Written by Gart
“...Here, before you go!” Said the boy, handing the other a shiny, purple crystal. “What’s this?” Asked the receiver, feeling it in his hand. “An amethyst. But wait!” The blonde child stopped, pulling out a small magazine clipping. “Don’t leave it in the sun! It’ll lose it’s color.”
The children soon parted. The boy who received it kept the rock safe in a box under his bed. There wasn’t a day he didn’t think about the blonde child, and their short friendship. But they wouldn’t be apart forever.
The amethyst holder was seemingly always waiting for 1971 to come by again.
Opal quickly snuck out of the library, where the other ‘special’ students were participating in mind-numbing aftercare activities. Not like they were more ignorant then she was; most of them didn’t have a reason to leave, or a place to go. But she had places. Lockpicks in pocket and the internet to tell her out to use them, she was headed down those mysterious stairs that had been nagging at her since yesterday.
It started when she’d discovered some writing on the step. Spraypainted, it looked like it said “start”- or “shart”, the person who wrote it had horrible spray writing. Either way, it begged her attention. She crawled down there to get a good picture for the ‘aesthetic’, but that’s when she noticed a suspicious looking door. And she knew when things were suspicious. She could have sworn she heard something in there- and while most doctors would call that schizophrenia, her family history called it telepathy.
But the thing is, when she’d tried to open it, it didn’t budge. That’s because of a curse called locks, trying to ward off people just like her. That, and perhaps burglars, but that wasn’t the point. After 3 minutes of trying and failing, the door creaked open and she stepped inside. The entrance behind her quickly became a hopeless exit, as it slammed shut. The voices around her went from quiet to gone. A red illumination manifested in the middle of the room.
“Looks like someone finally arrived!” A gruff voice boomed from the light, as a worn leather book began to rise slightly above the ground. The book quickly slammed open midair, the spirit of a man forming itself above it. “...Dear God… What are you?” asked Opal, in both disgust and awe. The man pushed back his already greased back hair. “Oh, I know you have it in you-” his eyes, formerly completely white, began glowing in an eye-stressing colorful spiral. “-to find out yourself.”
The voices formed into one, 50 times louder than before. I am Ronnie Myers. And I have some special business with you, Evangeline. Opal’s eyes widened in fear. “I.. Uh, I’m not afraid of you!...You, er, fugly Beetlejuice ripoff!” She stuttered the words in denial. Ronnie dramatically put a hand over his heart. “Oh! How hurtful! Referencing a movie created 15 years after my death!” His eyes returned to default.
The red glowing began to fade, and the diary dropped. A light bulb flickered on above them. “Alright, kid. Let’s get over with the introductions.” He opened his hand and, in a red burst of light, a worn old poster appeared in the air, quickly dropping in his hand. Opal tilted her head. “Why should I care about some stupid…” Opal squinted at the text. “...Slipshod Circus & Freakshow?” She snickered, letting the fear slip away. “Let me guess, you were a freak?”
Ronnie didn’t think that was funny. Dropping the poster to the ground, he immediately spawned an old magazine. “See this? This is me. Owner of Slipshod Circus.” Wearing a creepily wide smile, there he sure was. He seemed to be next to a stereotypical-looking blonde man. “Stereotypical? Oh, uh…” Ronnie must’ve heard Opal’s observation about the man and quickly made the magazine disappear.
Opal sighed and headed towards the door.
“You aren’t leaving yet,” informed Ronnie.
Nervously laughing, Opal shrugged. “Whatever, dude.” She twisted the handle, surprised to see nothing would come out of it.
“Are you deaf? We aren’t done here, kid.”
Opal, sweating, reached for her pocket where her lockpicks would be. Of course, they were there. She quickly pulled one out, but her hope left as soon as it arrived. The metal pick shattered in her hands, as did all the ones she had with her. “Oh, come on!” she shouted in frustration. “What’s your problem?!” Opal turned back towards him, eyebrows furrowed. “I could list several, but you’d just get bored, wouldn’t you?” Ronnie floated over, looming above the teenage girl. “I know you more than you think, Opal. I know a whole lot,” He spun around her, making her dizzy as she spun as well to keep eye contact.
“I know your great grandfather, Ambrosio. And your other great grandfather, Manuel-” He balled his hand into a fist.
“-My brother.”
Opal gasped. “You’re telling me, I’m related to… you?” She vomited a little in her mouth. “Oh, don’t be so pretentious! Many people found me attractive…” Folding his hands, he muttered, “...At the time.” He re-pushed back his greasy hair, the same curly strand falling onto his forehead. “Whatever! Let’s get to the point!” He sighed, frustrated at his own negligence.
