The newest manuscript is collecting dust within the confines of its digital shelf. Eight chapters thick. Not that that is really thick at all. As with the last, the story began with one well defined intention, yet has evolved into something else. It sits there silently on its shelf, waiting for me to continue its now very thickened and twisted plotline, but I cringe. I wanted this time to follow the carefully plotted outline. To adhere to the meticulous planning I had spent so much time on. However, here I am yet again.
I look to that virtual shelf nearly every morning, biting my lip, sighing heavily. It beckons me to finish it, but I do not know if I can find the words…
“Frankie tossed and turned. The old woman’s voice echoing in his head over and over again. Finally, sleep found him, but it was not a peaceful sleep. That night, as Frankie lay in his bed, he dreamt of ghosts, shadows of people who once were, surrounding him and smothering him. Frankie awoke with the morning startled, a cold sweat drenching him. The overwhelming urge to know more about this fortune overcame him. There was only one way to learn more, he would have to return to the gypsy.
Frankie ate his breakfast quickly. His mother eying him the entire time. It was as if she had a sixth sense about things sometimes as if she knew when things weren’t right. Frankie ignored her, anxious to return to the gypsy. Anxious to learn what she had meant about the souls being what he should worry about. Frankie kissed Maria on the cheek as he prepared to leave.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I’ve got some things to do, I’ll be back soon,” Frankie mumbled.
“Those things better not have anything to do with the boys on the corner!” Maria called after him, but Frankie was already out the door.
He’d been acting rather strange since he and Eddie had returned yesterday afternoon. Maria knew that something wasn’t quite right. She could only hope that he hadn’t ended up in some sort of trouble.
It was nearing summer. The sun had begun to beat down upon the sidewalks, yet the air was still crisp with the last moments of spring. It was a beautiful day, even for the lower parts of the city. Frankie steadily made his way towards the alleyway. His nerves on fire in anticipation or perhaps fear.
His pace quickened as he got closer to the alleyway. He was determined to question the old woman – to learn more about the prophecy she had foretold. He stopped dead at the door. The door that one day earlier had not been boarded up. The door that was now padlocked and decaying. Perhaps he was in the wrong place? He rubbed the dirt from the window with his shirt sleeve and pressed his face to the glass. The room was empty with only the sunlight from a few uncovered windows to light it. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. No one had inhabited that place, not yesterday nor any other day within the last decade.
Frankie held his breath as he heard the echoes of the old gypsy woman’s laugh.”
-“Cursed” by Lisa Martin