Luck

Alexis Calma

The splash of red stopped me in my tracks.

Living out here made me realize how the morning light usually made everything look so ethereal. Windows wet with dew. Golden rays leaking through the canopy of trees. Not so much blood and entrails splattered across the road. I had to squint to make out the rest of it. Black feathers against black asphalt. A crow. Well, it was a crow. It was roadkill now.

        I looked down the road. Other than the evergreen trees that lined both sides as far as the eye could see, there was nothing. No one ever drove through here. Growing up, I considered seeing a car come down that road the equivalent of seeing a shooting star. As it flew past, I’d bow my head and thank the powers that be for the good luck.

If I wasn’t the only student who lived out here, even the school bus wouldn’t come. And most times it didn’t. On those days, I’d have to walk the six miles into town. I wouldn’t get into class until third period.

        Though, being late was better than the walk of shame I had to do when the bus did come. I can’t say everyone appreciated the fact that they had to wake up half an hour earlier to compensate for driving out to my stop. The bus was already full by the time I got on and they always saved the seat in the back right corner just for me. Since they couldn’t exactly change the bus routes, they settled for pelting me with crumpled-up homework and whatever they didn’t want from their home lunch.

        I glanced down at my watch. Five more minutes until the bus arrived. Or until I had to start walking.

        It wasn’t until I looked up to cross the road that I saw her. There was a girl sitting at the lone bench I’d always used as a marker for the bus stop. It goes without saying, but if seeing cars out here was lucky, then seeing a person was a straight-up miracle.

        She didn’t seem to notice me across the way. Her head hung as she stared down at something. As I got closer, I saw that she was holding a notebook. I took care to scrape my feet against the last of the asphalt to let her know I was there. She didn’t even look up.

        Now that I was standing next to her, I didn’t know what to do. Since the subtle approach didn’t seem to work, should I just say something? Did I even need to make my presence known in the first place?

        I snuck a peek at her out of the corner of my eye. She looked about my age, maybe even younger. Her jet-black hair blended seamlessly into her black dress. The hem of the dress blew slightly in the morning breeze, right above her ankles. To my surprise, she wasn’t writing in her notebook. Her hand was moving way too erratically for that. From my limited view, I could tell she was sketching something. The flurry of lines and quick movements of her hand across the page made it impossible to see anything else.

        “I don’t have all morning.”

        I jumped at the sound of the voice. Suddenly, the school bus was in front of me with the door wide open. The bus driver, along with any student near the window, watched me impatiently. I ducked my head out of embarrassment as I stepped on. The door closed behind me as soon as I cleared it.

        “Wait, what about her?”

        The bus driver made a face.

I spun back toward the girl. All that was there was an empty bench.

        The bus lurched forward. I slammed my shoulder against one of the railings before regaining my balance. I craned my neck and watched as the bench receded until it became a speck among the evergreen trees before eventually disappearing.

There was no sign of the girl. I walked the six miles back home, scanning both sides of the street.

Nothing.

        I’d seen her. I knew that for sure. I knew because every detail of the girl was still fresh in my mind. Her black dress. Her focused expression. The way her hand moved like she couldn’t draw fast enough. There was no way all of that was just the trick of the morning light.

        I resorted to waiting at the bench. I tried reading to pass the time, but none of the words seemed to register in my mind. It didn’t help that every movement made my head snap up to scan my surroundings. I must’ve restarted the same paragraph of The Great Gatsby over a hundred times. I only stopped when the sun had set and it was too dark to make out anything on the pages. That and the aching in my shoulder had evolved into a piercing pain. I glanced around one last time. Not even a single car had come this way.

        It was only then that I realized how strange it was, how hellbent I’d become on seeing the girl again. I’d like to think it was curiosity. I mean, I never got to see what she was so feverishly sketching. But, deep down, I knew it was something much simpler than that. Simpler and more selfish.

It was hope.

Hope that all the good luck I’d collected from cars standing in for shooting stars had finally amounted to something.

My eyes shot open.

        Everything was pitch black.

I knew it was my room. I remembered coming home and doing my usual evening routine that ended with me crawling into bed.

But something felt different.

My chest was heaving like I’d just run a marathon. The sheets stuck to the layer of sweat that coated my skin and had pooled beneath me.

And then there was the pain. White-hot pain that seared through my shoulder and down my arm. Even in my disoriented state, I knew this wasn’t something I’d just sleep off. With every strangled breath of air I managed to force into my lungs, I felt the pain spreading. It was as if my skin was melting off my body.

I tumbled out of my bed in a tangle of sheets. Everything felt wet, warm, and suffocating. I peeled the sheets off my arms as I extended them into the darkness. That single movement shot the pain right down to my fingertips. It was so sudden that I almost felt my knees buckle beneath me. Luckily, I caught myself on the doorway to my bathroom. I ran my hand against the wall until I found the light switch.

For a split second, I couldn’t see anything. In an instant, pitch black switched to blinding white. I blinked a few times, forcing my eyes to adjust. Soon, I could see splotches of color appear. The sink and the mirror above it took form as the details solidified themselves.

I stared at my reflection.

My gut feeling was right.