“In short, Ambrosio killed me,” he said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Opal’s eyes widened, her mouth gaping open. As if he read her mind, he continued.
“Yeah, he cut off my head ‘cause I had the same ability as you do…” His eyes began to swirl with tye-dye colors again. “Telepathy.”
Opal blinked, opening her eyes to an older world. She found herself in a strange-feeling body, and looking down at her hands, she discovered it wasn’t hers at all. Behind her, she could’ve sworn she heard some sort of whimpering. Suddenly, she was filled with a horrible anger, or even betrayal. A picture engulfed her mind, the same stereotypical blondie from the magazine from earlier.
She couldn’t put her finger on the name, but it was someone who mattered- she was sure of it. Continuing down the long Hotel hall she’d spawned in, she was absolutely enamored with the seemingly royal building around her; each Hotel door number was written in extruding gold numbers; each door was real polished wood; the floor didn’t stink of alcohol, unlike any other Hotel she’d been too. But a part of her mind felt this was normal. That part, she soon identified to be Ronnie’s.
Waiting in an elevator and exiting a lobby, she found herself in a beautiful, glimmering city. The moon was sliced in half and the stars glimmered like far-away streetlights in the town of the sky. But Ronnie’s part didn’t want to look at the sky. Ronnie’s part lead her down the sidewalk, making her feel some sort of insufferable yearning she’d never felt before. But the yearning was distracted by a glimmer of hope (well, what hope looks like for Ronnie), The Red Moon.
The eye-stressing flickery red lights of the bar’s title were a hell of an attention grabber, but the place itself didn’t seem to be too fancy. Brick walls coated in vines and moss, clearly no attempt to clear the roof of colorful dead leaves. Ronnie walked into the bar, leading Opal with him. Inside, a plethora of disgusting, disheveled (mostly) men seemed to be spending away their savings on drinks and hitting on girls who weren’t interested. In other words, Ronnie fits right in.
Opal went from walking in to sitting on a rickety stool and paying for a whiskey. Then another. Then another. And another. Eventually, the world became strange and blurry, sounds became drowned out by Ronnie’s diluted and upset thoughts. But his attention became directed towards a curly-haired man which Opal discovered to be a worker for the Slipshod Circus. Not a clown, of course- he worked in marketing. Whatever he was, Ronnie had a fondness for him, almost as much as he did for the blondie.
Opal wondered why the man looked just like how her great grandfather looked in old pictures, until she realized it was him. It was Ambrosio. Smiling, Ambrosio lead Ronnie into the alley next to the bar. Opal knew what happened next.
C’mon Ronnie! Just read his mind! We can get out of this!
I was drunk, and it’s done. I can’t reverse it now.
What do you mean?! What was the point of this-- time travel thing?
Time travel? It’s mind-reading, you idiot!
…Oh.
Cement pavement blanketed in leaves met Ronnie’s head, and his body next to it. The last thing Opal felt, other than excruciating pain, was a book fall out of Ronnie’s hand.
It was a painful, long 10 seconds until they were back in the room again.
“Do you understand?” Ronnie asked with an emotion that was a mix between concern and frustration. Opal reached to touch her still-attached neck, then her face, which seemed to be especially wet under her eyes. Wiping the tears away, she looked towards him. “What am I supposed to do about it?” Her voice shook slightly, still recovering from the ghastly sight. “I mean, like you said, it can’t be reversed.” Ronnie opened his mouth to speak, but paused.
He put his hands behind his back and shifted his stance. “This is going to sound… harsh, but,” He plastered on a creepy-looking, wide smile. “I want to kill your father.” Opal gawked in shock. “As revenge on Ambrosio’s family,” he added. Opal had never been too fond of her dad, but she didn’t want him dead. “Revenge on Ambrosio’s family would mean revenge on mine, Ronnie!” she tried to shout some sense into the commonly senseless ghost.
He forced a laugh. “When the murder’s done, I’ll be your family!” Opal knew this trick. From some old documentary she watched, she learned this was a manipulation tactic used in cults to make people more loyal. It sure worked. Opal felt torn; Her family, or her ghost grunkle? Heading towards the door to try and open it again, Ronnie stopped her. “Opal, before you leave, please pick up the book in the middle of the room.”
Opal thought, huh, why not? and went to pick it up. The book engulfed into a cold, fiery-looking explosion in her hand. A piece of paper fell out.
In sloppy cursive, it read:
YOU’RE BOUND TO ME NOW, KID!
The doorknob clicked. She turned around with a look of disgust and impression, to see Ronnie quickly hide a laugh before saying, “Well, why don’t you lead me out?”
God, this is going to be horrible.
coming soon (: