Death Day

For the past five years one of my family members has died on the day of their birthday. Today, or should I say tomorrow, it is to be my turn.

But let me digress for a few moments. I apologize for starting off this journal entry with such a strong, completely unbelievable first two sentences. The point of it was to garner your attention, but then I realized that this journal will not need to garner attention because it will be the diary of a dead girl. So, once more, I apologize. Although I think in a very logical manner, I’ve never been one to think things through.

My name is Valerie Dimes; call me Val for short. Before five years ago I had a nice, average, happy family. We were not the happiest family, but we had a normal healthy relationship with each other. I would argue with my brother sometimes, and my parents had the occasional quarrel as well. My grandpa, who also lived with us, was a gambler. Frequently he left the house with a large sum of money, and more frequently he would come back with nothing in his pocket.

In any case, back then we were happy. I might not have thought so at the time, but at least compared to where I am right now we were absolutely joyous.

I do not remember much of what was going on before that fateful day in April. I do remember my birthday was next week, and I was very excited to see what I would be getting for a present.

That’s the thing about my family I’d always found sort of funny: all of our birthdays were in April. Mine is April 22nd, my brother Sam’s is April 11th, my father’s is April 3rd, my mother’s is April 8th, and my grandfather’s is April 17th.

It was April 16th when my Grandfather burst in our front door in a cold sweat. He had a demeanor unlike anything I had seen before, and I knew right off the bat that was bad. Often he came home empty handed and would apologize to the family, but at least all of those times he had a smile on his face. I would never see his smile again.

He called the family to the living room and sat us all down. His face was completely solemn, causing my parents to exchange nervous looks.

“Dad,” my Mother spoke. “It’s alright if you’ve lost all the money. It’s not as though it’s the first time it’s happened….”

She obviously didn’t want him to keep that terrible face.

“No,” he replied immediately. “It’s much worse than that.”

He emptied his pockets which I suddenly noticed were jingling with change. There must have been thousands which were laid out onto the coffee table by the time he was finished.

“Did you steal this?” my Father spoke. “Tell the truth.”

“No, well, I won it in a gamble. It wasn’t just any gamble though. I was at one of those new shady places downtown near the flea market. At first the night had been pretty regular day of gambling. I was down to my last twenty when before I knew it I was at the high rollers table. Without thinking I put down my last twenty and the whole house as payment if I were the one to lose.”

My father gasped. Anger suddenly filled his eyes.

“Well you didn’t lose, did YOU?”

“I didn’t.”

His face perplexed back to normal.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m getting to that. Well, at the table I was at, there was a woman shrouded in a dark wool cloak. At first I was not sure it was a woman but when she spoke, I knew. She was dressed strangely, and only one thing came into mind. It was a gypsy, skilled in the art of black magic.

I tried not to pay her any mind. That’s when I realized how big the hand was. I realized that if I lost the hand our entire house would be gone. That is why I used some of the cards hidden under my sleeve for insurance. It worked like a charm and I won all this money.

Outside is where the real trouble begins. I was ready to head home to tell all of you the good news when the gypsy from before stopped me outside in the alleyway.

‘I know you cheated,’ she told me. ‘And because of that I have placed a curse upon your family. For the next five years everyone living upon your household will die on the day of their birthday.’”

When my Grandpa was done telling his story everyone stared at him crazily. Nobody, especially me, believed it. I had always been raised in a very logical manner, and there is no way I would believe in anything supernatural. I was only 12, but I had a good mind.

We encouraged him everything would be alright and sent him off to bed. A rank smell filled the night, and I remember having a strange dream.

The next morning when we tried to wake him up with a birthday breakfast he was dead.

There was nothing at all strange about the body. Because we could not afford someone to perform an autopsy report we buried him in the backyard that day. Our family was poor then, but soon enough we would get poorer.

Nobody in the family thought he had died from the curse. We had all assumed that because he had been getting on in years, and because the so-called ‘curse’ had made him excited that he had died from a heart attack. This was a foolish notion, looking back.

