I don't believe in superstition

Marie Jean-Claude. 

Marie Jean-Claude. 

That was my name. 

Why the hell was it on the back of this picture from 1922?

☾

Fires were always very common where I lived. They happened all the time, whether expected or unexpected. No one was ever surprised when a fire raged through the grassy hills or threatened the homes of our neighbours, it was just a regular occurrence. 

So, when the destructive blaze came knocking on the door of the little village, nothing was out of the ordinary. Sure, fires didn’t normally come near the town or start in the dead of the night, but coincidences happen and mistakes can be made. 

Someone may not have put the cigar out properly when dropping it onto the undergrowth after a quick smoke. They may not have noticed that the short spark had been fed by the leaves and dead grass. And it may not have occurred to them that the tiny little fire they caused would burn down nearly half of a sleeping town. Or not. You get to decide what you believe in for yourself.

But nevertheless, the vegetation thrived after being burned to the ground and the people here are much friendlier than would be socially accepted in many other places. Friends helped friends and soon enough, the families that had been misplaced had found new homes amongst their fellow neighbours.

And that was that. The people of Caere went on with their lives. 

But I wouldn’t. I just couldn’t.

The inferno had cost the homes of many and took the lives of none. As soon as it was spotted in the grasslands, word was spread throughout the town and houses were evacuated. 

I didn’t even live anywhere near the side of Caere that was burned, but the whole situation intrigued me. There was a voice in the back of my head leading me to believe the opposite of what the citizens wanted to. That the fire was the result of something other than a stray cigarette. 

Our town held secrets, and whether or not people wanted to believe it, something just wasn’t right. I believed it, and I would be the one to step up and investigate. After all, reading murder mysteries was my speciality. 

I was just going to ignore the fact that no one had been killed, or murdered if I was right about my educated accusations. 

☾ 

Black char lined the ground like snow did in frosty winters. Broken pieces of wood and metal lay scattered around as if carcasses after war. I tried my best to avoid the particularly damaged areas as I walked through the graveyard of the town’s homes. 

The air had a surprisingly hard-edge to it after such a blazing fire. It was colder than normal as if nature itself knew something we didn’t. As if there was an icy bite to this frigid morning. 

The village of Caere was nestled in a natural bowl surrounded by hills and mountains, and where the sky met the tip of the highest mountain, there was a light coating of snow covering the rocky scope like icing sugar on cookies.

I was investigating the area alone, which was a rare occurrence. My best friend Lara was always on the job with me, but we had had a falling out. Which was common, we fight often and make up by the time the sun sets. Not this time though. This time there wasn’t going to be any make-ups or apologies. Because she hated me and I loved her.

Let me explain. Lara and I had been friends since the start of high school. She had just moved here and I was a generational citizen. My family had been living in Caere since before it was Caere. According to my mother, our ancestors were founders of what it is now. It was a story she never let go of until you had heard it at least 25 times. 

I’d been in love with her for 19 months. Lara that is. The day I had fallen was fresh in my mind as it always was. Taunting me. We were sitting together under the old oak tree in my back garden. The sun was casting waves of heat even under the protection of the oak’s thick branches and maze of leaves.

We were on a picnic blanket while eating the guavas my mother had grown during the winter. It was early spring even though the sun said otherwise. 

The grass tickled at my feet and the soft breeze blew my hair into my face. Lara was looking at me and I was looking at her. I swear my heart stopped when her hand touched my face, and I swear my heart dropped when it brushed against my cheek and placed the stray pieces of hair behind my ear. Then she smiled. The stupid smile that left me breathless and rendered me speechless. 

I wanted to kiss her so badly at that moment. 

But then she started talking about him. Jackson. The bane of my existence and the love of Lara’s life. 

His pathetic blond hair and his too perfectly tanned skin. He took Lara’s breath away almost as much as she took mine. I wanted so badly to throw him off the side of Caere’s tallest mountain, and watch as he fell. It would break Lara’s heart. Which would then break mine. 

Even before I had an undying love for my best friend I had hated him. But, who wouldn’t? He was the most infuriating guy at our school, and also the ‘hottest’. A fact that I find myself disagreeing with more and more every day I have to spend my life living in the same town as him. 

