The Red New Year

“Happy New Year!” A number of voices yell in sync, causing me to leap from my nap. With sleepy eyes, I glance at my alarm clock to see it blinking a bright 12:01 am.

            “Happy New Year.” I mumble to myself, rolling my eyes as I rise from the uncomfortable mattress bought on clearance. Gradually, I make my way to the door. And with the help of the lights from the fireworks, I carefully maneuver my way around piles of clothes. Before opening the door that connects my room to the small living room; filled with people celebrating the start of a new decade, I cover myself in a burgundy wool cardigan. 

            “Please let there be some wine left.” I think to myself, knowing there will just be a sip left. I open my door to a room completely unfamiliar to my living room. In the place of the t.v. is now a classic wooden and gold hinged record player, shining bright from the reflection of distant flickering fireworks from the open windows. Our gray couches were replaced with a long, muted yellow chaise. In the place of the dining table and chairs are now a circular dark wood table and three tan chairs. Where I thought my friends were now stood the faces of smiling strangers wearing long colorful dresses and dark dapper suits.

            “Y’all finally awake now?” A man humorously says, gliding closer to me from across the room. His hair is cut short, just enough for his curls to be seen. He wears a striped, beige colored suit, with shiny black shoes. As he nears me, I flinch away from his widespread arms already leaning in for a hug. “You alright? You seem a little… different.” The man slowly lowers his arms, his eyes moving up and down my frame.

            “Who are you?” I whisper, clutching my body, trying to cover up my shape. 

            “Belle, how long you been sleeping for?” The man chuckles, resuming walking towards me. “New Year, new you right?”

            “Huh, but I’m…” I mumble, quieting as I glance at a translucent reflection in the half-open window. This person’s hair is curled in loose ringlets, the short length hugging the sides of her cheek. She wears a loose burgundy blouse, tucked in a high-waisted beige skirt. The longer I gaze at this image, the more I realize that I’m looking at myself. The fear in this person’s eyes is the same fear and realization I’m feeling now. The person looking back at me is not the same face I’ve looked at through my life. 

            “Tonight’s not the night for us to be goin’ out there Belle.” A woman’s voice calls out to me from the table. Breaking my gaze from my new face to the woman’s eyes sitting at the table. I notice multiple bruises on her arms. Clearly noticeable, even through the semi-sheer sleeves she wears to cover the marks. My quick glance towards her bruise was enough for her to notice. 

            “Best to stay in tonight. Too much goin’ on.” She says, as she wraps her black shawl more over her arms than on her shoulders. 

            Confusion furrows my eyebrows as I try to interpret what she could possible mean. Realization springs in my mind as I understand where I woke up at. The radio, the hair, the dress. I remember her face from a dusty picture I found when I moved into this apartment. I know what night this is for her. It’s January 1^st, 1920. The first night of the bloody Red New Year.

            “On no.” I gulp, as I feel myself start to sweat. Panic begins to engulf me as I recall the awful stories that happened throughout the country.

            “We’ll be safe here.” The woman with bruises says, trying to reassure herself more than me. 

            “I doubt that. If we were smart, we’d be long gone from the city.” An older man says, standing next to a window, staring down at the city streets, occasionally being covered in the lights of distant fireworks. 

“You know we couldn’t…” She was quieted by a loud banging sound.

“Belle, put the light out.” The woman at the table whispered, pointing to the lamp behind me. Quickly, I rush to the vintage light and turn it off.

As soon as the light turns off, a loud bang goes through the building. Everyone begins to move away from the main door. The flashing fireworks revealing their fear of the incoming threat. An older man leads the bruised woman and a few others out one of the windows. A man grabs me, leading me towards the room I woke up in.

“There’s another way out here.” We enter the room now filled with different furniture than when I woke up.

“How do we get out of here?” A fearful whisper leaves my mouth. “We have to get out before they get in, we need to…” I being to ramble, but stop when he shoves aside the dresser, revealing our way out.

“Don’t worry. I promised you, you’ll be safe with me.” He smiles, the light reaching his eyes. “You first.” He grasps my hands, opening the small door, just enough space to fit one behind the other. “I’ll be right behind you.” He says as he hugs me.

I bend down, just enough to walk through without crawling on the dust covered wooden floor. Taking a few steps, I pause, glancing back to make sure he was following me. Looking into my eyes, he nods for me to keep moving, but with a finger covering his mouth. Silently telling me to stay quiet.

Walking forward again, the long tunnel is plunged into darkness as the door behind us is closed. A few steps more and we hear another loud bang and men yelling. They’ve reached the room, probably searching for more victims to torture.

Being distracted by my thoughts, I hit my head on the wall at the end of the tunnel. Panic starts to envelop me again, but the man reaches past me, twisting his hand and pushing the wall. Revealing a winter chill only found in the nights of a New York winter. But there’s also a heat from the ground that’s like a fire pit.

We climb out of the tunnel, onto a fire escape overlooking a mob of people. More than half are trying to run for the lives. But they are overwhelmed by the other covered in white hoods and robes, aiming pistols and handling ropes at those that tried to get away.

“Bastards.” The man grumbles, leading me up the stairs, away from the gruesome street. He hesitates as a shout comes from a few floors above us. We quickly turn around towards the tunnel we just left. But we can’t go back in. A light is coming towards us, being held by a figure in white. We have no choice now but to reach the streets.

He leads us, gripping my hand as we run down the fire escape, the smoke becoming more suffocating as we get closer to the ground level. I try not to think about the burning flesh as we run past the massive bonfires throughout the streets. I try not to recognize the faces from the apartment as they’re hung from the light posts and street signs. I try not to scream as I’m pulled and dragged from my only link to this place. I try not to whimper as a thick noose is put over my head and tightened around my neck. I try not to struggle as I feel my life face from me as I hang next to those from the NYE party.

I try not to have the white robes be my last memory. I stare into the sky at the beautiful flashing lights of the New Year.