The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1)

by Janice Tremayne

“If I go to see her today, I may not make it back to Manila on time to take you to the airport … everything would have to go exactly according to plan.”

  “I know what the traffic is like here and it’s unpredictable,” Harry said.

  Clarisse sat on the side of her bed and clasped her forehead. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Harry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and said, “Clarisse, don’t worry about me. You’re acting if it’s the last time you will see me. I suggest you go and see Marjorie in hospital. If you leave now, it will allow enough time to get back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. You have known her longer than me—I know how much she means to you.”

  “Thank you so much, Harry,” Clarisse sighed.

  “Call me and let me know how everything is … Promise?”

  “I promise …”

  Clarisse quickly got her belongings together and jumped into the first available cab for the bus terminal. The next bus was leaving in thirty minutes and time was of the essence.

  On the bus to her mother’s house, Clarisse had the jitters, butterflies in her stomach and felt restless. She wanted to be strong but was finding it difficult to cope. The man of her dreams was leaving tonight, and her much-loved friend was in the hospital recovering from a mystery illness. It could not have happened at a worse time, and she felt unlucky in love. There was always something waiting to happen, and every time she met someone special, another situation threatened to ruin it altogether. Perhaps that was the real superstition—a love-seeking curse to all the family members for generations to come.

  The bus trip went without a hiccup and upon arrival at the bus station, her uncle Pablo was waiting with the sidecar, ready to whisk her away to the hospital. He did not say too much about Marjorie and focused on getting her to the hospital quickly. Her uncle Pablo was a skilled driver and knew all the shortcuts to beat the traffic. He could cut off fifteen minutes on the average journey. Pushing his way through traffic with quick turns and a burst of acceleration, he would turn into alleyways and narrow streets to avoid the bottlenecks.

  Clarisse was used to the rollercoaster ride and would always hold on tightly to the metal frame of the sidecar to keep it steady. She would lean towards the side that her uncle Pablo was turning to help him with the momentum required as they worked in tandem to optimise the sidecar’s performance. It was a technique she learned at a young age, and although it had a practical use, she also enjoyed the challenge it provided.

  Upon arriving at the hospital, they walked briskly to the shared ward where Marjorie was resting. Her uncle Pablo struggled to keep up with her but waved her on. He did not want to slow Clarisse down due to his ageing legs and slower step.

  Clarisse swept past the nurses’ station directly for room 205, creating a draught strong enough to make the paperwork flutter off the main counter. The nurses that were lazing about turned their heads intuitively and moaned in annoyance. She flung open the door to see her mother and aunty sitting by Marjorie’s bedside, holding rosary beads and praying. She was sedated and could barely open her eyes. Clarisse sensed that Marjorie could feel her presence and caressed her forehead.

  She leaned over the bed and held on to her hard, teary-eyed. Clarisse was concerned for Marjorie and did not want her to go through the same recovery that she had to endure for two weeks.

  “What have you done?” Clarisse said.

  Marjorie moaned, acknowledging Clarisse’s presence, but made no sense as she continued to hold her hand.

  “You know that chair is bad and you saw it with your own eyes. Why did you go there?” Clarisse sobbed in anger but also with heartfelt emotion. She blamed herself for bringing Marjorie into the superstition of the secret chair. Spellbound by the negative energy of the scarlet chair; she knew what Marjorie was going through. Clarisse was so caught up in spending time with Harry that she had forgotten about the impact it had on herself. Marjorie’s incident was bringing back painful memories.

  “Mother, did you have any inclination this was happening?”

  “My dear, we had no idea she would do this after what she experienced with you.”

  Clarisse sat on the side of the bed next to Marjorie and placed her hands on her forehead. “I don’t believe it had to do with a man,” she said. “If anything, it was the superstition itself she was testing—to see how far she could take it.”

  “She doesn’t have anyone special in her life,” Marlita said.

  “I know she is the curious type, Mother, and always out there trying something new, but this is taking it too far.”

