Don’t Fall For His Tricks

At first glance, it looks just like a regular small town at night, the sky painted black, the moon casting an eerie glow along the pavement, a scatter of nearly identical houses with white and tan brick. A playground next to the only school, with a slide, some swings. A dep in the center of the town. A gas station, a cafe, a motel. A bank, a grocery store, a post office. On the second glance, you see the boarded up theatre, lights off inside, run down, the motel, boarded up, a ‘for sale’ sign infront of the cafe, the eroding wood, the cracked pavement, uneven brick, the driveways infested with weeds, the patches of lawn filled with yellow grass, debree. The lack of people, even on a cold evening like this, the wind hitting at your back. The silence. You start to feel uneasy if you weren’t before. At third glance, you see a car, parked hurriedly on the street, one wheel up on the sidewalk, windows battered in, empty. Another one, in a driveway, the trunk propped open, suitcases piled in the back, but empty too, looted. One of the doors hangs off its hinges, broken bottles litter the ground. Shards of glass reach all the way to you, windows smashed in. Everywhere, houses boarded up, thick curtains drawn in windows, you can’t see inside the buildings. You take a shaky breath. You feel a tickle on your arm, a shiver runs down your spine. A sound. Clikety-click-click-click. Tapetty-tap-tap-tap. A tinkle of laughter, high pitched and youthful. You bar your teeth and turn around, slowly.

No one. But you hear it again, the clicking the tapping, the tinkle of laughter, coming from behind you. You spin back around. It’s a chilly evening for the fall. You should’ve brought your sweater. ‘’Evan?’’ Your voice permeates the thick air, spreading to the foggy hilltops in the distance. It rings in your ears, the tinkle of laughter. A shadow. Small, petite before you. A presence. Tappity-tap. A figure, a whisp of smoke, a tattered dress, shiney black shoes. A girl, black hair tied into pigtails, skin pale, chalky white. A scar runs down her frail face, starting just above her left eye, reaching to the middle of her left cheek. Her eyes are liquid blue, her dress looks scorched, her shoes are tap dancing shoes. She floats, smoke billowing out around her, she’s hard to see, you have to squint even when she’s near, or else you wouldn’t notice her at all. 

‘’Sybil?’’ Another voice, a man, in his early twenties maybe, though you can’t see the other presence, just hear him. ‘’Let him in.’’ The voice commands, taking on a tone of severity. You look behind the girl, no one. You try to remember, but your mind is blank. You can’t remember how you got here, where here is. You just remember that name. Evan. It repeats in your mind, over and over, Evan. Evan. Evan. You want to block your ears, make it stop. But you don’t. Instead, you watch the girl step aside, smiling widely, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, eerily. 

‘’Welcome to ETAFTROFD. Do you know who recruited you? Do you remember anything from your last life?’’ She speaks leisurely, as if she’s said it countless times, as if she will say it countless more, as if she has all the time in the world. And you stand there helplessly, waiting. It’s a familiar feeling. Waiting, just waiting. For the right thing to say. For someone to come and interrupt, take the attention off you. But only silence fills your pause. Silence, followed by silence, and more silence. Your mind is foggy, it’s hard to think, as if someone is choking your brain with a pillow. Maybe you’re tired. It looks dark out, but you don’t remember it ever being day, so you suppose it can’t really be night. The girl cocks her head, waiting. Her bangs fall in front of her face, and she tucks them back without taking her eyes off you, as if staring into you. Her eyes are big, like oranges. Oranges. You remember oranges. A boy, handing a bag of them to you. At a market. Bustling streets, cars honking. He had brown eyes, you remember that, and he wore a red apron. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. Evan. Evan. Evan. He was Evan. The boy handing you oranges at the fruit stall. He invited you to the Smocking Shack, a shadeY hangout spot in the poorer area downtown. But you can’t remember what happened next, if you went. Your memory ends there.  

The girl blinks, reaches out to touch you, comfort you. Like your mother used to do. You remember her, with her gray hair and tall figure. You remember her kissing your forehead at night, tucking you under the covers. The smell of her fruity perfume filling the air. You remember your covers too, with a galaxy on it, because you were fascinated by space. You remember that too. You must have been young. Before...something. Something happened. Something took her away from you, and you must grimace at the harsh memory; the memory of pain, of anger, of hurt, because the girl speaks again. 

‘’You’re starting to remember?’’ It’s a question but sounds like a statement. ‘’Come in, please, I promise, it will be better inside.’’ Better? Better than what? Better than standing outside, with the sky threatening to poor? You remember jokes then. The ones he used to tell you, the boy who gave you the oranges, who wore aprons and button up shirts rolled up to his elbows, and jeans. He was studying. He was studying philosophie, at a college. But he made jokes. And you’d laugh, even if you didn’t find them funny. You’d do anything for him. Another memory. Of happiness, of laughter. Of wanting never to stop being in that moment. Of feeling safe. Of arms rapping around you and holding you close as you stand in a dark room, with people crying. And knowing you were loved.

