Vespera's Curse

Dorian’s phone rattled the table. Ugh, what the hell do they want now?! “Dad” lit up the screen. Call rejected, he’d call the old man back later. A text came through. “Just wanted to say hi. Call when you can.” He sighed and unlocked his phone. He began scrolling through social media. Hours passed. He wished for an adventure to end the monotony. 

Alexa’s obnoxious beeping jolted him awake. The shower thoughts filled his head while he fantasized about winning arguments with his boss, beating up childhood bullies, and saving the day. He craved fame, and his heart overflowed with greed and ego. His sarcasm and laziness kept success at bay. Dorian was a loser.

He stepped onto the snowy sidewalk and slipped. He cursed softly, The snow would make him late. I can’t wait for my boss to yell at me for being late again. Hunger pangs gnawed at his stomach. He kept his head down and stared at his feet. 

“Hey, give me a coffee and a bagel.”

Card declined. “Oh, it didn’t work on my end.”

Tap. Wait. Authorizing. Card declined. 

“Why don’t you guys use working machines?”

Tap. Declined. “Do you have cash?” 

“No. Now I don’t have breakfast either. Thanks a lot.”

Dorian knew his account was overdrawn but hoped it would work anyway. It worked before. Dorian crammed his fists into his pockets, and trudged to work. 

Yay, another shit day of work. A withered middle aged man stared back in the door's reflection. He skulked to his cubicle. He considered reaching his chair without helping anyone a victory. Time to read fanfiction on the company dime. 

An old news story from his father’s time caught his eye. “Haunted Forest Fenced Off.” 

A reclusive millionaire purchased Duskmire. The Haunted Forest has been a source of town history for hundreds of years. Missing teens getting lost looking for Vespera have filled missing persons’ pages for decades. The children never return. Folklore claims Old Shadowroot houses a forest spirit. Many superstitious folks go off trail, hoping to earn the blessing of a benevolent apparition. 

He let the article percolate in his head. One person in his old high school was brave enough, foolish enough, to wander into Duskmire. He’d wanted to prove himself brave. In the end, he proved foolish. His classmates' cheers were the last words he ever heard. Fuck it. I gotta do something cool before I die. I’m going in. 

Dorian hurried home. He marched straight to his desk and frantically dug through his drawers until he found it: his credit card. He’d never felt so excited. His miserable life would end as front-page news as everyone in town guessed what demise he met. The next morning a brown box greeted him on his doorstep. Full winter gear glistened as he pulled it from the box. 

Adrenaline surged through his body, heightening his senses as he dressed. 

He felt warm and comfortable. A plastic barrier lined the forests’ perimeter. The forest appeared healthy and untouched by humanity. The canopy stood tall and lush, trees crowded one another and animals called to one another. Lichen and moss hung in long, thick strands from branches. After admiring the beauty Dorian strode into the forest. 

A mile in, he sat in the twilight of mid-morning on a large rock. The sweet smell of rain replaced the stench of urban filth. No sunlight lit his path, no snow bit his skin and no familiar aromas existed in this place. How can I see without sunlight? Wind moved across the forest floor. The trees and their leaves stood still, bushes never moved, and no gentle hint of air caressed his skin. Yet the sound filled his ears. The wind whispered with the voice of a woman. It was too soft and distant to understand the words. He jumped up, panic breaking the forest spell.

Terror rooted him in place. The wind swirled fast leaving him disoriented. He tried to yell but fear squeezed his throat. A supernatural essence invaded his body. It permeated every cell and danced along the striations of his muscles. He inhaled her, she swam in his blood. His heart beat harder as she entered its chambers. She melted through his chest and slid over his skin. The assault ended abruptly. He sensed her beside him. Her breath poured down his neck. Her body swayed against his like lovers in a slow dance. 

At first the tension felt gentle. The gentle tug grew in force. The wind screamed and dragged him forward. The sensation faded to a pleasant massage, guiding him to his destination. 

Vespera. She haunted the forest and lived within Shadowroot. She released her grip on him. A mist of translucent pink and white suspended above him. She swayed gently giving the illusion of a breeze. Although featureless, she emanated indescribable beauty. 

“Dorian, you’re the first to find me in many years. You came in search of a hero’s death. I could make men weep at the sight of your body.”

“No! Please!”

“And now you want to live. Feign love. Just pretend I’ll give you what you want.”

She played music from trees like violin notes moving melodies through time and space. They danced as though at a ball. As the forest further dimmed, they swayed, their bodies rocking to a gentle rhythm. Their passion grew. Gentle and loving, Vespera swept over and through his body. Sexual ecstasy overwhelmed his senses. She lingered within his body through the night.

He tried to convince himself that yesterday was a bad dream and last night a magnificent dream. Shit. That was real. 

“I want to be rich, good looking and an expert at everything I do. Give me attractive women,” He said to her.

Of course, they all want that. 

“I want to live forever and nothing can hurt me, truly immortal.”