  “I don’t want to argue, my dear, but is it any different than when you sat on the chair?” Marlita said provocatively.

  There was a deafening silence in the room, and they looked at each other. Marjorie’s actions, as unthinkable as they may appear to the neutral observer, were no different to Clarisse’s—even if they’d had different motives.

  Marjorie was sedated and struggled to keep her eyes open, slipping in and out of consciousness intermittingly. However, she was aware Clarisse was next to her as she grasped her hand silently, not wanting to let go.

  “Isn’t Harry leaving tonight?” Marlita asked.

  “Yes, Mother … I don’t know if I will make it on time for his departure. I need to be at the hotel around 5:30 p.m.”

  “He doesn’t know about Marjorie?”

  “Yes, I told him I was coming here to see Marjorie.” She stood up from her chair, looking for a glass of water. “Every time I mention that damn chair, he becomes more curious and he’s not into superstition.”

  “I understand, my dear; it’s not an easy thing to explain—better left alone and kept in the family.”

  “Well, Mother, this is what happens when people outside our immediate family learn about the chair. It’s my fault, I brought Marjorie into it … now look at her.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Clarisse—you can’t control everyone.” Marlita looked directly at her. “I tried so hard to separate that chair from your lives and the people around us.”

  “I know, Mother, I’m just emotional at the moment.”

  “Listen, dear … we can take care of Marjorie for now. Go back to Manila and catch the next bus. If all goes to plan, you will arrive with time to spare.”

  “I can’t leave Marjorie like this.”

  “Clarisse, if Marjorie found out you did not get back to see Harry, she would get mad.”

  Clarisse paused for a while, looked at Marjorie and caressed her forehead again. “That’s true, Mother, she would get upset and say I was not thinking straight.”

  She took her mother’s advice and wished Marjorie a speedy recover. Her uncle Pablo escorted her downstairs to the sidecar for the ten-minute drive home. Clarisse had unfinished business with the chair and wanted to attend to it immediately before catching the next bus to Manila.

  Upon arriving at her home, there was an eerie silence she had not experienced before. Did the scarlet chair sense she was coming?

  “Uncle Pablo, wait for me here for fifteen minutes. It won’t take long,” she said.

  Clarisse was on a mission—there were going to be fireworks, whether the chair liked it or not. She bolted through the back door, heading straight for the backroom with the scarlet chair. She dropped her backpack and unzipped the front compartment. She tugged it open and delicately removed the white woven pouch with the gold cross engraved at the front. She opened the pouch carefully by loosening the genuine pearl string—and there it was, the pellegrina in all its glory. Clarisse carefully removed the pellegrina and placed it around her shoulders just like a cardinal of the Catholic church. She took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

  She heard a screech coming from the room, and it was the same sound that Harry questioned her about many times. She attempted to open the door, but something was holding it back. It was not locked, which made it more surreal. She gave it a big shove and managed
to move it ajar. The chair was fighting back, and it was not happy. The chair’s energy transcended from another dimension and was starting to reveal itself.

  The superstition had a secret that not even her mother was cognisant of. Clarisse had worked out that it was no accident the pellegrina was given to Elena by the cardinal—it was to ward off the negative energy in their home. If a negative force confronted it, the pellegrina would fight back and cleanse it. Was the scarlet chair already evil and possessing negative energy when Elena was alive? Evil spirits and bad energies don’t have a time frame on Earth like us mortal souls. They can drag on for centuries, applying their misery from one generation to another until the final confrontation.

  Clarisse stood in front of the chair, eyes gazing, staunch and determined. The pellegrina was shaking with an intense vibration she had not experienced before. It flapped around her head, continually covering her eyes deliberately to block her view. She was holding the pellegrina down with both hands to maintain eye contact with the chair. The fragrance of the jasmine sambac had turned into the stench again. Each picture frame containing photos of dead relatives dropped face down on the console table—clatter, clatter, clatter. Clarisse was steadfast in her resolution and carried on.

