The Scarletti Tilt

“It’s very hard living in a studio apartment in San Jose with a man who’s learning to play the violin”, That’s what she told the police when she handed them the empty revolver. She pursed her lips tightly in a mystical, satisfying smile. The inquiring policemen almost scowled at her in disgust. How could she look so pleased with herself? A police officer nearby took the revolver off of the table – where it had been placed, and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. “Come on, she’s not gunna tell us anything” he mumbled to the inquisitor and signalled for someone to escort the newly named ‘scarlet woman’ out of the room.

Whispers echoed through the prison cells that night. The usual settled darkness seemed to buzz alive with voices and whispered fears. Why was this ‘scarlet Woman’ so feared and avoided by the police? Why was she so calm, so content with herself and showing no signs of intimidation? Why was it when one dared look ‘scarlet’ in the eye, he would see a glimpse of death, evil and a cold flash of red?

San Jose. Two wonderful words that were going to save Jans life. Evrytime she heard those words a rush of hope and relief filled the depths of her heart. She was going to be free again. Free from all the hurt, debt and pain she had had and felt over the last couple of years. She raised her hand, standing on the side of the bustling street. A bright yellow taxi awkwardly pulled up, trying to avoid the other cars on the road as they angrily pushed to get a space in a quicker lane.

Jan opened the back door of the cab. She had never trusted sitting in the front, she had heard stories and tales that had put her off of most things nowadays. Carefully tucking the bottom of her scarlet dress into the stuffy car. She slammed the door shut, and placed her bags next to her on the seat.

“24, Clive street please” she said rather harshly, she hated car journeys and wished this one to go as quickly as possible. The car set off with a shudder as the engines kicked into action. Inside it was hot and cramped. The windows began to steam, as the rain, which hadn’t ceased its’ torment against San Jose for two weeks now, penetrated the cool glass. The air inside the car almost made Jan choke and cough. It was filled with a putrid smell of mixtures of tobacco and human sweat. And by the looks of it the driver hadn’t washed in several days.

‘Oh stop moaning’ Jan thought to herself, this was the journey of a lifetime. She had looked for a new job for ages and one had suddenly appeared that was perfect. She grabbed the crimpled bit of newspaper out of her pocket.

24, Clive Street southern, apartment 15

Help wanted, full time carer. Will need to cook, clean and take full care for Mr Norman Wells.

Phone: 01524 825 568

FIRST TO TURN UP FOR APPLICATION SUCCEEDS!

Ok, maybe not the most brilliant of jobs for most people, but for Jan it was most suitable. She loved to care for people. You could almost say caring was her life.

The taxi gave a sharp turn, swiftly followed by a fierce jerk as it came to a halt in front of a shabby row of flats. The driver turned around, letting more of his body odour waft through the car as he did so. He out-stretched his arm to receive his pay. Trying hard not to puke, and scrunching up her nose, Jan thrust a few dollars into his hand. “Keep the change,” she muttered, as she forced her way out through the stiff side-door.

‘San Jose Southern Apartments” was plastered on a sign, lying on its’ side in a half dug-up garden. Its’ words were faded and made slightly more unreadable by the mosses and slime that covered its’ front. The moss and slime continued onto the dark red brickwork of the apartments. The scene was quite foreboding as the bricks looked as if they had been scorched black, and most of the windows were blackened too. The bricks were stained with water. The place was a wreck. It was as if it had been kept in an underground cavern, withdrawn from daylight, covered in signs of decay and mis-use. But this would still be the dream job … surely?

Inside the building wasn’t any better than the outsides. The walls were covered in damp and a strong smell of wet dog lingered around where Jan walked. The scene was unusually quiet. No noises of life were emitting from the rooms lining the long corridor. Jan glanced down, once more, at the piece of paper she now held firmly in her hand.

“Southern apartment 15”

Acknowledging the apartment number, she then looked at the stained, metal numbers above the doors.

1…2…3, Why had all the paint been scratched off in claw-like marks, as if it had been attacked by a black dog?

3…4…5, Why were the floors swamped in an eerie dark substance and why was there a dark blackish stain on the lower walls?

5…6…7…8, why were there red crosses over the doors of every apartment she was passing?

9…10…11…12…13, Why was this mysterious silence in every room she passed?

…14.

Finally room 15 was in sight. Its’ door was as damp as the rest yet there was no water on the floor around it. And there was no dark red cross on this door, like the others. It was actually one of the most ‘liveable’ rooms on the whole corridor.

Jan grasped for the cool, metal of the door handle. With her other hand she knocked swiftly three times on the door, then as quickly pushed it in to give a vocal call. Jan had worked as a carer for three years now, and had learnt to always give a vocal call to those who needed full time care. There was a story about how once there was a woman who waited 45 minutes before someone saw that she stood by the door. Jan didn’t have that sort of time to waste.

“Mr Wells…I’m here for the job placement” called Jan. She opened the door, sticking her head around to check whether anyone had heard her. In the centre of the room stood a small girl dressed in black. As soon as the door was opened the little girl began a high-pitched scream. The girl seemed to struggle as if she was being attacked, Jan watched her in shock, panic suddenly taking hold. “No!” screamed the girl, stepping backwards over the junk that littered the green carpet. “Please, No! No!” When she spoke, it was as if her voice was not her own. It was much too deep for a young child. Tears streamed down the girls face until she fell into an armchair near the window. The girl’s straggled black hair glistened in the dull light that drifted through the window.

