Turned

A writer is haunted by her past. My submission for the May writing competition

Turned

          Judy Wood was as average as they come. Mid sixties and happily married to a man named Mike.

         Sad Beige Mom

          That's what they called people like her online. She didn't care. She was content to spend her days in a calm, minimalist environment. They called her other things online too. Things she felt were unfair, but she was just speaking her mind. That was a good thing, wasn't it? she thought. Apart from that, in her mind she was average. Average Judy Wood.

          The events of her life that were to follow were far from average, however. For Judy Wood had a secret that she would take to her grave. Something no amount of beige would ever undo or hide.

          Memories have a way of watching you; remembering what you've done.

          "I'm off babe," Mike said, hugging her from behind. She reached up and patted his arm. "Don't spend all day arguing, okay? I've got my work, you've got yours." He gave her a stern look.

          Judy nodded, wiggling in her office chair, and closed some of the million tabs she had open. "Closin' Twitter, openin' the book, babe." Judy still called it Twitter; she would never change.

          "That's my girl." He gave her another kiss, and made his way to work.

          Judy leaned back on her chair. She craned her neck, checking the coast was clear, then reopened the website formally known as Twitter.

          Several arguments later, Judy became aware of the time. Kicking herself she turned back to the word document and stared at the blank page for a while. In the end, she admitted; she wasn't getting anywhere and resolved to make coffee.

          Five minutes later she was looking at a blank screen, the mug warming her hands. Something caught her attention. In the corner of her eye; a flicker on the surface of the drink. It was almost as if ... No, she couldn't have seen that. Although, an idea began to form.

          What was the name of it? she wondered. A few Google searches later, and she had a name for her book. Pareidolia—Seeing things that aren't really there; familiar things like faces on cars, or Jesus on your toast. Yes, that would work. A small town plagued by something seen and unseen. She began typing feverishly. First a hundred words, then a thousand. Before she knew it, she was weaving the tale as fast as cloth. She felt this was a winner, and who cared if some of her fans had turned on her? This one was for those that stuck around.

          Within an hour or two, the first few chapters were done. She even had a rough ending floating in the back of her mind. She took a sip of her bitter, lukewarm coffee, zooming out to look at the manuscript; like a sculptor admiring their handiwork.

          The title Pareidolia stood boldly on the screen—the doorway to a new, unlocked realm. That's when things began to change. The 'o' in Pareidolia seemed to vibrate like it was glitching; pixels moving ... jittering. Judy attempted to rub the nonsense from her eyes, pushing her glasses up her forehead. Looking again, there it was, twitching. She scrolled the page a little to see if that would fix it—but no—the twitch remained.

          Without warning, a sound like a whispered exhale seeped into the room.

          "WHO'S THERE?!" She swivelled round in her desk chair, threatening to knock the mug clean off the table. For what felt like an eternity passed, as Judy stayed frozen in place, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. Whatever it was, it must have left. Or maybe it was the wind, or in her head?

          She did a quick circuit around the house, checking she was truly alone, before returning to her desk and carrying on with the story. The 'o' had stopped moving.

***

          "I just don't see what the big deal is, Jude," Mike said, laying on his side while staring at his wife.

          She lay next to him, staring at her phone, ignoring him while frantically tapping away on her phone. "The big deal is," eyes firmly fixed to her screen, "my rights! All women's rights are being eroded by this stupid ideology."

          "But you've given so much to the world. I just worry, y'know, maybe you're taking this a bit too far?" Mike said, caressing her shoulder.

          "Typical," Judy replied, "that's what you are. I don't want to grow up in a world where my daughter could be watched in her own changing room by—"

          She was about to finish her thought, when another intruded. Conspiracies have a way of interweaving with others. In the message boards she frequented instead of writing, she'd seen posts about covering your phone's camera to keep the deep state from watching you. That's what stalled her; it wasn't the camera lens on her phone itself but something about it. For a brief moment, she noticed something in the lens—it blinked. Moreso, the blink of an eye, bright blue, just for a moment. An eye she had seen before. An eye she had tried to forget.

          "You alright?" Mike asked, shaking her back to bed.

          She shook the memory away. "Yeah, just seeing things I guess."

***

          Her story was taking shape, as she constructed the climax of the second act. Writing the scene where a gruesome murder had taken place; the villagers, driven mad by visions of demons and hellfire in everything around them. She finished the sentence and hit the period key.

          Looking at her work, a pang of fear vibrated through her. She thought back to that night. It dawned on her, she was using that night to write what she knew. It hadn't been her fault though. She hadn't killed the girl. Man, she corrected herself. Boy... confused boy. Really it had been a kindness, hadn't it?

          The period wobbled on the screen, and then did something indescribable. Slowly, it turned—not in three dimensions, but a fourth. To Judy's horror the eye blinked at her, looking into her soul.

