T.C. Marti - Tarja Titan

Chapter One: Punished

T arja Fury was not a normal girl. Since she was ten, she saw things other kids could not. A sixth sense that in time, dissipated given the mind-numbing meds her latest psychiatrist prescribed after they diagnosed her with schizophrenia.

The meds helped get rid of the spirits, or hallucinations and disembodied voices as the doctors claimed. Sure, she still caught the occasional spirit, many of which were the subject of paranormal legends Jefferson County, Ohio was notorious for.

The Mangler spirit over on JFK Highway that resided in a lair dubbed Bobcat Hollow stalked her one evening. Its white, owl-like face and long, winged body became the subject of countless nightmares until Dr. Reynolds prescribed this drug called clozapine.

Before he upped her meds, the faceless Route Seven Ghost also approached her in recurring vivid nightmares.

So many legends resided in these washed-up mill towns dotting the Ohio River. So much history, haunted history, lurked among the hills and backwoods. Despite her uptick in meds, another hallucination visited her last night. A faceless creature, but not the Route Seven Ghost or even a female. At least she didnt think they were female.

They kept a cloak hidden over their head as they reached out to her with a formless hand. Instinct, perhaps, told Tarja not to reach out. That same, strong instinct, one she couldnt explain, kept her from connecting with this formless soul more than once. Yes, she had this same dream dozens of times and not a single med warded it off.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Tarja! Get up ! Bang! Now !

Tarja groaned and rested her head against the pillow. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and pulled herself into a seated position.

She shivered as her bare feet touched the concrete of her unfinished basement bedroom. She pulled on her robe, a raggedy hand-me-down from her older sister Stef when she grew out of it a few years back, and trudged up the rickety stairs.

Tarjas mother, Janet, shoved a piece of legal pad paper into her hand. Your worklist for the day. Stef, Liza, and I are going out and I expect everything to be completed when we get back. Your fathers working a double. Hell be back by noon and he expects his dinner to be ready.

Yes, Mom. May I eat something first?

Janet pointed to the steel toaster and a bag of white bread. Youre allowed two slices. That jam in the fridge is about to expire so take whats left and toss it.

She turned on her heel and swept into the small bathroom, obviously to get ready for a day at the Panhandle Trail; one of a few available places to venture in the Ohio Valley since Ohio, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania remained under strict lockdowns.

She walked across the kitchen floor. At least it was warmer up here than in the basement, where the temperature dropped regardless of the time of year. She popped two prescription pills into her mouth, washed them down with a small glass of water, and prepared her meager breakfast.

The stoves digital clock stated it was seven in the morning on this Friday in April. Stef and Liza, her older and younger sisters, wouldnt wake up for at least another hour, or when Janet decided they needed to get ready for their jaunt onto the trail.

As she took her plate of toast and what remained of the already-expired jam, contrary to what Janet claimed, Tarja scanned her worklist.

Prepare Dads dinner, cut the grass, weed trim, water flowers around the flagpole and around the house, spray into the gutters; we dont need yellow jackets building in there again this year, paint the front of the shed, get into the garage and spread two bags of river rock around the bushes out front and MAKE SURE THEY BLEND IN WITH THE OLDER ROCKS.

She was supposed to get all of this done before Janet returned how ? The grass alone would take two hours and Tarja couldnt start on it until the moisture dried after at least another four hours. She may as well begin with the shed and go from there. But even painting a layer on it would take an hour. Plus, the yellow jackets.

At least Janets having her spray before they build. Last year, Tarja sprayed a gutter full of yellow jackets and they stung her twenty times. She went into shock that day and spent the night in the hospital.

And with so much paranormal activity in hospitals, even the strongest meds did not ward the spirits off. Hospitals were full of trapped souls and at least half of the local legends Janet and Jay resented stemmed from Trinity West, East, and Weirton Med.

Janet and Jay hated anything that had to do with the paranormal, which grew worse when Tarja first claimed to see and interact with spirits. Since then doctors diagnosed her with schizophrenia and put her on quite the pill regimen for a then-ten-year-old girl.

One to keep the so-called hallucinations and voices at bay, and at least three others to ward off unwanted side effects like fogginess, dizziness, and to keep her blood pressure under control.

Tarja finished her toast, returned downstairs to change into a pair of Stefs old leggings and a tee before setting off toward the shed, whose white paint peeled in several locations. Sweat rolled down Tarjas face the second she dipped her roller into the pan it was so hot and humid, as are half the springtimes down here in Pottery Addition, Ohio.

Facing the shed, she caught the two-mile bar called Browns Island out of the corner of her eye, Griffen Island to its southwest tip, and above it, Marland Heights, West Virginia. The island was yet another place where spirits emerged. Since it acted as both a Native American burial ground and was the site of a coke plant explosion decades ago, Tarjas body chilled from the site of it.

She felt a pair of eyes on her back. Living eyes, stating Stef and Liza were awake. Probably spending the morning watching her suffer through her laundry list of work until they gained bathroom access.

Tarja ignored her older and younger sisters. At least until they muttered and snickered behind her back. She closed her eyes and counted to five, repeating the process Dr. Reynolds talked her through whenever her blood pressure rose.

Hey, genius, howre you supposed to get the mower out of the shed? Stefs mocking tone rang out.

Tarja twisted her lips and whipped around, ready to ask Stef how she knew of her next chore.

Her sister sneered and held up the legal pad paper. Im pretty sure Mom wrote for you to paint the shed after you cut the grass. Higher priorities sit at the top of the list , you know?

Sixteen-year-old Liza craned her neck to gaze at Tarjas worklist. Says here you were supposed to cut the grass and trim the weeds first. Virtually anything to do with getting things out of the shed shouldve been the top priority.

Tarja strode toward her sisters and tried to snatch the list away but Stef, two years older, stronger, faster, taller, and far more athletic held the list to where she could not reach it. Give it here.