Read by Gloria Sanders (first story in podcast, here)
Sarah first noticed the specks on a bright spring morning. The city shimmered in pale light and she saw tiny somethings on the periphery of her vision. They disappeared when she turned her head to look. Sarah interpreted the movement as cherry blossom petals in the wind: ephemeral shapes that disappeared when she tried to focus on them.
As spring turned into summer, Sarah saw more specks and spots. They couldn’t be petals now the cherry blossoms were gone, but they were certainly something.
‘Stop twitching!’
Sarah was meeting her best friend Carl for lunch in the park. She’d brought cheap bubbly; he’d brought a picnic of quiche and green salad. The sun warmed Sarah’s bare legs, the grass was soft and something frolicked just out of sight. Rabbits? She turned to look.
‘I’m not twitching,’ Sarah protested and turned back to Carl. ‘I thought I saw something.’
‘And 30 seconds ago? What was that?’
‘I’m not sure, but…’ Again, she turned her head. She could have sworn something was moving over by that bush.
Carl put his hands on either side of her face and looked into her eyes. ‘Look at me,’ he said, ‘I’m telling you about my new boyfriend.’
Carl’s hands smelled of soap. Sarah fought the impulse to look to the side. ‘You’ve over-plucked your eyebrows,’ she said.
‘There’s something not right with you.’ Carl let go of her and continued his story.
When she sneaked a peek, whatever she’d seen was gone.
*
Over the summer, the thing at the corner of her eye grew. It turned into a shape, person-sized, trying to catch her attention. For all of July, she thought it was a benign, loving presence. A ghost, but friendly. She expected to catch the scent of her great aunt’s perfume, her grandfather’s shaving soap. Instead, she smelled ashes.
*
By August, it wasn’t just Carl who was concerned by Sarah’s constant head-turning. Amanda from HR called her into a meeting room and asked her how she was.
‘I’m fine,’ Sarah said, ‘perfectly fine.’ She stole a brief glance to the right.
‘Well,’ Amanda said, ‘several of your colleagues have expressed concern. They wonder if you’re in trouble, or if you are overworked. You seem…’
‘Twitchy?’ Sarah asked, meeting Amanda’s eyes.
‘Anxious.’
There! Sarah turned sharply to the glass meeting room wall. Amanda turned with her. Neither of them saw anything.
‘Sorry,’ Sarah said, ‘I could have sworn someone was waving at me.’ The look Amanda levelled at her was eloquent.
‘It’s not affecting my work,’ Sarah asked, ‘is it? Has it affected my work?’
‘No, if anything, you’re more productive,’ Amanda said, ‘but it’s affecting the people around you.’
Sarah sighed. She liked to work. When she kept her head down and really focused, she only saw what was immediately in front of her. It was relaxing. But freaking people out was bad.
*
Sarah went for tests. Her GP sent her to an optician. The optician was intrigued to find that Sarah had a wider than average angle of vision. Apart from that, her eyesight operated within acceptable parameters.
When Carl suggested a neurologist, Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, I’ve just got exceptional peripheral vision.’
At Carl’s and HR’s urging, Sarah saw a therapist. She gave up coffee, started meditating and taking anti-anxiety medication. Meditation was nice. Keeping her eyes closed was very relaxing.
*
By the time the leaves fell from the trees, Sarah had stopped turning to look. It wasn’t because the meds were working, like Carl thought, or because she had overcome some kind of obsessive compulsive behaviour, as her therapist believed. It was because she no longer wanted to see whatever hovered just out of sight.
It scared her, right through the numbing pills.
The thing that followed her around wasn’t a comforting spirit waiting to wave its fingers and share a wink. In the office, head down over the keyboard, Sarah could feel it huddled behind her. Darkness pinned her in place, as if something was leaning over her, arms either side of her chair. She wore her hair down, letting it fall around her face to shut out the world, and stared straight ahead. She breathed through her mouth to shut out its faint, acrid scent of dust.
The thing was person-shaped, large and shadowy, the colour of dirty windows. Sometimes it was on the left, then she’d blink and it was on the right. But it was always there, wanting her to look at it, coming closer, pressing in.
*
Sarah found blinkers sized for a human head in an online shop. She was grateful there were enough people who wanted to be horses that she could buy such a thing. They helped a lot at home. She could cook, clean, and watch television without seeing to the side.
At work, and on the way to and from work, she had to rely on her hair.
Carl decided she was depressed and was endlessly solicitous.
‘We’ll shake that black dog,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘I’ve joined a couple of online support groups. They’re better than dating sites. I’ve met loads of people. You should check them out!’
Sarah could tell that he swallowed the words he’d been told were unhelpful, like ‘pull yourself together’. She wished he’d accept what she told him.