In shock Jan walked slowly forward, she wanted to help the girl, stop her crying. But she was in such a state of shock at the sudden outburst; all she could do was watch. The crying slowly calmed, though the girl hiccupped and gagged with her own tears. She laid her arms on the side of the couch and her appearance changed dramatically. Jan watched, almost horrified at what she was seeing. The young features of the girl stretched and moved. Her skin wrinkled and her eyes moved backwards as her brow caved over her eyeballs and they sank into her skull. The girl looked as if she was in pain, evrytime something about her changed. Her limbs were fastened to the chair arms, her body twisted and turned as if something was holding her back, drawing her in.

Dark black vines seemed to grow out of the tattered beige chair and they wrapped around the girl. But she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her features had changed and Jan now saw an elderly man bound tightly in the chair. He had a gag in his mouth and his eyes strained from the door where Jan stood to the brown case on the small table in front of him.

Jan gasped as she realised what she was looking at. This was Mr wells! Jan rushed forwards, what she thought she had just seen was still spinning around her mind. There had defiantly been a girl…or had there? The ropes that held Mr wells were fixed tightly around his arms and mid-riff. Who could’ve done this to him? His head lolled and fell backwards as he lifted his head to look at Jan. Even though this unnerved her-she refused the feeling she now got to stop untying him and as gently but as quickly as she could, pulled the ropes off of his body. As Jan released him Mr Wells took up a shaking hand and pointed to the brown case on the coffee table.

“Who did this to you?” Jan said clearly to the man. Whoever it was needed quarantining or something. Mr Wells said nothing but grunted and stressed his pointing action towards the case on the table. No matter how she tried he still kept pointing and grunting…maybe he couldn’t talk…or maybe a clue to who tied him was in that case?

Jan’s heart palpitated; she could almost feel it as it beat in her chest. She was sure now, the case, it must have something hidden within it…surely? Turning, Jan grabbed the case, she fiddled with the catch, grasping with the metal clasps that held the case sides together.

The case was made of thick leather. It was quite old and the materials that covered the handle were frayed and smelt heavily of smoke. The clasps clicked as they were opened. It echoed in the small room. Jan slowly lifted the lid. All that could be heard was Mr Wells’s wheezy breaths. He seemed to struggle with it as though he was dying or suffering from a bad asthma. The inside of the case was lined with a light, white cloth. It was also old and most of it was covered in a yellow stain. Jan lifted the cloth out, and rested it on the lid. Inside the box lay…a violin. At the sight of the violin Mr wells grunting intensified. He waved his arms wildly, intent on grasping the cool wood that formed the instrument. Seeing his frantic efforts, Jan lifted the violin and its’ bow out of it’s case. Slightly confused at the reason for his desperate need, she handed both objects to the old man.

Mr Wells suddenly received a burst of energy. His wrinkled hands grabbed the neck of the violin and bow fiercely and moved them into position to play. It was as though he had gained a boost of life from his prised possession. It was a tense situation for Jan. She didn’t know why, but she was confused. Why did he want it so badly? Why was his need to play so strong? And why was it when she looked into his eyes she saw a glimpse of death and a cold, flash of red.

As Mr Wells stiffened his arm and began the first note, Jan saw it. From her position of kneeling in-between the coffee table and the armchair she could see it clearly and it sent a chill down her back. That glint in his eye. That cold glint of red was the screaming girl. She stared from behind the glassy eyes of the old man. Her slim pale face stared, with an evil look of anger and frustration. Even in her anger, she looked like she was laughing, and then she heard it. A shrill high laughter that drained the blood from Jans’ head; something was going on.

Before Jan could do anything, the possessed Mr Wells’ eyes turned fully red and his body jolted, yet he continued to play. A white beam of light forced itself from Mr Wells’s eyes and joined itself with a red light coming from the violin strings. They merged together and slithered around Jan’s head. It coiled around her body like a snake does its’ prey. Moving as quickly as lightning it span, consuming her. She tried to scream and shout, but the light was now entering her through her eyes, nose and mouth; so any attempts to speak were gagged. The streaks of light felt smooth like liquid, but it was hot. They burnt her soul, pierced her mind and suddenly she was jerked into a dark room. It was as if Jan was watching a film, but it was real, 3D.

She saw the images. It was the girl. She was sitting, quivering in the corner of the room as it flashed with red and blue. The girl was no older than six or seven. Her tears fell on the floor as she tucked her head into her hands to try and block it from sound; though she knew what was happening. Police boots thundered on the stairs. They felt like earthquakes as the whole house rattled with the force. Their sirens emitted a high-pitched noise, like a scream. The sounds of barking dogs, ‘hell hounds’ filled the corridor – they were after her.

“No, they can’t get me”, Jan heard the girl’s thoughts, as though she spoke them out loud. “They won’t get me, they don’t know what I’ve done”. At these thoughts the girl smiled evilly to herself. “If they want me, they can travel to hells gates themselves and retrieve my soul” her eyes blazed now, a sudden hope forming in her. She picked up the revolver that sat by her leg.

The barking dogs got louder and lights appeared around the edge of the door. Dark whispers surrounded the room and the door was kicked in with a harsh thud. White, blue and red light filled the room. Bright enough to blind.

“They can take my body…but they’ll never take my life!” At this the girl put the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Jan sat straight in her cell. She crossed her legs, and felt the smooth material of her scarlet dress brush her skin. Ever since that night she had certainly felt young again. A rush of excitement stirred through her veins, yet the pain was still there. She could feel the penetration of her mind from the girl. The light was her passing through. That image was why the girl was running. They would never get her if she swapped hosts.

She felt panicky evrytime the police entered the room. The police put this down to the fact she knew she was going to be hanged. Not did they know what was hidden within Jan. They didn’t know that the small girl would soon have to swap again; sooner than had been planned. A dead host wasn’t a good one.

No one went in that cell anymore. She was soon to be gone and no one wanted to look her in the eye. Incase they saw a glimpse of death, evil and a cold flash of red.