Haunted

     It was mostly dark.

     Splinters of light seeped through the cracks.

     It also smelled like rotten potatoes.

     The crate she sat in was just large enough to hold herself and nothing else.

     It was hot and musty and extremely uncomfortable. Her neck was cramping and her temples were streaming with sweat.

     But it was nothing compared to the pain. The pain lingering just beyond her senses. The pain ready to take over her body until nothing was really her. Nothing but pain. 

     And the monster.

     But it was worth it.

     Or it would be.

     When she found the healer.

     She heard footsteps and tried to slow her harsh breathing and pounding heart.

     A few grunts and rattling her crate told her someone had tried and failed to lift the large wooden box. The person called to his companion over to help.  

     She was lifted and jostled around in the crate and it took everything in her not to cry out when they roughly set her down on the dry hard-pack dirt. 

     After she heard the men return to the wagon for more boxes she lifted the lid and climbed out.

     She was on the side of a dusty street on what seemed to be a busy market day. The sun was its highest and the heat made her clothes cling to her skin. Mountains loomed over tall wooden shops and apartments lining the road. Everything was bustling and she slipped into the madness before she could be noticed.

     Shoulders bumped hers. Horse-drawn carts narrowly missed her feet. Baskets were lifted to avoid her head. The smell of smoke stuffed her nose. And every little sound deafened her ears. It was all so overwhelming.

     Then the pain started.

     She stumbled, her vision blurring. No no no no no no no. She couldn’t. Not again. Not now. Not when she was so close.

     She spirited and weaved through the crowd of townspeople finally reaching a deserted alleyway. Well, almost deserted—there was a boy—but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

     The agonizing pain. It was all she could think about. It was all too much. And she was fighting as hard as she could. But this time it was different. It was too strong and her struggle faltered. Not much, but just enough. Just enough for something to click.

     Her head was being split in two. Shards of ice cold and fire hot were seeping into her flesh, twisting and gnawing. It tore tissue and veins, breaking all her bones then knitting them back together. 

     She screamed, black filling her vision, then crumbled to the ground, a harsh echo of pain following her into unconsciousness.

~

     She awoke without opening her eyes. She felt numb. But that was better than the pain. She waited for the cool relief to hit her but it never did.

     The pain was gone, but not forgotten. The memory of the pain haunted her and fear of that happening ever again was unbearable. The fear was solid and it took shape. It took the shape of pure black rage.

     It was a monster. The fury clawed at her, feeding off her pain and anguish. And the pain and rage was too much. And she let go.

     The monster took over.

     Took over her senses.

     Her thoughts.

     Her sanity.

     She didn’t know what was happening. Why it was happening. Happening to her. She had done nothing to deserve this torment.

     She opened her eyes. Her face was wet, from sweat or tears she didn’t know.

     Everything around her was bright. Too bright. But it drove the fury and darkness away. Even the monster. For now.

     She got up from the cot she hadn’t realized she was laying on and paused for a moment to let the spinning behind her eyes clear. Then she gasped, staring at her hand.

     It was gray. Not just gray, but slightly translucent. Like all the color and life had been drained out of her flesh. When she checked her other hand was the same. So were her legs. And feet. And hair.

     She sat back down on her cot, her thoughts spiraling. 

     Falling.

            Falling

                  Down.

                        Down.

                              Down.

     “Are you alright?” At first she thought she had conjured the question, formed from some sort of deep hope or self pity.

     But the question came again. “Are you alright?” It was louder this time and the sounds went along with a feeling. A touch on her shoulder.

     She whipped around to face a boy.

     “You,” she snapped, her voice dripping with venom. The boy flinched and she took pleasure in his discomfort.

     She wanted more.

     Grabbing his wrist, her nails curled and dug into the boy’s tender flesh. She twisted and dung wanting nothing more than him to feel her pain. 

     The boy clawed at her hand trying to loosen her grasp. He whimpered as she drew a trickle of blood. The jeweled drop stained the boy’s skin and she finally let go feeling a little guilty at the tiny bit of pain he was feeling.

     Pain.

     She shoved the guilt away and instead drew a bit of satisfaction from his pain.

     She was suddenly on her feet, oblivious to how she got there. The boy was sitting on her cot favoring his right wrist.

     “I just want to know if there’s anything I can do to help,” the boy’s voice trembled and she marveled at his weakness and vulnerability. Then the words sank in. And she laughed.

     It was cold and held no humor. “No one can help me. I am hopeless. Haunted by ghosts and echoes of agonizing pain. I . . .” She paused, finally realizing what was happening to her. “I’m dying.”

     She had known before, though she wasn’t sure when. Maybe when she had first let the monster take over. Or perhaps when she saw herself turned gray. It didn’t matter. It was her time. And she finally admitted something she didn’t think was possible for her.

     “It hurts.” It was barely a whisper. And a shaky one at that. The words felt too small to carry the weight of overwhelming relief and sadness and pain.

     It felt like letting go of the last hope of ever being healed. The two words hung thick and heavy in the room and she realized she was crying for the first time in almost a decade.

     She sat back down on the cot in what looked to be a healing center. The sobs broke loose from her chest, choking as they pushed their way out. They were wet and ugly, but she didn’t care. 

     She needed to get them out. 

     Every tear was a reason for her anger. 

     The fact that she was born cursed. 

     That her parents didn’t want a cursed child. 

     That no one wanted a cursed child. 

     That she had fought for her survival.

     That she had failed time and time again to control her anger. Her pain.

     So much pain.

     When every last tear streamed down her face the sobs turned to hiccups and she leaned against the boy’s shoulder, who–despite everything—didn’t seem to mind.

     “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely to the boy.

     “I know,” the boy said, “I’m also cursed. Cursed to feel everyone’s pain.” He paused and let out a shaky breath, “I feel yours and it’s overwhelming. Everyone’s pain is at some point in their life but you . . . It’s constant and never-ending.”

     She was kind of stunned, “I’m sorry . . . Again. I just don’t know how to stop and–”

     “No,” the boy interrupted. “I know you can’t help it and I thought I couldn’t either for a long time . . . But I realized that I could. I could help heal people and help their suffering and pain. That’s why I became the healer’s apprentice.” He suddenly looked ten years older.

     There was a long silence, but it wasn’t awkward.

     “Helen” she said.

     The boy looked confused. “What?”

     She hesitated. “My name is Helen. I thought someone should know.”

     He gave a weak smile, “Bryce.”

     “Thank you, Bryce. I’m ready.” Helen replied, determined.

     She laid down on her cot, took one last shaky breath, and let the monster take over her being. 

     A peace settled over her as she faded away.

~

     Less than a year later screaming still filled the air. The town had since been deserted. Tumbleweeds rolled in the dry wind. Cacti was the only life seen anywhere. Sand-like dust covered every inch of surface. Cobwebs grew in all corners available.

      Still out there, Helen haunted what was known as the first ever ghost town in the world.