Jinxed: A Paranormal Why Choose Standalone
Jinxed: Chapter 14

Ithink I had always been looking for more, since the very beginning. Maybe it was why I was always so desperate for love. Something tangible to cling to. Something that would never leave me. Because love was unconditional, right? True love didn’t judge, or however the phrase went. So true love was what I was searching for, from the youngest age I could remember. Something bigger than I was, bigger than life. Love had to be more.

And so I set off on my young life, searching for love in every nook and cranny possible. I was seven the first time I kissed a girl. I expected it to set off fireworks and emotions like never before. But it didn’t really feel all that different from when I had practiced on my arms in the bathroom at home. It was missing something. That more factor. Lightning and sparks, fuel to keep me alive.

Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe even at seven years old, Suzy from down the street was destined to be a terrible kisser. Despite my lackluster first attempt, I kept kissing girls. I figured it would get better eventually.

I don’t remember how old I was when I realized maybe the girls weren’t the problem. I was.

The first time I fell in love was 1946 and I was sixteen. A clerk at the grocery store, with the most dazzling smile. Your first love is something else, isn’t it? I had kissed dozens of girls by this point, but this was different. This was more. This was love. Of course, there was no possible way for us to be together forever, but I still dreamed about it at night. What our life would be like. For an entire summer, I kept offering to go back to the grocery store whenever my mom forgot something. My hand was on the door before she could even get money from her purse, laughing before she’d send me out for milk or eggs or whatever she needed that day.

James. He was the checkout clerk at the Piggy Wiggly, and he was twenty years old.

I didn’t consider myself to be different, as I heard my mom speaking about other kids in the neighborhood she heard rumors about.

I liked girls. I liked kissing them. Dating them.

I just also happened to like boys. Boys like James, with clean-cut looks, and smiles that stopped my heart. Unlike my mother, I didn’t think anything about me was off.

Eventually the summer ended, and James went back to college, and the memories of my first love faded away. But the feelings of what it would be like to have more never changed. They never left. As I took my first serious girlfriend to the movie, scenarios played in the back of my mind.

What if she sat on my left, and my boyfriend sat on my right?

I should’ve been drafted for the war, but being legally blind in my left eye meant I couldn’t serve my country. Another flaw in the eyes of “normal” society. Instead, I started college, and found myself checking out the football team–and their cheerleader girlfriends.

Who would be better kissers?

College ended, and I began to attend the weddings of my classmates and friends who had found love while at university. As usual, I was still alone, unable to hold down a girlfriend for longer than a few months. I was still looking for more, longing for something I was beginning to feel was impossible.

In 1952, fresh out of school, I moved back to my hometown, and landed a job as an accountant. It wasn’t a special job by any means, but I had long given up on special. It paid the bills, and that was the important part. Special was a dream, nothing more. I began dating a girl, a “nice” girl by my mother’s standards–Carol. And if I couldn’t be happy, at least she could be. There was absolutely no chemistry between us, and we had gone no further than a chaste kiss on the lips in the movies. But it was safe, and it would be a practical, reliable marriage. A proposal was imminent, a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and 1.5 perfect children. My future spread out before me, successful, bland, and absolutely nothing I wanted.

My father took me out for drinks one evening, “man to man.” He passed me my pint of beer, grinning at me like he had never done so before. I thought he was going to talk to me about my job, about how proud he was of me for my recent promotion. Instead he started talking about Carol.

“I’m so damn proud of you, son. At first, I wasn’t sure about you. But you’re a real man now, about to settle down with a real woman.” He took a long sip of his beer, still smiling. “Your mother and I would be honored to help you with whatever you need–an engagement ring, the wedding. You name it.”

I took a more reasonable sip of my own beer, mulling over what he had said. Something wasn’t sitting right with me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. “What do you mean by ‘real man’?”

He rolled his eyes, like he couldn’t believe that was what I was focusing on. “You always hear those stories about people who realize their kids are…different. That their romantic afflictions aren’t normal.”

By this point in my life, I understood what ‘those people’ were called, having attended a university far more open-minded than my hometown. “You mean gay?”

I knew what I was doing. I was goading him. My father and I had never had a solid relationship, but the moment it seemed like I was going to get married all of a sudden we were best friends? No thanks.

“Don’t start, Luther. Your mother and I are just happy you’ll have a nice, successful, normal life. That’s all.” He gave me a look that spoke more than his words, and I knew what he was saying.

Don’t ruin this for me. Act normal. Pretend to be happy.

I shook my head, draining my pint as fast as I could. My father watched in silence. I said nothing, and rose to my feet. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know when the wedding is.”

How had it taken me so long to realize my parents weren’t the good people I had always thought they were? My mom went to church every Sunday and made freezer meals for those who weren’t able to cook for themselves. My dad was always ready to give the shirt off his back to people in need. Except that night at the bar, I realized something. They were always willing to help, as long as the person was normal. Respectable. Abided by their moral code.

I went home and got drunk, figuring out ways to break things off with both Carol and my parents. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be normal anymore. I wanted to be myself.

Turns out, I didn’t have to make the decision, because fate had other plans. When I showed up at work the next day, we were called into a meeting to welcome the new transfer from the sister company. I shouldn’t have been surprised when James walked into the room, smiling at my bosses. He was older than he had been at the Piggy Wiggly, dressed like a man now, not a college kid in an apron, but even more handsome. When our eyes locked across the room, I realized I hadn’t been dreaming when I had thought we shared a connection.

