The Lord of the Curtain

by Billy Phillips

  Harry’s shoulders drooped, and his eyebrows arched. “Oh my! Please accept my apology. Have we ever met?”

  Derek smiled. “If you danced at the wedding of Evelyn and Harold in London way back when, then most probably we have.”

  Harry extended a handshake. “Unfortunately we didn’t make the trip to England at that time. Anyway, a pleasure to meet you.” Harold turned to his wife, who was still seated in the car. “Look, Cordelia, the great-uncle of Caitlin and Natalie.”

  “Call him ‘gruncle,’” Caitlin chirped.

  Cordelia extended an arm out the window and shook Uncle Derek’s hand.

  “We were worried there for a moment. Please come on back to the house,” Harry added. “We’ll have a late-night cup of tea and get acquainted.”

  Derek smiled gratefully. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late. I got here only a few hours ago. Still need to find a motel and get—”

  Harry raised his hand, cutting him off. “Nonsense—you’re staying the night with us. And I won’t take no for answer.” Uncle Derek glanced over at Cousin Cordelia. She nodded emphatically. He looked at Caitlin, who shrugged. Derek looked at the group and said, “Well, okay then. Much obliged.”

  “Hop in the back seat,” Harry said as he got back in the car. Caitlin and Uncle Derek exchanged looks. Caitlin unwrapped the shawl-scarf from her shoulders and handed it back to Derek, who had opened the rear car door for her.

  He whispered, “That’s one far-out tale ya told. Let’s continue this conversation in the morning.”

  * * *

  The clock read 11:37 p.m. by the time Caitlyn and her cousins (Natalie was at the house already, tidying up), and Uncle Derek got back to the house. Cordelia made up the spare room for Uncle Derek. Caitlin was beyond tired. Uncle Derek definitely seemed jet-lagged.

  The winds had picked back up. They howled outside as they swept the lawns, tossing up leaves and strumming tree branches.

  To Caitlin, it felt cozy to be indoors. She was excited to snuggle under her comforter. She would wait till morning to bring up the subject of moving back to London with her uncle.

  Everyone exchanged good nights and retired to their rooms.

  As she had done every night since her dad’s passing, Caitlin thought of her dad and mom and cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  At 3:17 a.m., Caitlin was out like a light, deep in slumber.

  A hand firmly cupped her mouth, waking her with a jolt.

  A strange older man was staring at her!

  What the—

  His index finger pressed softly against his mouth. He muttered, “Shhhh!”

  Her heart drummed in her chest.

  If he were a burglar, he wouldn’t have wakened her. If he were a serial killer, he would have killed her already. He had done neither. He had wakened her softly. And so Caitlin didn’t try to struggle or scream—yet.

  “Please listen,” he whispered. “I’m here to help. You’re in grave danger.” He lifted his hand from her mouth. “The young lad Jack sent me to fetch ya.”

  Jack?

  “Who are you?” Caitlin asked.

  “I’m your great-uncle, Derek Blackshaw. The real Derek Blackshaw.”

  CHAPTER Twelve

  The man claiming to be Caitlin’s authentic uncle slowly lifted his hand from her mouth.

  “You must leave this house quickly, I tell ya. Before he wakes.” There was pleading in his eyes. “His power is unearthly.”

  The stranger’s demeanor radiated a soulful gentleness, the only thing keeping Caitlin from fainting from the shock of his sudden presence in her room.

  “Ya must listen,” he said with great urgency. He spoke with a British accent. “Ya saw me last when you was three years old. I don’t expect ya ta remember. But if ya don’t trust me now, you and your little sister will share the same fate as yer mum and dad.”

  The old man handed her a picture. “That’s you, in yer mum’s arms. You were eight months old. Now pack up, Caitlin, and let’s shove off.” Indeed, it was Caitlin’s mom holding baby Caitlin. Caitlin also knew this photo well. She’d seen it dozens of times growing up.

  The blood in her veins iced over as she suddenly considered the other man, the other Derek Blackshaw, asleep in the next room. He had been so convincing. She had to know.

  “Who’s the other man sleeping in this house?”

  “Lord knows. A living human being he’s not,” the new Derek Blackshaw replied. “And he’s most definitely not me.” He checked his watch. “Hurry! Fetch a suitcase, and pack only what ya need.”

