Cursed Read online

  “It’s a historical piece on Boston. It’s a first-time writer who came across several family diaries in his attic and he’s cobbling it together into a look at Boston at the end of the nineteenth century. My job is to help edit, verify and research as well as get any legal releases we may need for photos, people, that kind of stuff.”

  Mason kept his eyes down towards the papers on the table. “I wasn’t trying to intrude into your work. It’s just . . . never mind. Sorry.” His head hung lower and his back, hunched already, seemed to bend with weight.

  Sarah’s heart clenched for this man who didn’t have any social interaction and felt it necessary to apologize for helping her. Cocking her head, and really looking at him, she thought there was something more he wasn’t saying.

  “No intrusion, and please, what is it? Were you going to say something?”

  “I noticed on that last page I picked up, it mentioned patches of garden breaking up the two sides of the street here in the South End. It says they were included as a beautification method for the city; to keep small parks available as neighborhoods sprung up.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve seen written about the parks.” Sarah had a quizzical look, wondering where he was going with this.

  “It was also for socializing, and sometimes eating.”

  “I’m sorry, I think you lost me. I get the socializing if people were enjoying the park, walking through at the same time . . .”

  “No, it was more than that. The parks were wider then, before streets were built for cars rather than carriages. The women would meet out there in the afternoon to watch the children play, and tend to their gardens. People would set up tables in the warm weather months, visit with each other and have lemonade. Sometimes play cards.”

  Sarah sat down, listening to Mason speak about a different era with a tone she could only think of wistful or nostalgic. She thought of the painting in his apartment of the three women conversing at a garden table in their long summer dresses and piled up hair, and envisioned them in the garden outside their brownstone a hundred years ago. A chill went up her spine and she pulled the blanket across her lap wondering if her fever had returned.

  “The more affluent families would have their house hands bring dining tables out and the family might be served their dinner under the shade of the trees, enjoying the cooling breezes instead of the trapped heat in the brownstones. Maids would bring out the linens and china, adding fresh flowers on the table, much more civilized than the way people eat outside today on picnic benches.”

  He cleared his throat before continuing. “When young ladies were being courted their suitors might ask to take an evening stroll through the gardens, with family members following behind. It allowed them a small degree more privacy than meeting in the parlor with the family all within hearing distance. It was a peaceful place with benches for men to take a stroll after dinner or partake in a cigar or pipe.” Mason shook his head, lost in his own words. “Sorry, I shouldn’t. . . ”

  “No! That’s great. It was so interesting I could visualize what you were saying. I will need to do more research and get it all in there. Everything I’ve read so far has been about the architects and city planners and the more business end of things. This would give more life to the book.”

  Mason was quiet for a moment then limped back to the cover of the dim lighting by the front door. He turned back to Sarah, closing the subject of the gardens. “I use a market that delivers to me, and if you want Chinese I am sure I can get that whether they are delivering or not, but you need to eat. What would you like?”

  “Chinese would be great. Maybe some soup and a noodle dish? I don’t think I can eat too much else with this sore throat.”

  “I will bring it up when it arrives. Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

  “I’m sure. Let me give you some money.” She reached to the side of the couch where she had dropped her pocketbook the day before and when she turned back Mason had disappeared out the door.

  Sarah looked around the room deciding she needed to straighten it up before he returned. It bothered her to not have her place in perfect order with neighbors popping in last night and today. Picking up the mugs with cold leftover tea and the notebooks and magazines strewn around the room she felt a little better. Taking a candle jar out from the kitchen cabinet she brought it over to the coffee table and lit it. The aroma of clove and orange wafted upwards and she was glad she didn’t have a head cold, too. Climbing back under her blanket she pulled her legs up towards her chest and watched Storm Central while waiting for her egg drop soup. She dozed off for a bit and woke when she heard the music announcing an update.

  “And although we are in a lull here in Boston, between bands of snow, the Doppler radar shows we will see additional accumulation by the early morning hours.” The weatherman was pointing at large green and dark green areas covering most of Massachusetts. Looking happy with this latest development he added with an almost giddy smile, “This is a doozy of a storm!”

  When the knock came, sometime later, Sarah called out from the couch, “Come in!”

  Mason opened the door and came in, his left foot clearly giving him trouble, carrying a brown paper bag. When he glimpsed the candle on the table he stopped.

  “What’s going on here? Why do you have an open flame?”

  “Open flame?”

  “It specifically states in the lease I do not allow open flames, except in fireplaces with screens.”

  Sarah sat up and quickly blew out the flame, feeling badly that she didn’t remember that clause and wondering if it was a fire that caused his severe scarring. She turned the volume down on the television to apologize. “I’m sorry Mason – I just thought it would be a nice scent.”

  Mason relaxed and nodded his head. He placed the brown bag on the kitchen counter, opening the top and taking out one white Chinese food container for himself. “Your dinner is in the bag. If you need anything else, let me know.” He turned to leave, keeping his back to Sarah.

  “Please, sit and eat with me. Or are you concerned I am contagious?”

