little crumb handed to him about mythos or urban legends, he felt compelled to tell her and try to involve her in some manner or another. In truth, Josephine just wanted to be rid of it all and cease all involvement in whatever debauchery he wished to be a part of.

She had enough things going on in her life, and her situation at home was the cause of a lot of tension in her life.  On top of that, she was plagued with nightmares she couldn’t shake, which caused her to lose precious sleep.  Josephine was practically in a living hell as it was and didn’t need it infused into her existence in this disease-ridden town.

Josephine had enough unseen demons that clawed at her sanity and state of physical being, she didn’t want to add whatever ghost nonsense he spoke of to her long list of stressors.

“No, this is a big rumor,” despite the girl’s apparent annoyance, Redway pushed on.  This was important to him, and he let as if the very least his friend could do was hear him out.

“What kind of rumor?”

She would humor him alright, with all the tact of anyone approaching a conspiracy theorist.

“It’s been going all over town,” the red-haired boy’s voice held dire edge. “It’s something in the graveyard. In fact, going there is the only way you can see if it’s real.”

Josephine placed a hand on her hip and leveled him with a visage of vexation, “out with it, already.”

She was losing her patience to entertain this.

“Okay, okay,” Redway could tell that she was one step from slamming the door in his face. “Apparently, you can go to a certain tombstone.”

“Which one?” Josephine continued to show her impatience. She knew he was baiting her to question his tale further. “Does it have a name on it, or is it unmarked?”

“The name on the tombstone is Gladys Goldwell. Supposedly, she was a real witch that got executed in the town square. If you go to her grave and bring daisies, you can see her spirit,” Redway thought this to be a profound discovery in his journey to find tales of the macabre and paranormal around Conversion Town.  It was a small victory that made this mystery a step closer to being solved.

“So, that’s it?” Josephine found the information unimpressive.

“Yeah, and you have to call her out. Eventually, she’ll show up and supposedly a lot of strange, paranormal stuff will happen,” he pointed his finger up in a matter-of-fact mannerism. “Then, you’ll get possessed by her and she makes you want to murder people in the town in order to drag you down with her to the afterlife.  You can’t get away from her, no matter how hard you try. It’s said that she’ll drive you straight to your death.”

The more theatrical Redway was about this, the more it sounded like some bullshit ghost story that had proven her hunch right. This was a colossal waste of time, and she didn’t know why he even came to her in the first place to spew this gibberish.  Josephine had always been the person least interested in his stupid, fantastic fairy tales.

“Yeah right,” she scoffed. “How can you die from watching someone’s ghost? That’s stupid. It sounds like some ridiculous take woven by the paranoid. Besides, we’d have a lot of killers running around town if that were true.”

Was Redway truly lowering himself to the standards of the common madman? It wasn’t as if he didn’t sound like one, ranting like this about some ghost in the graveyard. Honestly, if anyone but her heard him, they would claim him to be a witch and have him hung on the gallows that served as Conversion Town’s second largest structure.

In fact, they were so massive and contained so many nooses that they could be seen looming in the background like a foreboding monolith on the horizon. The structure looked even more ghastly when they were tucked away in the fog and illuminated by the cold, eternal twilight of the town.

“It’s creepy stuff,” Redway tried to convince her to at least be a little interested in what he had to say. He had come to her in confidence, after all.

“So, have you tried to summon her yourself?” Josephine squinted and looked down on him.

“No,” Redway’s voice trembled a little, “I don’t want to get possessed… or die. Neither is good for my health. It’s a no-can-do for me.”

Just thinking about that outcome sent chills up his spine and caused his blood to run cold.  He didn’t want to entertain how it would feel to helplessly watch as your body slaughtered your friends and loved ones while you still had a conscience but could do nothing to stop it.  The concept was horrifying, and he couldn’t help but become nervous at the thought of the complete loss of autonomy.

In fact, the reason he had approached Josephine was because he was too afraid to really go through with it. There was something he wanted validity on, something he longed to seek the truth in, but something he never would dare to act on unless he had someone there to reassure him, or at the very least be there if something were to go awry and it ended up truly being more than an old wives’ tale.