The next year had not been anything great. Even though Grandpa was no longer gambling, our financial troubles increased tenfold. The crops would not grow, Mother could not sell as much down in the market, and Sam was always off at the lake with some girl leaving me all alone.

On the night before my Father’s 43rd birthday we were running on very low income. He had come to us and told us that it would be perfectly acceptable that we do not buy a gift for him this year. My brother and I had talked about it and had chipped in our money together to buy Dad a new golf club.

We talked about how gleeful he would be when he woke up tomorrow. The curse hadn’t even crossed our mind.

When I woke up the next morning I was saddened to find out that my Father was dead and that he would never play with his new golf club.

This is when we started to put two and two together and linked Dad’s death to the curse. When his birthday had been nearing none of us even thought about the curse. Now that that it had happened two years in a row we started to be a bit more cautious.

While Sam and I could see that our mother obviously believed in the curse she never talked about it. She never had time. Since her husband had died she had been doing all she could to make sure her two children were still eating. She was miserable, working extra jobs, staying out late, and sometimes doing shady things downtown at the market.

Some days we would have scarcely more than a mouthful of food. Other days we got as much as 10 spoonfuls. Sam and I had to work at the local stores, dropping out of school eventually. In any case, it was hell compared to what had been just last year.

Before I knew it the day before Mother’s birthday had arrived. She was not pleased. After dinner she sat me and my brother down.

“I have something very hard to tell you kids.”

“Is it about the rent?” I questioned, stupidly. “If that’s the case I don’t mind working extra hours.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not going to be around tomorrow.”

“Why,” Sam and I questioned at the same time. It was not the right atmosphere to yell ‘jinx,’ that’s for sure.

“The curse which has killed your Father and Grandfather will soon get me. Tomorrow it is my turn to die. I wish…”

She could not finish her sentence and broke into tears. I wanted to go over to comfort her, but I was too scared. It was so….terrible….Even though I didn’t believe.

My Brother Sam stood up. Tears were not in his eyes, and the aura of fierce determination was prevalent around him.

“I’ll protect you,” he spoke coolly. “It’s a man’s promise.”

Well, I did not believe that Mother would die from the curse regardless. Even though the curse had happened two years in a row I was a firm believer in the logical. Santa Clause does not exist, neither does the Easter Bunny, nor do curses. I told myself this on more than one occasion; repeating it like a mantra on some nights.

My brother did not want our mother to die either. Sam told her that he would sit next to her on her bed and watch her breathing the whole the night. If she started not to breathe he would call the emergency room. With his long speech Sam gave my mother hope, and even assured her that she would not die that night.

I tried asking if I could stay up to protect her too. My mother denied me. She said that if the worst really did happen that she did not want me to see it.

That night I had a bad dream, and when I woke up I knew something was the matter.

The next morning she was dead.

My brother told me the story so many times during the next year. It haunted him. Sam told me he had waited with Mother the whole night, talking with her until two in the morning. At two in the morning she finally fell asleep, and my brother watched her breathe until five in the morning when the sun came up. After the sun came up my brother laid down for a second and mistakenly fallen asleep. When he had woken up our Mother was dead.

Sam blamed himself for her death.

When our Mother was pronounced dead a social worker came to our house and put us in a foster home for two weeks. They felt like two of the longest weeks ever, filled with snobby kids who did not accept any newcomers.

Sooner than I thought a family adopted us. They were a moderately wealthy old couple from the nice part of town. Surprisingly they were very nice, and for what felt like the longest time Sam and I ate well. We even resumed school. I did at least, Sam always ditched.

The next year Sam became very paranoid of the curse. We talked about it often, not calling the day our birthday, but instead naming it ‘deathday.”

Sam was paranoid, but determined to beat the curse. Using almost every second of his precious free time, he went looking for leads on the gypsy. More than once he had professed to me that he found her only to meet another dead end.

Our foster parents did not believe in the curse when he told them. Hell, even I didn’t really believe in the curse. I was still logical, still collected in my thoughts. As my brothers deathday came closer and closer I saw him slowly dismantle every security he had ever lived by. Paranoia struck his mind, and I could do nothing to help him.

The night before his death I prayed he would still be living. During that night I had a dream that he was still alive.