  “I can’t, but thank you for your generosity.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to hold you up from anything. Were you leaving to see family for Christmas?”

  Mason stopped and slowly turned towards Sarah, safe in the shadow by the door and took a deep breath. “My family is long gone. No, I just wanted to give you some privacy and, to be honest; I am not used to sharing a meal.”

  “Well then please, I insist. Why should we both eat solo?”

  As Mason seemed to contemplate this invitation, a low moaning emanated from the next room. They both turned their attention to the open bedroom door and darkness beyond.

  The moan rose to a howling wail that drowned out the faint television volume. Sarah’s eyes widened and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she tried to figure out what the sound was. It was an unworldly sound, something she never heard before and never wanted to hear again. With difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the bedroom door to look directly towards Mason who had already begun making his way towards the bedroom. His movement set Sarah into action, pulling the blanket from her body and jumping up from the couch to follow. As she closed the distance to Mason and the bedroom, the wail escalated but she could now tell it was coming from outside.

  Mason entered the bedroom first and stopped short, staring out of the side window towards the fire escape. Sarah came through the doorway a moment later and saw in the dim glow from the street light below the black cat she had named Midnight, clawing at the snowy window. The cat stopped, looking at the two of them through the glass, turning its head to purposefully view each. Its fiery gold eyes became slits and the cats back arched, the hair raised along the black creatures back like a jackal. The cat hissed through the window, baring teeth and leaving a foggy mark on the cold glass. It then walked back and forth in an agitated state, its tail twitched back and forth but its body was calculated grace
more reminiscent of a panther than a domesticated house cat.

  Sarah and Mason watched the cat's strange behavior in silence; neither daring to move. The cat turned back left and then without warning lunged at the glass smacking it hard and causing Sarah to step back. Again, the cat circled around and threw itself at the glass and Sarah wondered what would happen if the window cracked or if it got in. She realized, with a moment of panic, she was actually scared of the cat she had wanted to invite in as a pet.

  “That’s the cat I’ve mentioned, but it’s never acted like this. Do you think it’s rabid?”

  “No, it’s not rabid.” Mason offered no more, but his tone sounded like he suspected something he wasn’t willing to share.

  The cat hissed again and then disappeared, jumping down out of their sight.

  Mason moved as quickly as his hunched form would allow towards the window and Sarah stayed back, wrapping her hooded sweatshirt closer around her body and watching. Mason leaned to the right to look out but could not see the cat. He turned slowly and looked directly at Sarah, obviously not thinking or caring about his disfigured and scarred face, hooded eye, and stooped body. Sarah looked back with an even gaze, refusing to let her eyes drop from his sea blue stare.

  “I would like to accept your invitation to stay for dinner, if the invitation is still open.”

  Sarah felt relieved that she would not be alone. She tilted her head, “Of course, Mason. But the cat . . .?”

  “I have a feeling the cat will be back.” He hobbled back towards Sarah, and she led the way back to the living room, thinking how odd this cat incident was and surprised by how it had allowed Mason to drop his defenses and not fear the gaze of another person.

  “Sit.” He instructed, “You are shivering. I will get your soup.”

  Sarah sat on the couch, covering her legs with the blanket and pulling the table closer.

  “Cat’s don’t act like that. I think we should call someone, maybe animal control? It may be rabid.”

  “She is not rabid – she was just startled by our appearance.”

  “She?”

  “Ah, the cat. I think of felines as being feminine.”

  “Oh.”

  He leaned over stiffly, setting the soup down on the coffee table with a spoon and napkin, and placing her noodle dish beside it closed to retain the heat. He quickly pulled back his hands but not before she noticed the scarring across the back of his hand and lumps on his wrist.

  “My hands are clean.” He quickly said, embarrassment heating his tone slightly.

  “I know; it didn’t even cross my mind.” She sincerely meant it, and instead of the pity and fear he had received for too many years to count, she merely made a statement with no undertones or lies, but with compassion and respect.

  Mason didn’t reply but instead retrieved his box that had been left on the counter and opened it, gathering the plastic utensils that had come in the bag. Sitting gingerly on the living room chair, he spread a napkin open on his lap and began to eat like a man who indeed was not used to a sharing a meal.

  Sarah ate, keeping quiet as the hot soup worked its magic, calming her throat and warming her body. When she finished and opened her dinner, she decided to break the silence.

  “So, you never told me. How do you know so much about Boston’s history? Did you grow up here in the South End?”

  “No.” At first she thought he wasn’t going to say anything further but almost as an afterthought he added, “But that’s a long story. I have lived here for a long time.”

  “Well, you seem really knowledgeable about the area and if you wouldn’t mind, I might run some more stuff by you to get your take on it. You might have some more color you can add like the park area earlier.”

  Mason stirred his food and nodded. Taking another bite and glancing up at the television.

  “I hope you don’t mind. It’s just. . . .” How would she describe what she wanted to say? She felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, like she knew something but didn’t quite know it at all. She looked down at her noodles in confusion.

  “Just?”

