„Oh, here!“, she sniffs loudly, as if she's a truffle hog looking for shrooms. Eager to get inside for fear of someone seeing us, I was almost running and left Christine quite far behind. But who am I kidding? We must be the only crazy New Jerseyans to be poking around these abandoned buildings. I turn around to see her slowly outstretching her hands up with her palms facing downwards, wrinkling her nose.
„Something... unnatural, perverse...“
Her eyes are closed, but she still turns her head left-right like she's looking at something.
„It smells like rotten f–“, suddenly her eyes look straight into mine. Hopefully she didn't notice me suppressing laughter. I did look for the weirdest psychic in this town – as if being psychic isn't weird enough – so I only got myself to blame. Maybe my fear is also making me laugh – fear of what we're going to find here.
„You shouldn't walk in front of me“, she instructs. Right. She did say I should be careful not to interfere with her path. I didn't realize she also meant that literally.
I move out her way and let her go first. I get ready for more sniffing around, however she hurries her step. As she reaches in the left pocket of her windbreaker, I feel my mind go a little hazy. She takes out a photograph I gave her earlier, and a faded memory washes over me...
I'm sitting on a couch in front of a TV. I feel small, smaller, I must be, what, 7, 8? My parents sit on my both sides and we're watching a movie. It's a family comedy, though the ending is somewhat bittersweet. I can still recall the entirety of this film, and this particular memory starts off right at the sad part, when the little girl dies. I feel my mother shaking, but each time I look at her, her hand is covering her face. It was quite sad I'll admit. After it ends, she takes off to her study and locks the door. I thought nothing of it then, but remembering it now I realize she went there to cry. A lot.
Loud creaking noise jerks me back to the now and I notice we're already somewhere inside. Christine closes the creaking door.
„She cried because of her.“
I dared not ask of who she meant.
„We are getting close“, again she says something cryptic and it's starting to get annoying. I glimpse a little bit of red in her hand. Along with my mother's photo, I gave her her favorite pair of red earrings, kind of basic, round-shaped and small, and something of mine which reminded me of her – a normal, black pen, but instead of a usual clicker there was a soft yellow ball reminiscent of a sun. She gave it to me on my 11th birthday.
„You might get them more frequently now.“
Get what? Again she–
Oh, those.
I'm thrown into another memory. This is a weird one. I can't remember how old I was – around 10 perhaps – when I overheard one of her phone calls. She was saying things like „double portions“, „I wish I could see her grow“ and „please try for next week“.
Now back in the present, I can feel the puzzle pieces slowly fitting together, but nothing could prepare me for her.
„It's not this memory that's weird, it's what happened a week later“, she tells me, and the fact that she sees into my mind does not freak me out even the slightest.
And she's right. A week after that phone call, my mother went out and was gone for a little
too long. Once back home, I caught her putting concealer over her leg. She had multiple bruises, and that was only what I was able to see. And were those...
„Yeah, teeth marks.“
So far I am not liking this puzzle.
Christine drags me along a scarcely lit hallway. The stench is terrible here.
„So you smell it too, huh? I think it's one of these rooms here.“
One of these rooms is what? I know what I said about the puzzle pieces, but it was only a feeling. I still have no idea what's happening.
We stop. Christine turns towards me.
„Here“, she hands me over the things I gave her.
„Hold them and close your eyes. We're here. It's this room. Whatever secrets your mother was hiding, whatever mysteries – „
Oh, spare me.
I close my eyes, then I feel her tying a soft fabric around my wrist, a little too harshly. She pushes the door in front of which we're standing and I hear her steps echoing. I'm pulled by my hand – she tied it to hers. Once inside, an overwhelming sadness strucks me. It's like every time I was sad in my miserable 30something life got mushed together in a big pile of sadness and I just got thrown into it.
„Zac. Zac.“
No.
„Zachary.“ My mother's voice.
„You know I'd never leave you.“
But you did.
„You know I'll always take care of you. But this, please, if you must... If you must see this through... Tell her I miss her terribly. I miss all of you.“
Why can't I see you?
„I'm not really here, I–„
„Why can't I see her?!“ I ask Christine. She doesn't answer, so I open my eyes and repeat my question, raising my voice.
„Zac, no!“
Once again I get pulled into a memory and it's the one when my folks got into that big fight. My mother just found out she got lung cancer and refused my father's pleads to sue the factory she worked in. I never heard my dad so upset, not before, not after. This vision is different though, I can move freely so I get closer to my parents' room, but as I open the door, it turns out to be the front door of my present house. Down on my doormat lies a dead fish. Third one that week. My phone rings. Now I'm in my bedroom trying to figure out why'd someone prank call me.
„Zac!“
I'm back with Christine and I hurriedly untie the ribbon from my wrist.
„What the hell is this place? My visions are... out of control!“ I yell.
„Your mother spent a lot of time here. She, um, she gave birth to your sister here.“
My what.
„Come on, Zac, you knew.“
I what.
„It was her. Those gifts – the dead fish I mean, the prank calls... It was all your sister.“
My sister is...
„...coming here very soon. Can't you smell it?“
„The rotten fish? Don't tell me, my sister is a dead fish?“
„Zac...“
I turn to face the door. There's noise coming from not so far away letting us know we're not alone here. I go towards the noise and hear Christine follow me. Moving closer, the unidentified noise turns into taps, as if someone is slapping their hands onto the wet floor. I have to cover my nose because the smell is almost making me sick. The taps stop.
„She's in the room in front of us, waiting. She knows we're here“, says Christine in a whisper. There was no reason now to be quiet, but I guess she's scared.
„Just stay behind me“, I tell her.
As I enter the room in which I finally meet my sister, I am greeted by a shriek so loud I have to cover my ears, which results in me almost vomiting. I knew it was her immediately, and what I saw the next moment will be forever ingrained inside my head.
My sister is a dead fish.
Dead, rotten fish. Human hands, human legs, swollen with fluid. Strands of wet hair where it wasn't supposed to grow. The worst part – her big dead fish eyes.
„Za-a-a-chhhh...“
Of course she speaks and of course she knows my name. As she lets out her voice, the smell that gets out along with it is so horrid it's almost visible.
„Do you remember... she smelled of rosemaries and... lavender...“
Our mother.
I wasn't expecting this creature to feel emotions. It's also a little funny she speaks of our mother's perfume in the midst of all this stench.
„...but... do you know what she tasted like?“
I hear Christine gasping.
My sister shows me a hint of her teeth. Is this a threat? No... Is she smiling?
„Well, let me tell you, it's a lot like chicken.“
„Christine, just tell me... How did this happen to her?“
„She was... They threw her, like she was... They threw her into the river, along with the waste.“
I wonder if I should feel any empathy for her. I'm not even angry – turns out cancer didn't kill my mother, my own sister did.
I'm not even sad.
I just want to go home.
„I think she wants you to kill her“, Christine suggests.
Then why doesn't she attack first?
„Let's just go. We got what we came here for.“
„What about the fish gifts and prank calls?“
Right... Oh well.
I reach for my backpack. Christine never asked why I brought such a big freakin' backpack, but I figured she knew. She is a psychic after all.
And I always wanted to kill something with a chainsaw.
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