At least my brother was the first to be buried in a real gravesite. The autopsy reported that he had died from poison. Possibly from a bad piece of meat or some toxic chemicals which he had accidently swallowed.

Yeah right.

It was then that I really started to accept the curse. Some days I did not believe it and some days I was sure I was going to die. Most of the time I just ignored it completely, trying to live my life. I wasn’t like my brother who tried to beat fate.

What my brother did the previous year was foolish. Trying to destroy the curse would only make the inevitable death seem so much worse. In my case I just tried to enjoy the next year to the fullest.

So much has happened in the past year. I got to drive a car, go in an airplane, go on a vacation, and even get a boyfriend. It has been the perfect year of a teenage girl’s life, but I would give it up all in a heartbeat for my family back.

Up until two nights ago I had ignored the curse. Finally when I realized my deathday was just around the corner and I started thinking.

The curse is real. I finally admit it.

Tomorrow, or should I say tonight even, I will die. At the moment, there are no regrets. When I die I would like to be peacefully sleeping, like all my other family members did when they died. I’m not going to cry about it, and I’m going to peacefully accept it.

I would like to thank anyone who is reading this and my step parents. Over the last year you have shown me so much love since my brother has died and I really appreciate it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a nap to take.

End Journal Entry

Epilogue

I woke up to a sea of bright colors. The colors suddenly morphed into one and I could vaguely recognize the interior of my step parent’s bedroom.

Where am I? Is this a dream? I’m supposed to be dead.

I looked around. I was standing and fumbled a bit when I realized where I was. On the bed in front of me both of my step parents lay not breathing. I knew they were not breathing because I had seen the scene so many times.

“What’s going on?” I called out, “WHAT IN GODS NAME IS GOING ON?”

“The curse,” a voice behind me hissed.

I turned around to see an old decrepit woman in a black cloak. It was just as Grandpa had described five years ago. The image of the gypsy was exactly as I had imagined.

“Who are you,” I called. “What’s happening?”

“The curse my dear,” the gypsy said, cackling. “You committed it once more.”

What? I committed it?

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at your hands dear.” She let out a snarling laugh.

I turned down to look at my hands. I was still in my pajamas. On the fingertips of my hands there were white specks, which for a second looked like dust.

“What is this?” I asked once more. Then it came to me. “Is this….”

“Poison,” the gypsy finished. “From the same bag of poison you used to kill your Grandpa, Mother, Father, and Brother.”

“No,” I said. “That can’t be! I love them! I love them with all my heart!”

“Maybe so, but you were still the one to do it. Each year I came to your house and hypnotized you; making you commit a murder. A gypsy must keep her promises, and this way I only need to get my hands dirty with one death.”

I was overcome with anger. I ran through the doorway pushing the gypsy out of the way.

“It’s no use my dear! The phone lines are completely out, and your neighbors are incapacitated from the moment. I would have liked you to have committed suicide on your own after hearing this, but I suppose that I must commit a murder.”

She laughed at the sound of her own voice psychotically.

I ran to my room and quickly looked through the closet. Finally I found what I was looking for; the golf club Sam and I had gotten our Father for his birthday. It was still new as it had never been used in a game of golf.

Before I knew it, I lunged into my step parent’s room, and hit the gypsy over the head before she could do anything. She was old and oily and while I was beating her head into a pulp I wondered what she would have done to kill me. When I was finally done with her, the body in front of me did not resemble a body. Blood was strewn everywhere, across the walls, on the ceiling, and even upon my step parents who were only poisoned. The gypsy bled a lot, and the insides of her stomach made a vivacious fluid seep upon my hands. Under any other circumstances I would have instantly gagged.

It’s so easy to kill a human, I thought. No wonder I’ve done it four…..six times.

I brandished the golf club, and let out a cry. Why did everything have to turn out this way? Why couldn’t I have just died in my sleep like the rest of them?

No matter. I put my thoughts aside.

I had killed the gypsy who had set a curse upon my family, but I had not killed the evil witch who had murdered them harshly.

I walked over to the closet, took out a rope, and tied it into a noose.

The End!