Ink Cursed

Chapter 8

Ink Cursed

Chapter 8

I blink. Once. Twice. The morphed figure lays in a tangled mess in the corner. For a second, I think it’s a prank someone’s pulling: the black cloaked thing. However, as the lesson continues on, I come to realization that no one else can see it.

It has raspy, quiet breathing that only I can hear. The sick clothing sticking to the thing’s body is in ruffles and tears which only I can see. The intoxicating, nauseating stench lingering onto its body flows to my nose; something only I can smell. Fear: something only I can feel.

I fumble in my seat, avoiding eye contact with it. My skin crawls as it starts to moan. The moans continue as Mrs. Clark tells me something.

“—y-yes?” I answer, fighting to look into her hallow eyes.

“I’m asking you a question, Kamryn Branche.” I don’t react. “Kamryn, are you listening to me? Kamryn!”

The class is silent. No one whispers anymore, and then I whisper something into Mrs. Clark’s ear, telling her I’m about to vomit. She excuses me out of the room. Sam looks at me in confusion, scrunching her eyebrows together.

I don’t look back at her.

When I’m out of the classroom, I take breaths and breaths, mentally erasing the sickening image of the figure. These hallucinations are happening for a reason. I’ve never had anything like them happen in my life. If my dad found out, no doubt he’d send me to therapy or something for the crazy. Crazy. The word strikes me in the stomach.

A pumping feeling of nausea erupts throughout my body, and I instantly find it natural to run towards the bathroom.

When I reach the toilet, it feels like someone’s pressing sharp fingers into my stomach, forcing things out. Tears form at the corner of my eyes as I release my breakfast. I stay like this for five minutes: throwing up continually.

I start to sob from the sickness and desperation. Just get out. Get out of my head.

At last, I’m sitting at the corner of the stall, withering like a flower without sunlight. Numbness replaces the nausea. Overwhelming numbness and nothingness. I peer into the toilet, making  face at my lost breakfast. But there’s something unusual in the mixture.

“Oh, God,” I hiss under my breath, tasting bile in my throat. I spit some into the toilet.

It’s ink. Black, pure ink. There isn’t too much, just enough to set me on the edge of wonder mixed with fear.

That night at the booth. It was that night when I got the ink onto my arm. My mind is filled with possible explanations for what’s happening. Even if ink went into my system that night, there’s no biological way it could have been in my digestive system. There’s just no way.

I force myself to lift up my left sleeve. My choppy breaths become steady as I roll up my sleeve. No more fear. Face it.

The tattoo is still there and still alive. As I stare at the intricate designs in disbelief, the usual pain in my head starts again. I bite my tongue so I don’t wail in pain. My head rolls back as the pumping pain surges throughout my body.

Enough.

Enough.

ENOUGH!

It stops after fifteen excruciating seconds. I finally allow my head to fall in between my legs. My left arm twitches and my body shivers. Is my body getting ready for another vomiting? I grit my teeth together, my eyes becoming dry.