The Color of Intrigue

The Color of Intrigue

The very recollection of the foul odor emanating from my attacker causes me to double over, retching uncontrollably, and inadvertently scattering the files stacked on my desk. It is him on my computer screen—I’m certain it is. I have never had such a deep, visceral reaction to anyone else before or since that encounter.

Surprisingly, most of my sick went into the wastebasket on the side of my desk. I cleaned up and sorted the scattered paperwork related to the case I’m working on. I am one step away from becoming a private investigator. I thought it would be an exciting career choice but in essence, it entails a lot of inconspicuous photography and watching endless streams of out-of-focus video. However, the mundane profession is a welcome change to my chaotic life.

^^^^^^

My life drastically changed after I crossed paths with the Muddy Man. I was fourteen, lost a bet, and was given a dare as payment. Since I’d rather die than ever pass on a dare, I spent two hours, post-sunset, in an abandoned, “haunted” trailer at the Canon Motorhome Park.

As much as I dreaded going into that rickety, old motorhome, I had to prove my worth and complete the dare. I could never face my friends otherwise.

As ominous as the trailer looked during the day, it looked much worse at night. My frontal lobe attempted to get me to turn around while my amygdala craved adventure. In the end, my recklessness won, and I entered.

Once inside, I waited. Time became as viscous as molasses. If a building could die, this one did, and it smelled the part. I couldn’t take a deep breath; the air was so acrid. Using a flashlight, I looked for a spot to settle in for the next 120 minutes, somewhere away from

mummified insects and broken flooring.

Creaks and moans came from every direction. Trying to erase the images the noises were creating, I told myself they were nothing and checked my phone to see how much time I had left when a loud bang startled me and caused me to stand up and shriek. My friends were laughing. I figured they were trying to spook me and was angry at myself that I wasn’t ready for it.

When I felt someone watching me, I knew it was one of them playing another prank. This time, I kept my cool and tried to figure out which one of them it was by sensing their color. I have synesthesia, a condition where one sense is perceived through another sense. I see shapes when I hear different musical notes, and I can see the colors people give off. Some call it a gift, while others call it a curse. I was doing just fine with it until that day.

The more I tried to see this person’s color through the greasy, murky aura they were emitting, the more I began to feel ill. This person was different from anyone I had ever met. There was a pungent wormy, moldy stench mixed with stagnant mud, rotting earth, and a combination of black, brown, gray, and green—the color of mud. People never appear to me as that combination. The sour aroma grew stronger.

A large hand grasped my shoulder. Panicking, I looked for something to use as a weapon. I screamed and lunged for a discarded chair leg. My head was whirling, my insides churning. Every sense was blending, overwhelming me with a flood of acute perceptions. As I tried to grasp the broken chair leg, a foot on my back knocked me flat on my face. Turning my head, I see a giant man in a ratty, long coat standing over me. My vision blurred, and in the darkness, his features blended beneath a tattered, black hat and long, greasy dark hair.

The Muddy Man was inside my head, poking and prodding me. The invasion left me weak, causing me to plummet into complete darkness.

Luckily, something behind my scream jostled my friends into action. They went inside, found me unconscious, and got help. They never saw the man and the police never found him.

After the assault, images with specific colors, tastes, and scents attached to them began to appear in my mind, but they were someone else’s memories. From that day on, my synesthesia became a curse. Due to my enhanced senses, it is difficult for me to be anywhere but home, where I feel protected in my quiet abode with barriers in place against the chaos of the outside world.

^^^^^^

Today, the barrier of a computer monitor is no barrier at all.

The man that was etched in my brain six years ago now manifested himself on the client video I am reviewing and is looking directly at me.

How could this be?

The Muddy Man stood there in a covered bus shelter. The grainy footage is in black and white, but I can tell he is wearing the same ratty, light-colored trench coat that had seen better days. His long, straggly hair hangs below a tattered bucket cap.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knows I am watching this and that he is performing for me through this transmission. As soon as the thought entered my mind, he held up one finger. He smiled a terrifying sneer and added another one. Putting the two fingers to his mouth, he stuck his tongue between them, flicking it up and down. His face twisted into a menacing laugh. He held up the two fingers, then pointed them at the camera, toward me.

Suddenly, within the shelter, an illuminated advertisement for an injury lawyer flickered, pixelated, then turned to snow. The snow spread, and the recording abruptly ended.

I’m surprised the tape stopped as it did, but also relieved that the overwhelming ill feeling

it caused is eliminated. I rewind the recording and play the end back to verify what I had just seen; the images are no longer visible.