  A loud screech gave way to a gust of putrid cold air that blasted against the side of her face and her arms, sending a shivering chill through her body. The scarlet chair trembled as the legs bounced on the wooden floor like a Spanish flamenco dancer. It had shifted ninety degrees and was now facing away from her, towards the fallen picture frames. Was the chair seeking help from one of the dead relatives and was it trying to communicate? Clarisse trembled but maintained her fury on the chair.

  The confrontation continued for another minute until a deafening loud bang echoed across the room—and then silence, serenity and fragrance filled the room all over again. Was it a trick? Was the chair trying to trick her? Clarisse waited for ten minutes to see if the chair was cunningly trying to outmanoeuvre her. There was still nothing, and the room remained serene in her presence. Clarisse stepped to the chair and kissed it, making the sign of the holy cross. Had she beaten the negative force with the power of the pellegrina? She reached for the cross at the altar and removed it, placing it on the chair, and kneeled.

  The door slammed shut behind her with a reverberating bang that filled the room with an echo—a voracious sound like a growling dog filtered out from the room. Clarisse could not see where the sound was coming from—it was everywhere. The air was becoming thin and cold as a slight mist emitted from beneath the chair. She felt like choking—but realised it was a trick, designed to make her panic. The air was breathable despite the haze that was starting to form.

  A picture frame dislodged from the wall and flung across the room, narrowly missing her shoulder. It smashed into the brick wall behind her, shattering into pieces on the floor. The console table rattled with a fit of anger, dropping all the remaining picture frames on the floor beneath it. The chair was angry and desperate—not happy that Clarisse had forced its hand. The putrid stench of rotting flowers returned to the room exacerbated by the cold mist.

  “Help Me, Uncle!” Clarisse yelled from inside the room.

  Uncle Pablo could hear the commotion from outside and rushed to the door of the room where Clarisse was battling the evil energy. He tried to force it open, but something was holding it back. He pushed and shoved with his shoulder—each time applying greater force to dislodge it. He could not cope with the physical strength required due to his ageing body.

  Uncle Pablo had no strength left in him to force open the door and sought help by getting a crowbar from the garden shed. He was going to force the door open and dislodge it from the hinges. He jammed the crowbar into a narrow gap in the door and heaved until the door succumbed. He flung the door open and dashed towards Clarisse—avoiding another picture frame by the skin of his teeth. She was lying on the floor with the pouch in her hand—almost immobilised as though frozen it time; the chair had taken a grip on her.

  “Remove the pellegrina,” Uncle Pablo shouted.

  Clarisse managed to remove the pellegrina from around her shoulders. The sight of the holy garment angered the chair—it started to rotate anticlockwise at various intervals.

  “Throw the pellegrina on the chair and hold it down,” Uncle Pablo instructed with an authoritative voice.

  “I can’t, Uncle—it’s holding me back.”

  “It has to come from you, or it won’t confront it … keep trying,” he said.

  Clarisse focused intensely by closing her eyes to build the energy she needed and launched herself onto the chair face down. With the pellegrina firmly in her hands, she forced it into the chair and held it down with both hands. The chair reacted by rattling intensely, rocking side to side to dislodge the pellegrina. A wrinkled hand of an older woman rose from the chair in a circular motion and tugged on her dress—ripping it to one side.

  “It’s tearing my dress!” Clarisse yelled. “Get this hand off me!”

  A yellow-tinged glow formed around the outside of the pellegrina like a shamanic aura.

  “Keep holding it down to absorb the spirit,” said Uncle Pablo.

  Clarisse was brave and intent on defeating the chair as she held down the pellegrina with an inner strength well beyond her normal abilities. The chair rallied and tried hopelessly to maintain its power as it slowly descended into nothing.

  With her hair messed up and dress torn to one side, Clarisse stood upright and hugged Uncle Pablo. He was always there for her, no matter the circumstances.

  “We have beaten it, Uncle,” she whispered.