         "Youuuuuu ... "

          The sound reverberated off the walls, unmistakably present. She shot out of her chair in terror, the mug wasn't spared this time as it crashed to the floor. Those eyes ... those were her eyes ... his eyes, she corrected herself, letting out a scream.

          The voice continued, "... watched me."

          "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Judy yelled, as the door slammed open. She feared the worst, turning round. To her relief, it was Mike.

          "What's going on? Are you okay?"

          She turned back to the monitor, the period still ... unmoving; the presence had left.

          "I ... yes ... something came over me. I'm fine."

          Mike looked at his wife skeptically. "Fine? Like 'a beloved character in my book just died' fine? Or fine, like your parent's getting a divorce fine?"

          "Fine," she responded. Usually, she shared everything with him, but she would never tell him about that night.

***

          By the time evening rolled around, she was still rattled from the voice—the eyes. She looked in the bathroom mirror; toothbrush in hand. The small, round mirror, bordered with rope, made to look like a ship's porthole.

          The twitch. The mirror turned.

          It was happening again. She clasped her mouth to stifle a scream, as her fears were realised. This time, it wasn't just the eyes, but the entire face. The same sick-of-sin face that stared at her all those months ago. Pale and feminine; mascara streaked from tears. Blood seeping into her foundation. The vision stayed transfixed on Judy. She lowered her hand, face to face with her past.

          "Leave me alone," she pleaded.

          The response from the face came slowly and rattled, choking. "The ... way ... you ... left ... me?"

          The grandfather clock from the bedroom chimed as she let out a squeal despite herself.

          "You okay!?" Mike's voice came from the bedroom.

          The bathroom returned to normal. The face in the mirror—Alice's face—was gone, replaced by her own. Keeping eye contact with herself, she backed out of the bathroom.

          "No," she admitted to him and herself.

***

          Judy became a shell of herself. Locked up in her room; writing the last part of her book. Away from screens; even away from Mike most of the time. She thought back to that night.

          The 'Circle', that's what the group had called themselves when they made her an honorary member. Her acolytes, kissing the ground she walked on when she attended the meeting. But that night—that night—something went horribly wrong.

          There were protesters outside; yelling and fury became them. That wasn't the part of the night she wanted to forget. It was after the meeting. They'd known lunatics had been siding with them. Some of the 'Circle' even suggested they distance themselves, fearing it would hurt the cause. On some level, perhaps, she knew the real reason they didn't want to.

          The street had been empty, save Judy and the young protestor, Alice—idealistic and naive. That's when the man appeared from the shadows, crowbar in hand. Before she knew it, the girl lay dying at her feet, staring at Judy with those blue horrid eyes. Sweet sad eyes, she corrected herself.

***

          "Comin' in babe." Mike backed into the bedroom, holding a Sunday dinner. "Tried my best but I'm rubbish at cookin'."

          Judy sat on the bed staring at the meal in silence.

          "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he said, turning from the room.

          As Mike left, Judy feared what was about to happen, realising what he brought into the room.

          The plate turned.

          There was no delay this time. The connection, or whatever you call it, reached full signal. Alice's gargled voice filled her ears. "You watched me die, Judy. You stood there and you watched me die. Now, I will watch you ... forever. The circles will watch you until you die."

          Judy launched the plate off the bed, shattering it to pieces.

          The grandfather clock chimed as the face turned, the chimes replaced with her voice. "Watched me die, watched me die, watched me die."

         Judy gripped the edges of the clock, bringing the antique crashing to the ground. The ring light on her desk turned—showing Alice's bloody visage. The glass tumbler. The lipstick tube. The can, the money on her desk, the tape. Everywhere. She was everywhere. Judy had to get rid of the circles. She had to get rid of them all.

          Hearing the noise, Mike bolted up the stairs, flinging the door open. Judy was bent double—hands drenched in blood—broken glass encircling her. "JUDY!" He rushed to her, kneeling down, broken glass slicing his shins. He cradled her in his arms, forehead on hers. "You need help. Please. I don't want to lose you."

          That was it! she thought. That was the answer. She couldn't remove the world, but she could remove herself from it. She grabbed Mike's shoulders, blood seeping from her hands into his white shirt. "I do ... I need help, Mike. Help me get help."

***

          Several months passed. It was decided Judy Wood would receive professional treatment in a controlled environment.

          Judy leaned back on the padded wall, laughing to herself. Sure, the world thought she was mad but at least she was safe. Those eyes couldn't find her here, not a circle in sight. There was a knock at the door.

          A nurse entered the room. "Hi Judy; dinner time."

          Cheesy pasta and jelly on a partitioned, plastic, tray. For the first time since that night, she felt like eating; comforted she could enjoy her meal in peace.

          "Thanks," Judy said, looking toward the kindly nurse. The smile dropped, realising she had overlooked the obvious.

          "What's wrong, Judy? You alright?"

          The nurse's blonde curls framed her tired face and bright blue eyes. Judy recoiled in horror.

          The nurse's pupils turned.