  “But what about Cousin Cordelia and Cousin Harry?”

  “He’s got no interest in them. It’s you he’s after.”

  Caitlin’s left eye narrowed to a slit. “What was the family surname before it was changed to Blackshaw?”

  New Derek Blackshaw froze. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me.”

  He tugged at his face impatiently and said, “No time for this, Caitlin Rose—not if ya want ta live. Name was Thatch. Now hop to it, before he wakes.”

  Caitlin’s exhaled. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “Rendezvous. With Jack. The one who told me ta fetch ya.”

  Natalie squirmed under her duvet, then popped out from underneath.

  “What’s going on?” she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Those sleepy eyes quickly widened when she saw the strange man at Caitlin’s bedside.

  “Nat, don’t freak out. This is our real uncle, Derek Blackshaw. You’ll have to trust me on this, because there’s no time. Listen to him while I pack up our things.”

  New Uncle Derek exhaled a big breath as Natalie stared groggily at him. Caitlin quickly tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

  She opened a closet door a crack. She winced when it creaked loud enough to wake up all of Southern California. She leaned down toward the wretched, squeaking hinge and drooled a gob of saliva on it to oil the pins. She tried opening the door again. Sweet silence.

  She swung it open and reached her arm in, pushing aside coats and sweaters. Grabbed a suitcase handle. Carefully pulled it out, mindful not to knock one of the wooden coat hangers to the hardwood floor.

  A toilet flushed in the bathroom down the hallway, just a few feet away.

  He’s up!

  Which meant he’d be out any second. One suitcase would have to do.

  Caitlin scurried as soft as a mouse back to her bedroom, then closed the door behind her soundlessly. Her window was wide open, the sheer curtains flapping in the night’s breeze. Natalie and Uncle Derek had already slipped out the window. She had to hurry.

  Caitlin rummaged through the dresser drawers, packing clothes and undies for her and Natalie. Then she whipped on her clothes.

  The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed in the hall.

  He’s out!

  Caitlin’s heartbeat hammered like a staple gun.

  She made a beeline to the window and hoisted her suitcase onto the sill, where she noticed flecks of paint were peeling off. As she shoved her luggage out the window, the bedroom door flung open.

  “Caitlin!”

  She turned and swallowed hard to prevent her heart from leaping out of her mouth.

  The impostor Derek Blackshaw stood in the doorway, his ragged face twisting in anger!

  The knot in her throat was cutting off her air supply.

  Derek stormed into the room. She was about to scream bloody murder when the rumble of a van engine shot through the window. Derek marched right past her and leaned his tall rock-’n’-roll frame out into the dark.

  “Christ almighty, someone has just snatched Natalie!”

  Caitlin’s mouth fell open. She leaned back against the wall, pressing a closed fist firm against her quivering lips.

  How could I h
ave been so stupid, gullible, and naive?

  Uncle Derek placed his hands firmly on Caitlin’s shoulders. “Better tell me what’s going on, young Cait!”

  All she could do was jam her fist harder against her mouth. The world seemed to crumble around her.

  First that inhuman creature had taken her mom. Then her dad. He’d almost taken Caitlin away from Uncle Derek a minute ago. And now he had taken the last living being

  on Earth still dear to Caitlin’s heart—part of her blood and soul.

  He abducted Natalie.

  And it only happened because Caitlin had left her kid sister all alone with that monster.

  Natalie’s face was imprinted on her brain, seared into heart. The poor kid had appeared confused when she first woke up and saw that strange person in their bedroom. But the little twerp with the big brain suddenly also had a very rare look upon her face: innocence. And trust. Trust in her big sister, who had vowed to always hug and hold her whenever she wanted.

  Caitlin’s eyes welled up. Then she—

  CRASH!

  Was that the window by the front door?

  A foul odor swept into the bedroom—the ammonia-like smell of earthworms writhing in the rain.

  “They’re coming for me!” Caitlin cried.

  Derek pushed Caitlin toward the open window. “Run, young Cait! I’ll stay and watch over Harry and Cordelia. Go now!”

  She grabbed her phone, opened an app, and tapped buttons.