This man is the biggest piece of shit…“Granted.” 

He woke to the same disbelief. He felt amazing, the familiar aches and pains vanished. Dorian stood in front of the mirror. His face, free of wrinkles, sported a strong square jaw, smooth skin, and piercing eyes. Oh, my bank! He grabbed his phone and opened his bank app. Yes! 

He strode into work. What the hell am I doing here?  His boss yelled at him for missing work. Dorian flipped him off and kept walking. His steps skipped every other stair to the third floor. He walked into the owner's office and closed the door. 

“I’m buying this company.”

“Like hell you are. Get out!”

Dorian turned to leave then stopped…expert at everything I do. Does that include persuasion? 

An hour later Dorian went home one business richer. His former boss also left, millions richer than his company was worth. Dorian spent the day reviewing costs, expenditures, wages, taxes, investments, productivity…everything. By the next week income tripled.

His former coworkers reveled in the excitement too. Caroline, who oversaw the companies’ small charity, exclaimed, “Look how much more we can donate to Feed the Children!”

“We’re ending Feed the Children.” A moment of disgust thickened the air as coworkers looked away. 

He became an expert in trading stocks, swaying governments, and amassing wealth. He spent days dining with heads of state and evenings drinking with celebrities. Nights were filled with one-night stands, silk sheets and no regrets. Every weekend took him to new exotic locations. 

His blessing didn’t provide immunity from boredom though. Swaying the stock market lost its excitement. Drinking without getting drunk dulled months ago. Silk sheets felt normal. One-night stands became redundant. Beautiful and exotic locations left him empty. 

He excelled at every sport. He spoke every tongue. As time went on, he went to greater lengths to conceal his identity and immortality. Every so often he would have to “die” and let his ‘heir’ take his place. People began to comment on how he never aged. 

Dorian became a recluse. He didn’t want to deflect more age-related questions. Dorian died. His heir, a secret ‘love child,’ inherited his assets and began anew. I need a new name…Adrian. Should be an easy adaptation. 

He decided to study philosophy. Socrates saying, “the unexamined life is not worth living,” taught self-reflection. Socratic wisdom trickled into his soul. Studying Aristotle developed his critical thinking skills. John Stuart Mill amplified his appreciation for liberty and tolerance. The Categorical Imperative grew his morality and ethical principles. Faced with fear of eternity, Epictetus taught him to accept what he cannot control. Confucious taught respect. Kierkgaard taught him existentialism and ambiguity. He found value in people, institutions and his own life.

He decided to play an instrument. He avoided common instruments that would tempt him with fame. He needed a healing balm, an instrument to smooth the shards of his mind. He craved the soft melody of distant thunder harmonized by an orchestra. He would learn to play the hydraulophone. 

A single person had mastered this instrument: Mira. Adrian filled out her ‘contact me’ form and waited. He waited a week before deciding perhaps he should choose a different instrument when an email arrived from Mira. In 15 years only 10 souls stumbled onto her webpage, he was the only one to inquire about lessons. 

“What inspired you?” she asked.

“I love the sound, the way it uses water to create an ancient-sounding song…”

“It was invented in 1985 by a computer nerd. You know that, right?”

“Are you sure? A computer nerd? In 1985?”

“Yes, a huge nerd. He even invented a wearable computer.”

“I am excited to get started. Where are classes held?”

“I live in Apolima, Samoa but I leave the island for 3 months each year and we can set up lessons starting in….”

He cut her off, “I can be there in 2 days and stay as long as needed.”

“I live in one of the smallest, most remote places in the world. You cannot just show up and find a rental…”

He cut her off again, “I own Vista Resorts. I'll Stay there.”

After exchanging contact information he set out for Samoa.

The crystal blue waters of the ocean held his gaze. He lost his thoughts until a bright, “Hello!” pulled him back. He faced her. The morning sun shone over her shoulder illuminating her like an angel. His healing eyes allowed him to take in her beauty without squinting. Adrian saw a beautiful smile, a warm countenance, and shining eyes. Mira radiated real beauty. They both realized he was staring. 

“Sorry, I was just…admiring the water. It’s so very beautiful. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she gestured to a picnic table, “Tell me about yourself.”

They talked for hours. He laced truth with the lies to protect his identity. They talked through lunch and laughed over afternoon cocktails. She told him of Sina and the Eel, he told her about Paul Bunyan. He taught her the tango, and she attempted to teach him the Siva Afi. He used his skills of persuasion to talk her out of dancing with burning knives after drinking cocktails. As dinnertime arrived, they said their goodbyes. 

Weeks became months, and months became seasons while Adrian paced his learning. Learning to play under Mira’s tutelage filled his heart with gratitude. He recognized his own budding abilities: humility in success and seeing value in another person. He failed in one task. He tried not to fall in love. 

Unimaginable dread twisted his gut. She would die. He couldn’t foster resilience over this. Philosophy be damned, air stuck in his throat and his heart beat faster. I am so fucking stupid! Never die? What the fuck was I thinking. I have to undo this…I have to tell her.

