The Century Curse

002

The memory of these events replayed themselves like a sentient VCR, rewinding the tape to the beginning every time the reel ended. Ian twisted and turned in a sweat-drenched sleep. The cushions of the old spring couch Citrus had inherited from their parents were on the brink of crumbling from absorbing the moisture. Moans and mutters littered the living room as he'd jump out of unconsciousness, only to close his eyes and return to sleep without a struggle.

But now, the sun shimmered in through the white lace curtains covering the captain's window in the dining room. And from that room, the sun's rays would reflect perfectly off an angled picture frame, lighting up Ian's closed eyelids every day. The picture contained the image of Ian, Citrus, and their late dog, Hershey, a beautiful border collie who they had put down because of cancer. He'd lay the frame face down each day, but the frame always seemed to find its way back up the next morning. Citrus would conjure such a scheme. But whatever her intention, whether a prank or a provisional alarm clock, she never admitted to any of his accusations.

As he did each morning, he'd turn over to avoid the light, letting it shine onto his back. But he suffered the same results each time. He was fully awake. Citrus had been waking him like this for some time, that his body ended up rescheduling itself. Even days where stratus clouds covered the skies, blocking the sun from providing any of its natural benefits, he'd awake, like clockwork. Rolling himself onto the carpeted floor, Ian sat, trying to remember what day of the week it was. Today was Tuesday, and nothing of any interest ever seemed to happen on Tuesdays, the kind of days Ian found most enjoyable.

His legs struggled to stiffen, but when they did, he stood steady, cracking his toes. It was a meditative practice for him, a wake up ritual of sorts. He made his daily trek around the couch, through the dining room, and into the small kitchen. The laminate flooring mimicked the style of tile, but was much easier to install. One direction connected to the central hall and the other way stepped down to the front door. But as his front foot transitioned from the warm carpeted dining room floor to the icy blue laminate one, he glanced up to a surprise. A shockingly disturbing one.

There sat Citrus with her black writing glasses, in her usual spot on the left side of the kitchen table with her favorite, "Best Sister Ever," mug he'd gotten her for Christmas several years ago. But diagonal from her, sitting with her back towards him in that familiar bloodied white tank top, was a short white-haired girl casually talking to Citrus. She sat crossed leg in the brown wooden chair, flipping her hand around as she talked, while holding onto her own mug of coffee with the other. Citrus was already looking up at the motionless Ian, but it took a moment before the girl noticed. Turning her head, she peeked at his sister's observation.

"Y... y... you!" He jutted out his finger in her direction as if he were some kind of ace attorney. Not only his finger, or his hand, but his entire arm shook as he locked sights on the girl's green iris. Her brow furrowed, her glance shot daggers, and his sister wasn't acknowledging any of it! She just sat there with that dumb, humility filled smile she always wore when introducing him to one of her friends. The goal she aimed for was for her friends or acquaintances to become his as well, and this felt no different.

"Ian, this is Diana!" Citrus waved her hand so casually in the girl's direction, as if she'd known her for ages and was only just now coincidentally introducing two of her long-time friends. "Diana, my brother, Ian."

"Hi, Ian. It's nice to meet you." Diana had finally swung her legs out from under her, turning around in the chair to face him properly. The girl's bangs dangled ever so slightly into her line of sight, but it didn't seem to bother her as she didn't move them. He was astonished, upset even at the fact that not only was this girl sitting in the same house as him, but that she was addressing him so casually. He took a step back out of the kitchen. If she was going to make another attempt on his life, he was going to be ready for it!

But as he prepared himself observing the two girls, they were the ones who seemed confused, but why? This girl attacked him, strangled him, and now they sat there looking at him as if he was the strange one. Then it hit him. Not only did this girl, Diana, attack him, she died... twice! And they were still looking at him as if he were a madman!

"Are you okay, Ian? You're looking a little pale?" Citrus said. She wore a concerned look as she hurried for a glass of water.

"No!" He shouted, he immediately covered his mouth, but he'd seen that he already startled the two of them. "I mean, I'm fine, just a little worn out, I guess."

"Oh, okay." The both of them seemed to accept that answer so gracefully, the two of them glancing at each other and giggling like gossiping school girls. "You crashed on the way home before we'd even gotten you to the car. If not for Diana here, I would have left you in the back to sleep. I felt so bad sending her home so late, so I asked her to stay the night. Safe to say, neither of us slept."

She wasn't kidding. The bottom of her black frames hid the bags under her eyes, but Diana's were clearly visible. He mauled over her words concerning the string of events that had happened last night, and as he did, he glanced down at his clothes before lifting his shirt to his nose. Sure enough, he reeked of musk and blood, still staining his gray novelty shirt. Shooting a glance at the two of them once more, he loosened his lips, but sudden relief calmed him, as the same face of embarrassment struck them the same.

"Now that I think about it, Diana, would you like to borrow some of my clothes and use our shower? I'll throw a load of laundry on. I have a killer recipe for getting any stains out."

"No! I couldn't impose any more than I already have!"

"Nonsense. It's the least we can do after everything you've done for us."

"Are you sure it's okay?" The girl tucked her head, twiddling some of her hairs with her fingers. To him, she genuinely seemed like she felt like a burden, which, for him, he knew she was.

"Yes, of course!" Citrus turned to Ian, still standing at a distance. "Would you mind showing her where the shower is upstairs? I'll bring up some clothes after she's done, but don't forget to grab her a towel, okay?"

Of course, it was too late too object. The girl had already taken off from her seating, seeming gleeful to freshen up. Diana's aura changed drastically, from the terrorizing face she'd scarred him with, to a playful and energetic one. Quite child-like at that moment. Instead of following her, he instead stumbled to and through the living room into the same hall that connected to the kitchen and made his way up the carpeted steps, with Diana tagging along.