  Two minutes—thank God!

  Caitlin scrambled out the window and hit the ground running. The temperature had dropped. She flew across the front lawn and ran up the center of the dark, bare road.

  Her legs pumped, and she breathed hard as the street sharply inclined. The Santa Ana winds had picked up, buffeting her, making it difficult to gain speed. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes glued to the road ahead.

  High winds dusted up leaves and debris. Palm fronds fell to the road.

  A terrible sound tore through the dark night.

  A throaty and primal shrill carried on the wind.

  The unearthly scream weakened her legs. She prayed the hard-driving winds were slowing down whoever—or whatever—was coming for her.

  She approached an intersection. The cross street sloped downward. This was tempting. But she purposely sprinted

  up the same rising road. A gust of wind propelled her

  forward.

  She fell to the pavement, but broke the fall with her hands, scraping her palms bloody. She got back up. Galloped onward . . .

  She checked her phone.

  Less than thirty seconds.

  She passed a second intersection. A blast of wind almost sent her into orbit.

  Headlights finally appeared up ahead.

  Uber!

  She waived frantically. The vehicle pulled alongside her and stopped. She jumped in the back. “Turn around and drive the other way!” she shouted. “Someone’s chasing me!”

  The driver, a young Asian male in his early twenties—who she noticed was kinda cute—turned to Caitlin with suspicious eyes. He then turned back and looked out his front windshield.

  Tall, dark shapes. Six. Maybe seven. Men? In long coats? Flying upright? Pursuing the car. Their garments flapped wildly in the wailing winds.

  The driver needed no more convincing. He slammed the gas pedal. The car managed a 180-degree turn at a hellish speed and screeched off in the opposite direction.

  Caitlin turned back and stole a look through the rear window.

  Her injured hand left blood prints on the backrest. The road was empty.

  Yes!

  Oh no—

  The dark shapes were back on the hunt. Gaining.

  “Faster!” she screamed.

  The car made a hard right. Rubber squealed. “I’m trying,” the driver said, “These winds are fighting the car.”

  Caitlin looked back. They were opening up a greater distance. The terrible shrieks seemed to be fading.

  The driver glanced back at Caitlin. “Where you going?”

  “Just drive. If they catch me, they’ll kill me.”

  The driver’s knuckles were white.

  He made a sharp left. Screeeeech!

  The car barreled past a half dozen intersections. Then a sharp right turn. Then another. Caitlin checked behind her. The dark shapes were back on her trail.

  How are they moving?

  She chewed her thumbnail. She knew the driver couldn’t drive like this forever. Eventually the car would run out of gas.

  More shrills split the air. An unholy symphony of savage howls.

  The car turned left. Right. Another right. Then a left.

  Caitlin suddenly saw it.

  Her eyebrows rose like two exclamation marks.

  The forest. The polished black gate.

  From her recurring dream.

  She screamed, “Stop the car!”

  The brakes slammed. The vehicle skidded to a halt. Caitlin pushed open the door. She slipped out. “Drive!” she shouted before slamming the door closed. The car sped off into the windswept night.

  She hid behind some bushes, watching. . . .

  Yes!

  The dark shapes flew right past her, still in pursuit of the car.

  Flew?

  Caitlin’s eyes shot across the road to the black iron gate leading into the forest. But this wasn’t a forest like Zeno’s Forest where she could transport herself across time and space in an instant. In fact, it wasn’t a forest at all.

  The place was Forest Lawn Cemetery.

  In Glendale, California.

  And someone she didn’t recognize, dressed fashionably in white, was standing by the black-gated entrance as if waiting for her.

  CONFIDENTIAL TRANSCRIPT OF

  CAITLIN’S SECOND THERAPY SESSION

  Dr. Kyle:I believe I have a comprehensive understanding of the universe you’ve constructed in your mind.

  Caitlin:It wasn’t in my mind. It was real. It happened.

  Dr. Kyle:Tell you what—let’s put aside all debate over whether or not this was an actual experience or a far-fetched flight of imagination. I’m more interested in the particulars of how this helped you—and some of your contemporaries that you shared your story with—cope with the tribulations of anxiety and OCD. I’d like to suggest some deep hypnotherapy.