  “Yes, my dear … it’s gone. I can tell this time.”

  The room had turned serene again, and the stench of mist had gone. However, the remnants of the shattered picture frames and the indentations in the wooden floor from the rattling legs of the chair remained—a reminder of the battle that had taken place.

  After ten minutes, she glanced at her phone to check the time. Clarisse had to get to the bus terminal. It was going to be touch and go, but she had done this trip countless times. Barring any significant road accident, she estimated to arrive with time to spare. Fortunately for her, it was the quiet time of year and a weekday. She anticipated normal traffic conditions for Manila. She folded the pellegrina back into the pouch and pelted through the back door to her uncle Pablo, who was already waiting and seated on his motorbike, ready to go.

  “Here, Uncle Pablo, take the pellegrina.” Clarisse took a couple of deep breaths. “I had it blessed at Manila Cathedral.”

  Her uncle Pablo smiled and thanked her for doing him a favour. The pellegrina belonged to him, and he would put it away for safekeeping again as he had always done. He was aware the next bus was leaving in twenty minutes, and Clarisse was on a tight schedule. He expertly drove her through shortcuts and alleyways to cut through the congested intersections. They arrived at the bus terminal with enough time to purchase her ticket and board the bus. They had made good time and arrived at the bus terminal with time to spare.

  “Thank you so much, Uncle Pablo, and please say goodbye to everyone—give my love to Aunty.” Clarisse kissed her uncle Pablo on the cheek and hugged him.

  Uncle Pablo nodded, and, like always, he was sad to see her leave.

  She then asked her uncle Pablo to turn his head towards her. She placed her hand on his face and leaned forward to whisper in his ear,

  “I cleansed the chair, and I beat it today. The negative energy is gone … gone forever.”

  Her uncle Pablo nodded and smiled back at her. He understood what it meant for the family that she had eliminated the negative force in the chair that had dogged it for generations. He waved to Clarisse and wished her good fortune as she boarded the bus. She was on her way to Manila and to see Harry.

  Clarisse faced a dilemma that had turned into guilt. She had not mentioned anything specific about the scarlet chair and the family superstition to Harry, preferring to de
flect his questions at every chance. She also knew that Harry was interested—backing away from any discussion because he could sense it was a sore point. But had Clarisse left it too late? What was the point confessing it to Harry on their way to the airport? Her other option was to hope he would return to Manila in a couple of months to visit, providing her enough time to explain everything in detail.

  The bus was sixty minutes out from her town and heading for a notorious stretch of underdeveloped road that usually got clogged with traffic. Clarisse knew the route the bus took like the back of her hand, having completed this journey at least one hundred times since she was a child. She looked ahead as the bus got nearer to the notorious stretch and she could see some commotion—flashing lights of vehicles; however, they were not construction trucks. She gulped, thinking the worse, that perhaps an accident had occurred. The locals called this stretch of road ‘Accident Alley’ because of the risks drivers took to get ahead of the traffic. A combination of buses, trucks, cars, motorbikes and sidecars made it a driving hell that the local municipality had not yet managed to resolve. It was so bad they could not afford the expense to fix it all at once.

  Traffic had come to a halt, and it was jammed—some people were out of their cars, smoking and waiting patiently for the traffic to clear. Clarisse’s pulse was elevated, and the pounding beat of her heart echoed in her ears—she was starting to feel anxious. Had she made a blunder by deciding to go home? She began to question her judgement. At this rate, she would not make it in time to see Harry off. Clarisse could feel the sweat building on her forehead, and she started to shiver.

  The bus was gridlocked for twenty minutes, and nothing was moving. Motorbike riders were taking risks by riding onto the pavement, to the detriment of pedestrians that waved and yelled at them. Mothers carrying children did not appreciate the motorbike riders putting them at risk.

  What on earth do I do now? she thought. She was feeling helpless.

  Clarisse dialled Harry’s phone. She wanted to keep her promise and let him know how everything was going.