He approached my desk and asked me to show him the ropes at lunch. I readily agreed, my heart already thumping. James was here, in front of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Things started out the same way all things do–slowly. We would share stories and jokes over lunch, always ready to team up for the more difficult jobs. I began to invite him over for dinner with me and Carol, our marriage proposal put on hold with my newfound friendship. Except it wasn’t a friendship, and never had been. It was an infatuation. James was the something more I never thought I could have. And now here he was, leaning over my shoulder more closely than he needed to, brushing my fingers when he passed me spreadsheets. And Carol was nothing more than a blip on my radar, something I needed to take care of from time to time.

One night we were working late at the office with another colleague, who had run out to pick up dinner. James sat next to me, our fingers stained with ink from the numbers that no longer made any sense. He stretched back, the chair creaking. I looked up from my work to see a curious expression on his face. I put down my pen as he opened his mouth. “If I’m being completely honest with you, Luther, I was surprised to see you with Carol.”

I smiled, looking down at my hands. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged, a broad shoulder stretching the limits of his dress shirt, our suit coats long since tossed over the chairs. “I guess I never really saw you settling down.”

I had played this game before. I knew how to read between the lines. The unspoken words hung between us. I never really saw you settling down with a woman.

I met his gaze, suddenly tired of games. I wanted more. I wanted James. “I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you at the Piggy Wiggly.”

James’s expression didn’t change. “I know.”

With those two simple words, he leaned the creaky office chair forward and pressed his lips against mine.

Emotions struggled for dominance in my brain. Shock. Pleasure. Worry. Love. Eventually I tossed them all to the side and kissed him back, throwing my arms around his neck as he did the same. I had kissed men before–stolen embraces in storerooms and closets, away from prying eyes. But this was different. This was James.

Of course, it was the same moment our colleague decided to return, the paper bag of sandwiches he held hitting the floor with a splat. I don’t know what I was expecting when he saw us together, but I guess you could say I was full of a foolish hope he wouldn’t care.

My boss called us both into his office the next day–separately. We were both let go. I had only a moment to lock glances with James as he was escorted out of the building. We both knew this was the end. It was too dangerous to try and replace ways to be together now that we were caught. Our town was too small to let something like this go. It was the last time I saw him, offering me a sad smile as he walked away from me forever.

Our town was also too small for Carol to not replace out. She threw a vase at my head as she screamed and ranted, telling me how I had ruined her. I was stupid to think she would’ve ever been okay with more.

My parents called me next, telling me not to bother coming home now that I couldn’t afford my apartment. I wasn’t their child anymore. They didn’t care to hear my explanation, or let me tell them how I felt, the emotions churning within me.

In the space of a few days, I had lost everything. My job, my future with the white picket fence and 1.5 perfect children. My family. My more. I couldn’t replace work in my town, not with everyone talking about me, and knowing exactly why I was let go. I packed everything that would fit in my small suitcase, and jumped on the next bus leaving town. I didn’t care where it was going as long as it was away.

I stopped when I ran out of money, praying I was far enough away to make a new life. About the same time I found the only job that would hire me without a single reference or connection–the post office.

I found a sense of comfort in being a postman. It was oddly satisfying to be connected to people in a way they couldn’t fathom. I had control over the information they received or didn’t receive. I could do what I wanted with it. I always delivered it unscathed though, as tempting as it was to see what was hidden in the unassuming brown paper envelope, or written in the thin white letter sealed with a red lipsticked kiss.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t outrun my past. I was an unmarried man with no connections to the town, and no interest in any of the women who threw themselves in my path. Of course, I couldn’t tell them I was looking for more than they could offer, so the rumors would start. And once the rumors started, I would leave.

A new town, a new post office, and a new life. This was the pattern my life took for the next two decades, until I ended up in the town outside of the woods. Forty-something with no family. No wife. No kids. No white picket fence. Just me, and a sack of letters and parcels. The only difference was this time, I liked this town. I liked the people. And the butcher reminded me of James. His wife would shoot me looks suggesting they both might be looking for more, too.

Before I could dig deeper, the rumors began again. The kids began their pranks, having heard their parents talk about me, trying to run me out of town themselves. This time, though, I wasn’t ready to leave. So when the mayor’s bratty son handed me a package addressed to the house everyone declared was haunted, I merely smiled. Later I would replace out that the house wasn’t on the postal routes anymore. But then, all I wanted was to know more about the handsome butcher and his pretty wife. I wanted to dig my feet into the earth, and settle down. A silly haunted house wasn’t going to stop me.

So maybe this was where I made my stand. With a package, and a dare. I’d set out to deliver the parcel, and bring a souvenir back for the kid. Something creepy from the decrepit house, something to show him I wasn’t afraid. I slid the box into my sack and waited until the rest of the mail for the day was delivered. The sun was still high in the sky when I set out on the small path out of town.

I knew where the house was–everyone did. Kids dared each other to enter the gated courtyard, closing their eyes for ten seconds while their friends ran and hid, leaving them alone in the silent woods. My footsteps kept me company as I walked, the package banging against my thigh in my nearly empty bag. I thought about what I would bring back for the asshole kid. A candlestick maybe, or a creepy portrait. I thought about his face when I handed him my trophy. I thought about my newfound life, and what the butcher and his wife were like behind closed doors.

I never once thought that I’d never leave the house again.