The girl steps forward. ‘’Please, come in.’’ Her voice rings in your ears as the memories keep flooding back, and you can’t move. You don’t want to hurt. You don’t want to cry either. You don’t want it all to happen again. Too painful, too much. ‘’Please. We promise, but you must do it quickly or time will catch up. Come on, step inside.’’ She sounds like she understands. She also sounds serious, like if you don’t, you’ll regret it, so you take a step forward. You don’t want to regret. The memory of regretting feels like opportunities you took away from yourself. Like little scars on your wrists, like blood streaming down, like losing control, like speeding with no break. 

At first nothing happens. But then you hear sounds, different sounds. Talking. Hushed voices, then laughter. Then dead seriousness as they see you go in. Footsteps rush toward you, and you open your eyes. Cautious, but then you see a flash of red, of navy blue converse laced up all the way, jeans with no rips. And look up. Evan. Evan, he does that little half smile he did when he wanted to show you something, only for you. He only ever smiled like that for you, like you were both in on a secret no one else knew. He steps forward, another memory. Standing on a rooftop. Broken bottles everywhere, like the ones of the town, lay around you. It was dark out too, the moon shone bright. You’d made sure it was on a full moon, for good luck. You looked over at him one more time. For strength. For that little nod that sent you spiraling. That would make you do anything. That made your heart thrum and ache. But he wasn’t smiling then. He looked desperate, and you know you’d looked just like that too. You’d taken his hand in yours and looked down. Five stories below you, the street was deserted. It was the middle of the night. All the other students were asleep in their dorms probably. Or out at the clubs. He stepped onto the ledge. You stepped up too. You shared a look. You’d prepared for so long, you’d been ready. You’d read up on everything you could. It seemed like it was the best option. A voice, your conscience tried to stop you, but your body was one step ahead. You jumped. 

But now, you’re here, and nothing makes sense, until it starts to, until it clicks into place, until you remember the stories. ‘’Evan?’’ You ask, finding your voice. And he looks at you with those brown eyes, smiling, but for once you don’t return it. You feel anger. Clenched teeth. Cold. Everywhere, cold, even though here, the sun shines. He frowns, confused. He shouldn’t be.

‘’That’s me.’’ He smiles like a hyena. His breath smells foul, and you feel sick. He’d lied. 

‘’What is this place?’’ You ask. You try not to sound accusing, but a claw grips your chest, your breathing grows faster.

‘’ETAFTROFD. Empty Time Association For The Rights Of The Dead. We save people. From life. From lives not worth living. Don’t you remember, DeMarco? From the stories?’’ He narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, as if you’re confused, as if your memory hasn’t come back, but for the first time you can see right through him.

‘’I pretended for you. You tricked me! I only said it sounded cool to please you!’’ Your voice gets louder and louder as everything becomes clearer. ‘’You made me think I loved you! You made me say things to please you! You told me those stories, about the people who’d started ETAFTROFD, if that’s what you call it, but you wouldn’t say it’s name, you said it could curse us or something! You just wanted me not to know that this place was the one you‘d been talking about, or else my memory would’ve come back before I stepped over the threshold and I wouldn’t have. You said you could stop yourself from rebirth, if someone recruited you for it! Stop yourself from living sadness and anger all over again, you made it sound like there, there was no one like Don, to take advantage of students, you made it sound like frickin paradise, but YOU took advantage of me! I didn’t want to die, you just mad me think I did. You started this group, am I right? You went around recruiting people, enchanting them with your ‘love’ for this project of yours. To have a place to hide from the world, from the cycle, because time, it was after you. You were being hunted in every life by the monsters of your past. You took advantage of our sh*$&@ lives to make us want to kill ourselves, and brought us here.’’ Your adrenaline, spiked, is now starting to wear off, you feel weary and tired. ‘’You’re a devil Evan.’’ The realization sinks in. Everyone stares in disbelief. Evan chuckles, uncomfortably, and you know you were right. The others were still under his spell, he didn’t want you to make them realize what had really happened, that their lives were actually so much worse, that being slaves, working for Evan wasn’t the only way, wasn’t an honour.

Evan was selfish. He wanted to build a place where he could live, where no one would be able to find him, to escape his reality, and he needed people, he wanted to make a new civilization. To be his slaves. He stole lives. He tricked you to make you think the only way out was suicide. He made you fall in love. He made you seek comfort in him. He took advantage of grief. Of your state after your mom’s death, of how upset you were, how desperate. But you were strong, you resisted. You realized. You took a stance. But it was too late. And that’s why I say, to everyone in need of help, don’t turn to drugs like Evan for solace, addictions are never healthy. Reach out, but not like that. Everyone needs a community, and maybe that’s what you were searching for, but you found the wrong one. You found one full of the wrong people. And maybe this doesn’t make sense now, but if you read it carefully, it will. Listen to your gut before jumping, not the devil inside you. Don’t let yourself fall for the tricks life casts you, don’t fall for Evan.