Curse or Cure

I look at tombstones and wooden crosses, read the names on them, and think about how I used to be terrified of cemeteries. But cemeteries are places of tranquility where people who once walked this land are laid to rest, leaving a mark that affects the lives of those of us who currently share this earth.

***

Once a spoiled son, a member of a wealthy family, and a promising young lawyer with a fast and excellent rise up the corporate ladder, I quite unexpectedly ended up in a food delivery service, which my parents would most certainly consider an inappropriate occupation. But their opinion is no longer important to me. Without any regrets, I quit all contact with them some time ago. In my case, that was a part of growing up.

Growing up? What does it mean anyway?

For me, it was dealing with the coldness, and forgetting the warmth from which I came into this place. In the beginning, I felt fear of the cold but now I embrace it.

***

My name is Arthur Truder, and currently, I am a food delivery worker. With a big blue bag over my shoulder, as I turn the pedals on the bike I bought with the last money I had left after I lived here and there; I am thinking about how my life has turned upside down like a pancake.

Until recently, I was a handsome twenty-five-year-old man at the pinnacle of my career. I was arrogant and selfish, with the attitude that the world revolved around me. And look at me now! I am just a food courier with disheveled hair and unkempt clothes who turns the bicycle pedals to avoid potholes, aggressive drivers, and big trolleybuses in some strange, noisy city with too much traffic. I shouldn’t be here… I shouldn’t… the prison will be a more appropriate place for me. But I am already in the dungeon, imprisoned in my conscience.

***

My past lifestyle as a cocky playboy was filled with parties and girls. So one night, after drinking a lot of high-quality Scotch, I was returning home by car on a deserted road. I was driving faster than I should have. Suddenly, a forest rabbit jumped out of the darkness. It was too late to brake and I just felt a bump of a little body under the wheels. I heard the crushing of bones. I looked in the rearview mirror, the rabbit that used to happily hop around the field, now lay lifeless in a pool of blood.

I was never superstitious but now I know for sure, it was a bad omen.

Not long after this unfortunate event, I came to a disturbing discovery. My father, a respected judge E. Truder was only a pawn in the hands of his masters who operated "behind the scenes" and even though he had been married for over three decades to my mother, his life was full of lovers. Mrs. Truder probably knew that, but she stoically maintained the facade of a happy marriage. Their harmonious family life was just a facade behind which they hid their misery.

Soon I realized that everything around me was fake, except death. Death was real. 

***

I was about to go up to the office when the phone rang. It was Lew.

“Hey buddy, I need your help”, Lew started off.

“Tell me, what's going on?”, I’ve asked.

“I had a car accident and I need a lawyer.”

“What is the case?”

“I ran over a child.”

“Is he alive?”

“Yes he is alive, but he is seriously injured.”

“Did you drink before you got behind the wheel?”

“No.”

“Did you exceed the speed limit?”

“No, none of that.”

Lew was a friend of mine who needed legal help and I did not hesitate to provide it to him. I felt a slight discomfort because listening to him, I remembered the incident with the rabbit.

I got to work. I prepared a defense and in the end, we reached an out-of-court settlement. The parents accepted the compensation that Lew offered in exchange for not suing him. It was a poor family with many children.

I thought that the child would recover; I also thought that Lew was not to blame. He did not exceed the prescribed speed, nor the permitted amount of alcohol in blood. It was an unfortunate accident. But, after a while, at one of our parties, Lew accidentally revealed that he was looking at his cell phone at the time of the accident. Lucky for him there were no cameras on that part of the road to record such an omission. He was inappropriately cheerful as he talked about how he avoided responsibility.

“Thank you mate, I really appreciate your support.”, he told me.

Not long after that, news arrived that the ten-year-old boy had succumbed to his injuries. He was buried in the city cemetery. His parents erected a nice tombstone for him from the money that Lew gave them.

***

I slept in bed, the night was quiet. I woke up suddenly. I dreamed that I died. I woke up and was overwhelmed by thoughts about how mortal I was and how we would all die one day. I have never been burdened with such thoughts before. I am not religious, I believe in science and logic and I have always focused on worldly joys. Good thing I woke up, I thought with relief. Suddenly I heard church bells. I looked at my watch. It was midnight. Who rings the bell at midnight in the church? Maybe that's a sign. A bad omen looming over me? I felt discomfort again. I could not continue to sleep, I met the morning gloomy and tired. During the day I received a text message.

It is so dark here. I'm afraid.

At first, I thought it was some mistake but a few days later another one arrived.

It's cold. I am lonely.

Somebody tried to make a joke. A very bad joke. I thought. There wasn't a sender ID so I didn't know who it was, but anyway, I decided to ignore the meaningless messages.

The next day I received the new ones.

I want to go home. Miss my mom.

The second one arrived right after.

Where are my friends? I want my red ball! 

It became disturbing so I needed to take some action. I replaced the sms card, got a new phone, and changed the number. But despite my efforts, I got a new message. This one was more creepy than the rest.

I don’t like it here. The worms are crawling on me.