“Mira, I have something to show you.” She sat down and looked him over. He stood behind the hydraulophone and began to play. He played beyond what human skill could. He performed the most beautiful pieces. Speigel im Spiegel, and Stabat Mater echoed in the air. 

“You’ve been practicing.” Emotion built inside of her. Questions tried to find their way to her lips.

“I need to tell you. I’m in love with you. That love is the only good thing in my heart. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything,” he paused. “But…I won’t die.”

“That’s a very odd statement. I love too.” She looked into his eyes. 

The truth. Okay, I showed her I am impossibly good at playing music….prove I don’t age…

“I don’t get sick or injured. I never struggle or fail. Look at photos from when I arrived, I haven’t aged.”

She pulled out her phone. “Yeah, you look the same. It’s only been a year…”

“Look at me again. Do I look the same?” She looked down and carefully considered his words. “Okay, where are you going with this?”

“I want to grow old with you. But I can’t.” He plucked a thorn from a bush and jammed it into his palm. She winced. He gave her the thorn and held up his hand. No injury. He saw her confusion. She moved the thorn around her fingers and found no evidence of deception. She handed the thorn back and watched him repeat the action several times. 

“Stay.”

“What? I can’t. I…” She cut him off, “I don’t want to live alone. I want you. Stay.”

He stayed. They never left the island. He hid in plain sight. Years turned into decades. Decades turned to memories and his strong hand held her frail one until she breathed her last. And he wept. 

That spirit bitch! Fucking blessing! This is a fucking curse! After the last person dies, the last star loses its light and darkness fills the void of the heavens Adrian would still have eternity to look forward to. In a rage he grabbed the few things he needed and flew straight back to his town hellbent on finding Vespera.

He paid no mind to the weather, the people that gasped at seeing his face or the words of shock that came from their mouths. Fuck it all. He didn’t care anymore. He grabbed his keys and drove to the edge of the city. He stood in the forest and began his trek to Shadowroot. He rehearsed the argument he would soon have with Vespera in his mind.

The sun disappeared and only supernatural forces kept the forest dimly lit. Motionless wind gently filled his ears. He recognized it. The whisper mocked him. It grew louder and he could feel her. She loved knowing that Adrian would endure eternity alone. She did not meet him with gentle caresses or wait for him to breathe her in. She grabbed him and held him in place. She forced her way into him, the sensation of thick water pushed filled his throat and into his lungs. He felt himself drowning on her ghostly body. She felt like knives tracing along nerves. 

“You cursed me!” he bellowed.

As quickly as she entered, Vespera ripped her way out of him and took form in front of him.

“Cursed you? I gave you exactly what you wanted. Power, money, fame, immortality. All I asked for was companionship…how many times did you visit?”

“Nothing good came from this curse!”

“Really, nothing good came from the blessing I gave you?”

His head dropped and hung in shame. “No. I hoarded money. I seduced married women and destroyed their families. I passed on diseases to whores that I knew would never make me sick. I walked by hungry people and never offered food. I saw injustice and looked away.”

“Well,” Vespera hissed, “you cursed yourself. I provided you the opportunity to be remembered for great things…solving world hunger, ending wars, curing disease. This is on your hands, not mine.”

“It’s a trick,” he roared. “She died! They all die. I fell in love, and she died. Immortality is eternal emptiness. A wretched existence that drags on, every moment leading to another with no end. I have walked every road, spoken every tongue, basked in the sunrise of every land and mastered every task, and for what? I stand here now while my lover turns to dust…I am cursed to be alone. Meaningless! It is all meaningless! I am a specter of a human being!” 

His words broke through her. He learned to love. His heart didn’t harden like mine. The vengeance in her heart cracked. Compassionate veins of gold filled the cracks in her black, broken soul. 

“Yes, immortality is a curse. One I endured before this world. I am locked in a forest, bound to a magical tree. I wanted someone wicked to feel the same despair…pain so deep it tore them apart leaving them a formless shadow—a vile creature. You were a monster when you stumbled into my forest, no integrity, no future, greedy. Nobody missed you when you disappeared. You earned this. Then you learned to love, see value and beauty. It is beyond cruel to learn love in the face of immortality. I am giving you my single act of compassion. I am giving you a mortal life.”

Immortality seemed like a bad dream now. The money was still there, but the perfect body was not. His superior intellect was replaced with forgetfulness and dry humor. He traded his expertise in debate, politics and business for expertise in fixing broken toys and coaching softball. The shoulders that used to hold up drunk girls in the back seats of limos became the pillows of sleeping babes. And the bed that used to wreck marriages and take advantage of drunk 20-year-olds was replaced with a sacred resting place. A place where he made love to his wife, watched sunsets with new appreciation and yelled at his alarm clock. Life was winding down now, reaching its own sunset. He made a good life and this proved a beautiful sunset.