Something was different.

The splash of red caught my eye first. The red that ran down my arm and dripped from my fingertips. I followed it down, watching it drip onto the white tile. A trail of it led back into my bedroom and onto the rug. The light of the bathroom only caught the edge of the sheets that were drenched in red.

There was something else there too. Black spines protruded from the back of my hand, tearing up my skin. Further up my arm, the spines were packed densely together and took on a different texture. They almost looked like…

Feathers.

As I watched the plumes erupt from the skin of my neck and pour a fresh stream of blood down my shirt, I finally understood that this was a dream. Well, a nightmare. That was the only way to explain the grotesque monster reflected in my mirror.

But that didn’t explain the stench of blood that filled the air.

Or the unbearable pain that was overtaking my body.

I’ve had vivid dreams in the past. They were never this vivid.

I barreled out of my room, rushing blindly down the hallway. Even though I couldn’t see anything, it felt as if the entire world was off balance. I stumbled into the wall, knocking frames from their hooks and shattering glass at my feet. I forced myself back upright, sprinting until I slammed against the door at the end of the hall.

“Dad! Help! Please!”

I didn’t recognize my own voice. The words felt like sandpaper in my throat.

“Dad!”

I pounded my fist against the door. When there was no response, I went for the doorknob. I couldn’t get a grip on the piece of metal that was now coated in blood. Before I knew it, I was slamming my good shoulder into the door. I heard the wood splinter after the first impact. It took only a few more tries before it completely gave way.

Dad’s room was empty. The bed was unmade. Moonlight spilled in from the open window. There was blood everywhere.

        But I knew he’d come home. I’d heard him. His truck coming up the gravel driveway. The front door swinging open. The faint voice of the announcer commentating on the football game. I’d heard him every single night of my life.

        I ran up to the window and leaned out to see the driveway.

        No truck.

        Another shockwave of pain seized my body. Whatever adrenaline I had dulling my senses was letting up.

        I turned around, catching a glimpse of myself in Dad’s dresser mirror. The feathers had spread across my chest and strained against the fabric of my blood-stained shirt. And then there was my face. My lips and nose were gone, leaving only exposed pieces of skull. The bone had begun to protrude into a pointed shape. My eyes were nothing but pools of black.

        I took off again, this time to the front door. I reached down for the doorknob, but I found it was even more hopeless than last time. Long talons scraped against the metal. My fingers seemed fixed in place, no matter how I tried to flex them.

        I felt a scream well up in my throat. It came out as a gasping, choking noise that whistled through my exposed teeth.

        I moved over to the front window and kicked through the glass. Once I’d cleared enough away, I hauled myself up and over, landing in the bushes of the front lawn.

        The moon was directly above me as I raced down the path to the main road. With every step I took, I felt more spines tear through my skin. They were growing in such force that they ripped through my shirt and sweats. There was something happening to my legs, too. I was losing feeling in them at an impossible rate. But I was too scared to look down. I knew the second I did, it was all over.

The main road came into view. Once I got there, I could follow it into town.

        But then I saw her.

        The girl was sitting at the bench, just as she was that morning. It was as if she’d never left.

        I paused, wondering if I should call out to her. That pause was all it took for my legs to give out. I collapsed onto the road directly across from the girl. I cried out as I felt the bones in my legs snap and rearrange themselves. All I could do was drag myself across the asphalt with my arms.

        As I got closer, the girl seemed to go out of focus. Where her black dress and hair and notebook once were was now just a smudge of darkness. While I could no longer make out the details of her, what I did notice was her lack of reaction. When I’d seen myself in the mirror, I felt my heart nearly stop. Now, a monstrous being was dragging itself up to her, screeching in agony, and she didn’t even seem to notice.

        I was in the middle of the road now. I felt the warmth of my blood pool beneath me as I smeared it in my wake. The strength in my arms was completely gone. They scraped the asphalt, trying to find any form of purchase. I made one final attempt at a scream. Again, it sounded more like a pathetic squawk.

        Finally, the girl looked up. There was no fear or even surprise in her expression. If anything, it was the opposite.

        Recognition.

        She flipped her notebook around, showcasing her masterpiece. The white pages in the inky blackness were almost blinding.

        And then, I saw it.

        The drawing she had been working on that morning. The mess of indecipherable scribbles had finally taken form. Outstretched wings. Beak slightly agape. Glazed over eyes. Organs strewn across the road.

        An all too familiar sight.

        Suddenly, the girl’s face was illuminated. A twisted smile stretched across her face. Empty black eyes gazed back at me.

        I used the last of my strength to wrench myself away from her and toward the source of the light. A car came hurtling down the long stretch of road.

        I blinked.

        A car? That couldn’t be right. No one ever drove through here.

        It wasn’t until my vision was completely swallowed up by the car’s yellow headlights that I realized something.

        All my good luck was saved up for this.

        To end my suffering.

Alexis Calma is a University of Washington graduate with a BA in English and Art History. Her professional career has continued to revolve around writing, including publication editing, technical writing, and communications consulting. She is originally from Ewa Beach, Hawaii, and currently lives in Olympia, Washington.