The messages would just appear on the screen and then clear by themselves.

I called the operator to check where the sms messages were coming from but there were no messages in the list. In the meantime, messages began to arrive every day.

Where am I? Need fresh air. It stinks of rot in here.

I asked Lew, “Did you receive some strange messages lately?”

“What kind of message? From whom?”

“From the dead boy, let's say.”

“I’m afraid you have to ask for medical help.“ Lew grinned in my face. He wasn't interested in the topic at all, so I kept quiet.

I started to question whether it is honorable to be an advocate. Am I a good person? A young life has been extinguished, while my client and friend continue his life unpunished in the same style as before. But maybe I'm just hallucinating. Lately, I've been under a lot of stress; disappointed in my parents, I devoted myself to work and I gave my leisure time to entertainment. 

I don't feel like having fun anymore, and regarding work, I am not sure if it is a suitable profession for me. I realized that I was living the life of the privileged and that this lifestyle has its price. Am I prepared to sacrifice my soul just to enjoy earthly pleasures; do I even want this?

A message appeared on my phone again.

Help me!

Since then every time I would hear the notification I would feel my stomach churning. The nausea was so profound that I made the decision to leave a place I used to call home and embarked on a nomadic journey. I traveled all over the world without staying anywhere for long. I noticed that when I moved somewhere it would take a while before I started getting messages again. It would be quiet for the first few days and then the messages would start arriving again as if the ghost was always on my heels.

I had been suffering from feelings that I was being persecuted. I wandered, changing my place of residence, unable to tell whether I was running away from something unnatural or from myself. Finding solace in the time-worn, bustling city with too much history, my tired soul briefly paused wandering. The messages stopped appearing and I thought I was cured. That everything was a figment of my imagination.

***

On one particular evening, I received an order from Dotted Street no 49. It was sometime in late February or the beginning of March and the first signs of Spring were in the air, although it was still a bit chilly. I felt the cold breeze shaving my face and the earthy smell of life in my nostrils. With pork mince-filled dumplings I went to the address from which the order came.

I pedaled with all my might, carefully avoiding potholes and dog poops. I stopped in front of an old, huge villa in art nouveau style. The facade was decorated with a great number of ornaments, including a sun disc, gilded nude female figures, stars, and peacocks. I suppose at the time it was built, it seemed like a palace from a fairy tale, but now it looked dilapidated and abandoned. It has obviously not been renovated since it was built, which was more than a century ago. Still, I felt some magic beauty looking at this ruined house.

I pushed open the heavy wooden gate and entered the hall of the house. A dead cold, miasmic air hit me straight in the face. I frowned and with quick steps, I walked up the spiral staircase to the third floor because there was no elevator. It didn't scare me that the plaster came off the wall, and it seemed like I stepped into a house full of ghosts. But when I looked down the spiral stairs from the top, I felt vertigo.

I stood in front of a door almost three meters high. Although there was no plate with the name of the owner, there was no doubt that it was the apartment I was looking for. Simply there were no others on the floor.

I rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. I rang the bell once more… but still nothing. I decided to ring the bell, the third, last time. And just when I thought about turning around and leaving, I heard the small footsteps in slippers and after a few minutes the sound of a creaking door. The wooden door slowly swung open with a groaning.

***

I felt my blood freeze in my veins and my fainting intensified. A blond boy with blueish skin was standing in front of me. He could have been about ten years old. His eyes were sad and he had dark circles under them.

I was in a state of shock. The uncanny resemblance between the boy standing in front of me and the one my friend ran over, was undeniable. The tiny short boy smiled sadly and with a wave of his hand invited me in. My first thought was running away but led by some inexplicable curiosity I decided to enter. It was dark inside. The fusty furniture was barely visible because only one light bulb hung from the high ceiling, casting a yellow flickering light. I followed him straight into a kitchen full of unwashed dishes and trash. I choked from the stench of decay.

“Welcome to my resting place.” His voice echoed in my head. I looked at him like I was looking at my reflection in a mirror when I was a boy his age. I was an innocent soul, looking forward to toys, football, and everything around me. When did I become a callous, self-absorbed person?

The kitchen suddenly felt cramped. I had the feeling that I could not move, that I was suffocating.  It was getting darker and darker. I realized that I was in the grave. I was horrified. With a hoarse voice, I asked him, “What can I do for you?”

“I feel lonely. I want my ball.” His words felt like coming from some other level of existence. I started wobbling and lost consciousness.

It was completely dark, I felt the sheets with my hands and realized that I was in bed. I woke up covered in sweat in my cheap rented room. I'm alive, I thought with relief.

***

I am standing today at your grave with flowers in one hand and your red ball in the other. Your parents were kind enough to let me take it and bring it to you. I know very little about you personally. But I know that you adore playing football. And that was the last thing you did before you died. I've come to confess to you that I am grateful for showing me the right path. And I want to tell you that I live my life now doing all I can to be a better man.

I laid the flowers, put the red ball next to the cross, turned, and left with a feeling of peace.

I never received a single message again.