  Caitlin:I’m uncomfortable with that idea. Besides, you’ll never hypnotize me. I’m not a willing subject.

  Dr. Kyle:A small, painless injection of sodium pentothal has delivered extraordinary results in patients dealing with trauma and repressed memories. I’ve used it on a number of patients.

  Caitlin:You want to stick a needle in me? Never! And let you inside my head? You’re drea—Ouch! What’s going on? You had no right to stick that syringe in me.

  [Pause on tape]

  Dr. Kyle:How do you feel, Caitlin?

  Caitlin:Calm. Happy. A bit sleepy.

  Dr. Kyle:I’m now going to take you into a deep state of hypnosis, so please listen to my voice carefully. Is that all right?

  Caitlin:Yes.

  Dr. Kyle:Do I have your permission?

  Caitlin:Yes.

  [Pause on tape]

  Dr. Kyle: Before we begin, I want to make it clear that you will retain no memory of receiving the injection prior to this session. Is this well understood?

  Caitlin:Yes.

  Dr. Kyle:Excellent. Let’s begin. I’m inclined to believe that the alleged zombie phenomenon that you’ve described has been a distraction. It’s utterly irrelevant to your underlying issues. It is nothing more than a subliminal, unnecessary, psychogenic fabrication resulting from an excessive glut of zombie content on the telly, in the cinema, and in mass media. Do you agree with my professional opinion?

/>   Caitlin:No. I believe that you are using that opinion as a distraction for your own self-denial because the truth frightens you. It lies outside the box that is your rational mind.

  Dr. Kyle:Nurse, another injection—twenty-five milligrams.

  [Pause on tape]

  Dr. Kyle:What role does the fairy-tale zombie play in regard to your mental and emotional well-being and the fears that have afflicted you?

  Caitlin:Maybe the fairy-tale universe is symbolic of the imagination, the human mind, and the characters correlate to our thoughts and desires. Specifically, the princess and prince characters might embody our true inner self and our deepest aspirations in life. The decay of these characters into relentless, flesh-eating ghouls might refer to the negative thoughts and relentless pessimism that hinder our dreams and stop us from realizing our full potential. Perhaps the fact that iconic fairy-tale characters are rendered as relentless zombies may be an allusion to the negative thoughts that attack us daily, trying to devour our happiness and destroy a well-balanced state of mind.

  Dr. Kyle:In your psychoanalytical scheme that you’ve just laid out, what role does the one you’ve identified as the Enchanter, or Lord of the Curtain, play?

  Caitlin:Perhaps the Lord of the Curtain refers to the hidden root of these negative thought attacks. Which might be our very own incessant selfishness, or, as my baby sister has pointed out—narcissism. I believe we live in a materialistic world because the soul has been sucked out of us by this incessant self-centeredness. For some of us, this manifests as fear, anxiety, and panic; for others, it becomes blind ambition, a quest for popularity, and indulgent self-gratification. But the common denominator behind all of this is that it’s always about me instead of being about someone else. In truth, everyone is miserable most of the time. Even though they work 24/7 in their pursuit of happiness,

  they only achieve it maybe ten percent of the time.

  Dr. Kyle:And what does the color spectrum symbolize? How can it help us?

  Caitlin:It represents this whole dynamic as it relates to human nature and our character. The violet represents our highest aspirations. The red is our relentless desire to feed our selfishness, whether that expresses itself as fear or unending, blind ambition. The only way out of our misery is the green color, representing the willpower to resist selfishness—the red color and its constant focus on the me. The self. When we become fixated on the me, we are enslaved to the red, and we become as mindless as a zombie. The zombie phenomenon occurring in our culture is likely a reflection of these unwanted fears, insecurities, and anxieties that swallow us. It’s a subconscious recognition of our addiction to selfishness and the red side of our nature. I believe we find our soul, we find our humanity, when we resist the redder angels for the better angels. No resistance against the red robs us of our soul. And without a soul, without consideration for someone other than ourselves, we become the living dead. Because life on Earth only occurs through pure sharing, as evidenced by the sun that ceaselessly shares its light—and therefore life—with our planet. In simple terms, when we get busy helping others, the violet end of the spectrum gets busy with us.