“What the hell?” I try a few more times and on different computers, with the same result.

Grabbing my cell, I hit the second number on speed dial for my boss.

“Hi, Eva. What’s up?”

“Hey, Curtis. I have a weird one for you.”

“Weirder than when that guy thought his neighbor was invisible and wanted you to use infrared technology on his security camera to uncloak video of said neighbor when he didn’t appear on film?”

“That one’s definitely on the top ten list for sure. This is different. It’s personal.”

“Personal? Okay, you have my attention.”

“Remember what happened to me when I was a teen? The attack?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“I was reviewing some footage for the client you sent me, and the man who attacked me appeared on the tape. He was inside a covered bus stop. Curtis, he was looking right at me. He knew I was watching. He made a lewd gesture while holding up two fingers. Strangely, I knew he meant to indicate this was our second meeting. The footage ended suddenly and when I rewound it and played it back, it was no longer there.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Did you try it on another device?”

“Why not ask me if my computer is plugged in? I may be your apprentice, but I’m not an amateur,” I answered jovially.

“My bad. Why don’t you come here, and I’ll see what magic I can work on it? I’m free

now.”

I said, “Um, great, but what about later tonight?”

“Right. Shit. I forgot for a minute. Sure, text me when you’re on your way.”

Curtis is also synesthetic but has a much milder case. He can control his senses easily.

It’s much easier for me to maneuver when most people are home. My senses are very hard to control in crowds and it becomes overwhelming. I waited until ten and walked, just over a half mile, to see if the high-end equipment Curtis owned could successfully recover the footage of the Muddy Man. I stayed off the main roads until I couldn’t avoid traveling on the strip.

The main strip is a burst of neon lights, foreign smells, and tumultuous sounds. Before I ventured into the sensory chaos, I inserted earplugs and protected my eyes with specially-made glasses.

Curtis lives above a billiards bar called Rack ‘Em Up. I turned down a dark alley, past discarded pallets, tires, and several dumpsters.

As I rounded the corner, my olfactory sense began to pick up an unwanted and forsaken scent—one of decaying worms and soured earth; one that conjured the image of writhing maggots within a muddy, swampy haze.

My insides were churning.

As before, when I sensed him in the trailer park six years ago, I know he is here.

Now.

I am being pulled into another world, as if through the looking glass. The muddy aura is all around me, inside me. I feel dizzy.

I turned around, and there he is. The Muddy Man is leaning up against a brick wall at the back of the building. I asked myself if this was real. My perception became less trustworthy.

He is smoking. I could smell the caustic smoke now mixing with the unbearable

underlying stench. I tell myself it must be real if I can smell this. I shout, “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

He laughed as his raspy voice filled my head. “I can tell you’re one of the color people. You can sense colors; I can see into you and make you do my will. Six years ago, I started a quest that you are a part of. I must retrieve the final scroll that will complete an incantation allowing me to bend the will of everyone, not just the color seers. I need one last scroll to complete my mission. You must redeem yourself to me.

“I’m almost there. My physical body is trapped within the infosphere. I need this, the last of the four scrolls, to regain my earthly presence and bend the will of the masses.”

While trying to navigate through the fog in my brain, I thought about this. It did not compute. Puzzled and trying to rid him from my mind I asked, “What do you mean you can see into me?”

The Muddy Man became angry at my question. Pacing back and forth, his ragged coat trailing behind him, he left a dense muddy cloud in his wake. “You are the only one left. I bestowed great gifts upon you when we first met. Finish the task and bring me the last scroll, or face the consequences.”

As my head began to spin faster, I slipped into a ravenous void. The next thing I knew, I woke up to see Curtis sitting beside me.

“Oh, good. Eva, you scared the crap out of me. Are you okay?”

Confused, I asked, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I heard a woman talking outside. When I looked out the back

window, you were slouched against the wall. You were looking dazed. By the time I ran down, you were really out of it. Your eyes were open and you were mumbling but not coherent.”

“Did you see the guy? The tall one with the gross trench coat?”

“No. Only a skinny employee with brown hair,” he teased.

When I tried to get up, the room spun. “He was here, Curtis. The one from the recording. The man who attacked me.”

“He was in the alley? Damn. He must have followed you.”

“I don’t think so. Whenever he is near, my senses go into overdrive. I didn’t feel him near me until I went around to the back door. You didn’t see him when you looked out your window?”

“No. As I said, I looked down, and you were there alone. When I found you outside, you were rambling about colors.”