‘It’s not a black dog, Carl,’ she said. ‘It’s a black werewolf. And it’s eager to be seen.’
Sarah knew now it would devour her if she ever saw it. One glimpse and she’d be gone. She didn’t enjoy walking through life blinkered, but she dearly wanted to live so she refused to look.
*
In November, winter arrived with driving rain and high winds. Hair alone wasn’t doing the trick. Sarah always needed the extra protection of sturdy leather.
‘I’m really sorry, Sarah,’ Amanda from HR said, ‘but you have a problem you need to address.’
‘I’m fine,’ Sarah said. Amanda looked at her with raised eyebrows.
‘No, you’re not. You’ve lost a lot of weight, and you’re really pale.’ She sighed. ‘Fine isn’t wearing those things.’ She indicated the blinkers.
Sarah went on sick leave.
*
The weeks before Christmas were a tedious series of scans and meetings with medical experts. They concluded there was nothing physically wrong with her. Sarah already knew that.
Carl was frantic with worry, calling her every day, texting cheerful memes. His concern wasn’t helpful and Sarah started screening his calls, stopped inviting him over.
*
On New Year’s Eve — which Sarah spent alone, drinking prosecco and watching black and white films — the dark shadow began to curl around the edges of her blinkers. She put duct tape over her eyes.
Living without sight was difficult at first: she couldn’t go outside, read or watch television, couldn’t cook. She was covered in bruises and scratches. But it was a relief not to see. She was determined to learn to cope: with her eyes permanently closed, she was free. There was no dark threat behind her eyelids.
*
Sarah’s self-selected blindness was too much for Carl.
‘You can’t do this to yourself,’ he said, putting down his coffee cup.
It was the first week of February and Sarah had invited him for take-away to show how well she was coping. She could hear the fabric of his shirt as he moved and knew he was gesticulating.
‘It’s totally irrational. You must be able to see that!’
Sarah laughed at his word choice. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, ‘I’m good. Really. Never better.’ She smiled reassuringly.
Carl moved on the sofa. Sarah felt the sofa cushions shift as he leaned over to stroke her cheek. Then he grabbed the sunglasses she wore to hide the duct tape and put them on the table.
‘What are you doing?’ Sarah said, ‘Give them back.’
She felt his hand on her face again, plucking at the tape over her eyes.
She slapped his hand away. ‘Stop it!’
He slipped closer and put both hands to her face, using one to keep her head still, the other to grab at the edges of the tape.
Sarah twisted her head, pushed at his chest, tried to get away from him. She squeezed her eyes shut as the tape came off, taking her eyelashes with it.
‘No!’ she gasped, putting her hands over her eyes, ‘don’t do this. Stop it!’ She kicked, hoping to hit something vital, finding only a calf. Carl didn’t listen. He wrestled her off the sofa, onto the floor. She heard the crash of crockery and cups and felt the wet warmth of spilled coffee seep through her jeans.
Carl straddled her chest, clamping her head between his knees and locking her arms with his calves. His breathing was even, and smelled of coffee and lemon chicken. While Sarah’s hands scrabbled against his jeans, she felt him gently put his thumbs on the top and lower lid of her right eye. She tried to jerk her head away.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘look at me. It’s for your own good.’
And he pried her eye open.
Sarah opened her mouth to scream, to tell him no, to say something, anything, that would stop him. But she saw it. It was right there, as she’d known it would be. It was the only thing she could see: big, dark, hungry. The scream died in her throat.
*
‘It was an intervention,’ Carl said, voice reedy with panic, as the paramedics worked on Sarah, trying to bring her back. ‘I had to make her see, for her own sake.’ He wrung his hands. ‘I was trying to help her, save her. I’m her best friend. I’d never hurt her.’
A stony-faced medic walked him downstairs. A policewoman ducked him into a car.
With tears running down his face, Carl tried to control his breathing and calm his racing heart. He stared out into the night outside the police car. He thought he saw something from the corner of his eye. Maybe last year’s fallen leaves, blown along the street. When he turned to look, there was nothing there.
(c) Caroline von Schmalensee, 2024
Caroline von Schmalensee lives in Edinburgh where she writes technical documents by day & speculative fiction by night. Her short stories are published in print and online, & she’s read her work at spoken word events. She’s now focusing on the long form. Edinburgh’s cherry blossoms inspired this story.
Gloria Sanders returns to the cast of Time Will Tell’s Dracula at Whitby Abbey in 2024. She has enjoyed narrating audiobooks for over a decade & has worked as an historical interpreter at heritage sites around the country, training in clowning & historic fooling. She’s a qualified Spanish Interpreter, working with Crowded Room on the co-created documentary La Lucha & produced Deepfakes by Sarah Blake for Cabinets of Curiosity. www.gloriasanders.com
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