  Sarah turned and looked at Mason sitting on the chair, the light from the kitchen behind him casting a shadow and the television glow illuminating the better side of his face. She didn’t see the man she knew was there, but saw a young man with brilliant sea blue eyes.

  “It’s just . . .” Tilting her head, her straight blond hair fell over her right shoulder, brows furrowing as the words she had thought she was going to say about leveraging his Boston experience turned into “I feel I can trust you.”

  “Trust?”

  “Um, yeah? Why did I say that? I feel like I know you, although I really don’t know anything about you, but I just feel . . . safe.”

  Mason sat back in the chair, looking oddly perplexed which confused Sarah even more. She thought she should explain more but didn’t know what to say to clarify her strange and sudden admission. Was it that the cat really scared her that badly?

  “I’m sorry. It’s probably that I am just glad you were here when Midnight, er . . . the cat, acted a little crazy.”

  “I would be very interested in knowing something, Miss Carter.”

  “Sarah.”

  “Yes, Sarah, I am wondering if the house or the apartment might be why you feel safe.”

  She thought about this question and realized that was true. "I do feel at home here. Ever since the first day when Mrs. Casey showed me the apartment, I had a feeling that this was the only place right for me here in Boston. Not that I looked at any other apartments to compare it to.” She chuckled a little at herself and her lack of comparison shopping, but stopped quickly when the laugh turned into a cough. “I saw this apartment and felt it was perfect, like it was meant to be. Does that make sense?”

  “Actually, I think it does.” Mason picked up his napkin and stood up slowly, leaning on the arm of the chair to steady and push himself up.

  “Thank you for allowing me to stay. You have my number if you need anything.”

  Sarah stood to walk him to the door. As he turned the handle, it looked like something occurred to him and he hesitated. “Not that I think the cat will pose you any cause to be concerned for your safety, if it hasn’t returned its owners have probably taken it back in, but you may want to close your bedroom door and stay on the couch tonight. Just to avoid being woken with its cries to come in and get warm.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thank you, Mason.”

  “Good night, Sarah.”

  She closed the door behind him and turned the lock, hearing him limp off slowly down the stairs. Sarah crossed over to her bedroom and shut the door before using the bathroom to clean up for the night. She was hoping to get some sleep and an early start tomorrow so she could be home for Christmas Eve.

  She pulled off the hoody she was wearing and got back on the couch in her t-shirt and sweats. The sky was still clear and she wondered if the snow they predicted by morning would take a turn to the south and avoid Boston.

  The medicine helped induce a quick, deep sleep where Sarah dreamed of being with Lisa in the park wearing long dresses and sweeping hairstyles and drinking lemonade.

  Mason

  Chapter 14

  Mason descended the marble stairs slowly to the lobby, checking the lock on the front door and then pulling his tired body to the backdoor exit to make sure the safety was on. Pausing by the window, he looked out at the snow drifts and watched as the wind blew and swirled the light snow on top. He was looking for footprints but had a feeling if there had been any the wind would have surely smoothed them out by now.

  Mason returned to his apartment. Opening the door, he realized how exhausted he was from the work of shoveling followed by two visits to the top floor and the emotional drain of the cat and Sarah. The absence of sound, save for the grandfather clock ticking away the never ending stream of seconds was also a stark contrast to Sarah’s apartment. The conversation, especially with her, and th
e television being on in the background was all a little too much and he felt comforted now by the peaceful solitude.

  Sarah was a problem. He had suspected it since last October, but was surprised to find that he almost welcomed the conundrum. He was so very tired of living alone this way and it was nice to have someone accepting him, looking beyond his disfigured shell of a body. It hadn’t been that way for a long time, when he had his adopted family around him and they saw him as he was. Granted, he had become worse with time and much worse since they all died.

  Mason moved around the apartment, checking windows and locks. Feeling thankful they had not lost power but cursing himself for not asking if she had more than candles to light. Briefly he toyed with the idea of bringing her a flashlight, however, he decided he was worrying too much and put the extra flashlight back.

  What was really worrying him was the cat. Throwing itself against the glass had been surprising, but the glass held and did not crack. He doubted the cat could get in, but what would it do if it did? If the cat returned, and he was convinced she would eventually, he wanted to be there. He did not like leaving Sarah alone two floors up but her closing the bedroom door gave him some measure of solace.

  Entering his bedroom, the shades and curtains already drawn as they were every day and night to avoid anyone from seeing in, he removed his clothes. As he pulled the thermal long sleeve shirt off over his head he noticed his right shoulder, typically gnarled and stiff, was less distorted and the boils had subsided somewhat. Moving closer to the vintage mirror on the beautiful antique bureau, Mason tried to get a good look at his back. It looked the same, with welts and boils and the hump over his left shoulder blade.

  Trudging heavily into the bathroom he ran the water until steam filled the small room. Stepping into the shower, he felt his knotted muscles start to loosen and thought again about the conversation he had with Sarah. Hopefully she would be able to go home tomorrow and get out of the building but that really won’t solve anything – she would eventually come back and he was fairly certain the wheels had already been set into motion.