Bradbury challenge - Week 5

The waves were restlessly going back and forth on the beach as if trying to leave the land but never managing to. The man unbuttoned his shirt, the fair skin of his chest contrasting with the tan of his neck. From it a leather cord holding a blue amulet that rested against his skin, showing an ever-watching eye.

He carefully undressed to his underwear, showing his sluggish body, and put his clothes on a nearby rock away from the waves threatening to sully them. The middle-aged man watched the blue ocean, noticing all its flaws: its color was too dark, its waves treacherous, and it was always too warm. He firmly believed that cold water was morally superior, invigorating the strong and culling the rest. At least there wasn’t any local around to sour his swimming time, or he would have to go home, again.

The wind picked up, carrying the salty Atlantic air. Clouds covered the sun, making the heat more bearable as the man finished his inspection. He absentmindedly took off the nazar from around his neck to put down on his clothes, but his hand froze as he was about to let it go.

What was he afraid of? There is no such thing as curses, it’s only one more type of deception these people love to do. He released the blue amulet, whose eye seemed to be judging him the same way as the former co-worker who gave it to him; like that nasty man was somehow superior for believing in folk tales. The middle-aged man still looked around the beach and on the nearby street, who showed no obvious sign of anything having occurred.

The man heavily stepped through the water, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking to his face in an unflattering manner. He wiped it backwards as he walked on the beach again, the waves hounding at his feet. He picked up his towel and wiped his face, feeling exhausted after his short swim. When he looked at his clothes again, the nazar was gone.

The waves had caught up to the rock and if the amulet had fallen on the sand, it could have been carried away. It seemed unlikely that it happened naturally, and immediately the man looked around to find any traces of the thief; there wasn’t any obvious trail in the nearby sand. He did spot a young woman wearing a postman uniform, walking in his direction with a medium-size package under her arm.

By the time the postwoman reached him, the man had hastily dried himself to put his clothes back on, his white shirt still open with wet spots from the saltwater. She addressed him in the local South American Spanish with a few slang words he didn’t recognize, and he was appalled. The world was slowly crumbling down, and he wished his dear Spanish friend was here to teach this girl a lesson about proper pronunciation.

“Got a package for mister Hans, you know him?” She said with the enthusiasm of someone who would rather be doing something else.

“Never heard of him.” The man said without quite masking his displeasure. “You are supposed to follow the address written on the package, girl, not ask random strangers. How did you get this job when you don't know how to read?”

“This is the address and the package is for mister Hans, or if he’s not present mister Carlos.” She said candidly, showing him the paper stapled onto the package. “It's you, right?”

The man looked at the paper to read just what she said. His instinct told him to not open the package and run while he had the chance.

“Here you go! Hurry up, it's heavy.” She said as she passed the ashen brown box to him.

“Das- it… it’s not for me.” He replied, keeping his arm along his body, his eyes never leaving the cursed thing.

“We both know it's for you, Hans.” She said in perfect german.

The middle-aged man looked up at the smiling teenager. She looked the same but it felt like someone else… some thing was speaking through her body.

“You thought crossing the ocean was enough to put your past behind you, my boy?”

“Who are you?” Hans said in German, taking a step back.

“It’s time to open your present, dear Hans.” She said and pushed the package into his stomach.

He stepped back again, putting his hands far away from the unnaturally hot box. It dropped on the ground and opened on impact, letting out several pairs of mismatched shoes, many more fuming inside the package. It smelled like a kind of death Hans was familiar with.

“G-get away from me, demon!”

“I’ll give you one minute as a head start.” Said the entity speaking through the woman. “Oh, and I’ll tell you my name… when you’re about to die.”

The middle-aged German man was wheezing but dared not stop running. He did not have the time to get back home to get his gun, he would have to run to the shop in town; no matter what kind of curse was after him, possessing other people means bullets would work to put it down. His life mattered more than whatever these inferiors who got involved with the devil.

He finally arrived at the shop to find it closed for lunchtime; he tried to force his way inside to no avail. As he loudly damned the locals for their laid-back way of conducting business, he saw an elderly woman behind the window.

“Please, for the love of God!” He shouted in Spanish, hoping his voice would carry through. “My life is in danger, I need something to defend myself!”

“But what did your victims have to defend themselves, Hans?” The woman replied in German with a vicious smile. “I’ll enjoy seeing your last moments.”

Hans screamed in terror and threw a nearby rock through the glass, but the woman was gone. He ran without looking back, not wanting to listen to this evil force pursuing him nor to his whole body complaining about being pushed to its limits.

“What’s going on here?!” An authoritative voice echoed through the street as Hans was running out of breath.

He saw a police uniform and thanked God; he rushed to them to beg for their help, only to stop mid-sentence when seeing it was a middle-aged woman.

“Why are you walking around like that sir?” The policewoman said in formal Spanish. “Are you the one who vandalized this store?”

Hans looked down at his open shirt drenched in sweat and salt water; his pants mucked with wet sand; his bare feet brown with dirt and starting to bleed. He needed to get it together if he was to survive; the gun at the policewoman’s side helped him focus. Although he’d rather wield it himself since he would never trust a woman with this kind of job.

He took a deep breath and slicked his hair back, leaving buttoning his shirt for later. However his practiced smile faltered when he saw the woman’s eyes, as black as the night.

“Your time is up, Hans.” She joyfully said with a smile that showed way too many sharp teeth.

The man reached for her gun and pulled it out on her; he put his finger on the trigger, laughing maniacally, ready to shoot the creature to wherever it came from.

“Who are you, demon?!” He said while threatening her with the gun, shaking from terror and excitement.

The middle-aged woman lifted her arm in a gesture that seemed more mocking than anything else. He dared not even blink for fear of her disappearing into thin air; he was not listening to the people coming closer to watch what was happening and shouting something in Spanish, just in case he would get distracted.

“I am Alecto, goddess of vengeance.”

She reached for Hans’ gun, triggering him to shoot. That’s when he saw the Erinyes’s merciless smile, and a second shot echoed through the street.

Time seemed to slow down as Hans fell to the ground, blood coming freely from his neck. Alecto was standing unharmed next to him, then crouched to take the gun from his unresponsive hands.

“Your spine was broken, you have a few seconds left to live.” Alecto said with gleeful satisfaction.

Hans tried to speak but only coughed some blood; he felt cold and deeply afraid. He looked to the side and saw a police officer holding a fuming gun. It smelled just like the shoes.

“You brought this on yourself my boy. This is how Nazis die.”