His name in her mouth brought a stake through my heart and a smile on her face. So I smiled too. I smiled and smiled and smiled until I couldn’t anymore and told her. I said to her that I hated him. I poured my entire life thoughts about him and her out into a sputtering rant and she just looked at me like I was the crazy one. She told me she hated me and I told her I loved her. 

She was straight. I had known that and yet some part of me had hoped that maybe she wasn’t, that maybe we could be together and everything would work out perfectly. 

But it didn’t and now I’m heartbroken. Fun days. 

Investigating burned wreckages of ruined houses is my coping mechanism. What an interesting person I am. 

☾ 

The sun had just started peeking out from behind the hills when I found the box. It was in one particularly damaged house that I just seemed to have a feeling about. I didn’t know what that feeling was but it was a feeling. 

The metal box was heavy in my hands and seemed to be fireproof. I had had my doubts about poking around in the wreckage but here was the reward for spending three hours searching through burned pieces of wood. 

I found it under a large piece of wood that could almost look like the remnants of a cupboard if you had an imagination. By now the debris looked bent and misshapen. 

All highs end in lows. There was a padlock, and I didn’t know the code. 

Suddenly a spider came crawling from underneath the box and in a desperate attempt to avoid the disgusting creature I dropped my prized possession and heard a pretty concerning crack. It wasn’t a problem at that moment because I was trying to breathe my way out of a panic attack and seeing the spider crawl from the dropped box and into the skeleton of the house I was standing in did not help. 

I gingerly picked the box up while twisting in multiple different positions to make sure all dangers were gone then inspected it for the damage it could have sustained during the fall. 

I thanked whatever was on my side that day because I was not going to thank that damned spider for making me drop this spoil of war. The lock had broken off and I could open the box without a code. Racing like I was deprived of time I threw the outer shell of the metal case after sliding out a beautiful wooden container. It was rectangular and intricately designed, with depictions of tree branches and flowers all around the top and bottom pieces. 

When the boxes lid fell open with the push of my hand I was neither happy nor disappointed. I was intrigued. Inside the mysterious case were envelopes that were as thick as my arm. Smaller boxes sat inside that were as convoluted as the one they were placed in. 

The thudding sound of footsteps caused me to stop abruptly in alarm and throw the box’s lid back on. I quickly hid it as best I could in the limited time the mysterious footsteps had gifted me. Once I was done tucking it away under an unusually large amount of debris, my head quickly lifted to identify where the sounds had come from. 

But there was no one there. Just the sounds of the wind drifting through the little valley peacefully. The world was almost still. It was just me, all alone in a disaster zone. 

Shaking my head I grabbed the box and slipped it into the backpack I had brought with. I trekked through the burned houses and ashy ground until I reached the bottom of the shortest hill that protected our town. The walk was steep. But the reward would be worth it. At the top of the tiring hike was an old oak tree that sat with the view of Caere and the ocean on either side of the lonely hill.

Soft sounds of birds calling to each other sang in the distance. Sweat beads gathered on my brow and the sun felt as though it was beating down a little harder than before. My backpack felt a little heavier and the top of the hill seemed a little bit farther. When my right foot finally reached the top I almost fell to the ground and lay there until the ache in my bones dissipated. But, I couldn’t. I had things to do and places to be. 

Once I found myself sitting underneath the old tree I allowed myself to reach for the strange box I had found in the damaged wreck of some poor family’s house. 

The thick envelope felt rough under my skin and looked like it was closed in the 1800s, maybe it was. As I unwrapped the twine I couldn’t help but wonder how my luck had turned out. I just so happened to investigate the debris today and somehow I found the one house with a fire-proof box. Was it all meant to be or was it just a coincidence? I waved the thoughts away. I didn’t believe in all that superstition, it was all a load of shit. So I moved on and cleared my mind by focusing on the large envelope. 

The paper tore easily at the pull of my fingers, old and coffee stained. Inside were old photos that looked at though taken long before my time. There was a baby in the arms of a smiling woman sitting on a bed in a poorly lighted room. I smiled at their smiles and turned it over to see if maybe the date was on the back of the photo.

It was. And so was a name. My name. 1922. Marie Jean-Claude.

The photo dropped from my hand and I sat there wide-eyed and star-struck. It was all just a coincidence. 

I don’t believe in superstition.