“Colors . . . right. That’s what he told me. He knew I could sense colors. He said he could see inside me. Then he said he gave me new gifts and that I have to get him a scroll.”

Curtis whistled. “That’s some weird shit, Eva.”

“Curtis, after the attack I had more sensory perceptions and triggers that I attributed to hitting my head in the motorhome. What if he did something to me back then?” A chill spread through my body. I brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Curtis is struggling with what to say. What can he say?

“Eva, it sounds like maybe something spooked you, you hit your head, and had some weird vision. Could that be it?”

If I’m struggling with what happened to me, I can’t imagine someone else believing it. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

Breaking the awkward silence, I asked, “Hey, did you get the missing footage? Could it be recovered?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at it. When I brought you up here, I debated whether to call 911 and then you came to.”

“We need to check it,” I stated urgently.

In his studio apartment, computers, unidentified electrical equipment, and wires were scattered throughout every corner. I still had a lot to learn.

Curtis said, “Hand me the drive.”

I dig it out of my bag and give it to him. He attaches it to one of the computers. There is nothing but static when it comes to the spot where the Muddy Man should appear.

I attempt to speak and Curtis holds up his hand while he attaches an electrical pad with a multitude of lights and levers. “I’ll teach you what this does once I retrieve the video.”

Curtis is a master when it comes to anything electronic. These skills make him a highly coveted asset in the private investigation industry. Watching with rapt attention, I hope to one day reach half the level of expertise displayed before me.

Frustration clouds his face. “Eva, I can’t get to it. I can tell there’s something there, but I can’t recover it.”

“There’s nothing else you can try?”

“Let me think.”

After a bit, one of the lights on the panel flashes, and his computer pings. He gives me a thumbs-up. Curtis said, “I think it found something.”

We hear another chime.

His fingers fly over the keys, eager to bring up the footage.

“You were right. Here he is. Oh, man, are you seeing this?” he asks.

^^^^^^

He is back. This time it is different. The unwelcome colors and scents are here, although, there is something else there allowing me to control them.

“It’s time.” The Muddy Man’s voice vibrated in my head making my ears ring.

“I want nothing to do with you.” I try searching for a way to sever the ties with this monster and regain control of my mind.

“It’s too late for that. The revelation is almost complete. The key lies in the last scroll. It is in the mobile home where we first met. We were interrupted before I could force you to get it. You need to retrieve it now.”

“I’m never going back there. You’re crazy if you think I will.”

“Oh, I think you will. Just ask your friend.”

I try harder to separate our connection but to no avail. However, I can focus on Curtis. He sits in his chair at the computer, silently writhing in pain, his eyes filled with complete understanding.

“I can alleviate his misery, increase it, or have you experience it too. It’s up to you,” the Muddy Man said.

He had me, and he knew it.

I can never let him obtain that scroll.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

The Muddy Man remained in my subconscious and minimized the hold on Curtis. The three of us traveled to the place where it all began.

The image of the ancient scroll appears to me as if it were my memory and not his. The

taste and scent it evokes are unique.

After hours of driving, we arrive at what remains of the Canon Motorhome Park. Curtis

and I proceed inside while we were still otherworldly connected to the Muddy Man. Following the specific taste and scent the scroll conjures within me, I lead us to what was once a bedroom. Instinctively, I look for a jeweled metal case hidden in a wall. I open the case and retrieve the scroll.

While in the RV, I try to completely sever my ties with the Muddy Man.

“Ah, I see I gave you more than I expected when we first met. Don’t waste your time trying to block me. I am much stronger than you. Once you bring me the scroll, the world will be under my control.”

I had to think of a way to destroy the scroll.

Curtis tapped my shoulder and showed me a lighter. I nodded my approval.

He grabbed the old scroll, threw it on the floor, and ignited it.

The blaring wail that filled my head is too much to bear. I look at Curtis to see if he is hearing the same thing. He is pinned against a wall, blood trickling from his eyes and nose. He slumps down, head hung.

I was next. I reached deep within to strengthen my ability to separate us and lessen the Muddy Man’s pull on me.

In his rage, the Muddy Man lost control.

Images appeared enabling me to complete the task. At once, the inky aura surrounding me began to quiver and became pixelated and snowy, much like in the video.

The screams that had filled my mind subsided.

The connection vanished.

After feeling a faint pulse, I sought help for Curtis and then put out the fire.

Equipped with the tools to keep the Muddy Man at bay for now, I know it is only a matter

of time before he finds me again.