Cathy's Curse: Eyes of Jade
Original Adaptation by J.B. Midura
Based on: Cathy's Curse (1977) film
Prologue:
December 1947 – Westmount, Quebec
Veering around the chain link entrance bend at fleeting speed,
dark silhouettes formed into articulately designed mason manors in
the bright beam of a red locomotive's headlights. The motor slowed
down as it tore through a streaming sheet of misty drizzle flowing
from the street lamp's yellow cone. Tiny newborn zephyrs swirled
under the lamp's shaft, yet the sparkling drizzle was invisible in
the darkness beyond.
The car's tires came to a skidding halt at a stately home,
breaking the neighborhood's salubrious silence.
Westmount, a thriving suburb of Montreal, had been inhabited
since the earliest days of the French colonial settlers' migration in
the middle of the seventeenth century. By the twentieth century, the
area had progressed into an opulent enclave for Anglophone
businessmen.
A dusting of crystallized snow rested on the rocky entrance way
of the Gimble manner, glistening on the trail . Before the engine's
pistons could cease, Mr. Gimble, dressed in a brown suit and tie,
with a thick mustache that commanded dignity, rushed hastily upon the
porch of his posh residence. He over gripped the doorknob with savage
force, aggressively twisting and squeezing it.
In an anxious fury, he burst into the foyer, not even bothering
to shut the door behind him. It slammed up against an empty coat
rack, incurring a transient wobble. "Joanne! Joanne?" He
shouted, eyes searching around for any sign of human activity. The
lights were fully shining about the house. Still, he felt the dark
despair that filled the place. The silence hemorrhaged the senses
into fraught and warped vibes. Mrs. Gimble's perfume was largely
absent, though it still lingered in the air—sweet and tangy.
Coming from upstairs, he heard the faint whimpers of a dejected
wail. He hurried his way up the staircase, hand gripping the oak
railing, ascending past an array of oil paintings and formal family
portraits in black and white. The painted green pastures and smiling
faces were a drastic contrast to the grave paroxysm of Mr. Gimble.
He swung open the door to his daughter Laura's room, knelt down
at the edge of the bed, and consoled his saddened child. "Where's
your mother and your brother?" He asked calmly, wiping the tears
from her eyes.
"Mommy's gone. She's taken George with her," Laura
murmured, clutching a tattered doll.
He stood up immediately. "Your mother's a
bitch!"
Mr. Gimble asserted, sternly emphasizing the insult. "She'll pay
for what she did to you." He snatched up Laura's hand and they
exited the home, leaving the house as it was.
Luckily, conveniently, inexplicably, Laura had a hold of her
coat, along with her rag doll. Ever since her mom had gifted it to
her for Christmas days earlier, the bizarre happenings effects on
her and the house.
Horridly tattered, the doll's eyes were stitched shut.
Supposedly, Mrs. Gimble had purchased the doll at a Gypsy roadside
sale. On a vile quest to find the most hideous gift imaginable, she'd
rummaged through a heap of threaded fodder until she stumbled upon
the foulest thing available.
She'd ignored the decrepit old lady's incoherent grumbles,
curtly waving the gypsy woman off. Spending only pennies, she still
felt it to be a waste of money. Laura was Mr. Gimble's most
cherished asset. Scarring his baby girl's mind indirectly was a
cunning tactic, she had thought.
But she'd thought
wrong. Horribly wrong!
The horrors harbored in that
doll were as uncontrollable and perilous as a Wizard's wand in the
hands of a simpleton. The curse had empowered Laura with a fiendish
will, wreaking terror and malevolent dominance over anyone in its
range. Its power flourished wherever it was welcomed.
Infuriated, Mr. Gimble had sensed the strong urgency to rush
home that evening after Mrs. Gimble's telephone tirade 20 minutes
earlier. The threats of leaving the two of them behind and bolting
with their youngest kid, George, felt real this time. The holiday
tension had boiled in the household until its exploding point.
Mr. Gimble was, for the most part, oblivious to the emotional
drama in the household and the severity of how wretched his marriage
had become. Renowned as a shrewd and stern businessman, he never
tolerated dissension in the house, never once left work to attend a
family crisis until now.
Strapping the belt over her scarlet dress, Mr. Gimble tucked
Laura into the passenger seat of his apple-red Plymouth He'd grabbed
nothing to shelter him from the weather, for his rage-scorched blood
heated him thoroughly. With a swift click, the engines roared to life
and the headlights penetrated the eerie darkness ahead. Mr. Gimble
gripped the wheel hard, his brown eyes deciphering the night beyond
him.
Chilling organ music came from the car speakers, amplifying the
stress of the moment. The windshield wipers whipped from side to
side, slashing away glossy snow. It assailed from the dark sky, thick
and heavy. The further they drove, the harder it got.
Laura propped herself up to get a read on her Dad's mood, as
well as a read on the evening's cold, tempestuous mood. Their
neighborhood was well behind them now, a small blob of yellow dots in
the rear view window.
Suddenly, out of some ethereal realm, an albino Rabbit pranced
across the blacktop. Mr. Gimble, knowing the extreme rarity of these
wondrous creatures, swerved frantically around it in an attempt to
preserve their posterity, clipping a snow bank. The roadside castle
of ice crumbled like the walls of Jericho. Laura flashed a terrifying
expression at her father, her heart thumping. Shock choked her
scream, paralyzing her fright.
Snow camouflaged the Rabbit's pure white fur, but its soft
tracks visibly dotted up the hill.
He jerked the wheel back across the slippery street, skidding
wildly into a snow-crusted ravine. In his panic, he had over
corrected the vehicle. The heavy metal was crunched into the frozen
ground, its grill crushed inward.
Tendrils of black smoke rose from the cracked engine, a
precursor to combustion.
Orange flames began to gush from underneath the crumpled hood,
hissing in the icy air. Mr. Gimble, unconscious, was hunched over the
steering wheel, obstructing their escape. The sound of crackling
flames and agonizing shrieks resonated over and over, seething,
sizzling inside. Trapped!
“ Help, Daddy, open the door,” Laura cried out, beseeching him
to locate his bravery.
But her dire weeps went unheeded.
Mr. Gimble's skin sprouted revolting pits of caustic flesh about
his neck and face, cherry color, the fire quickly charring his bones
to iron black. Laura's teary eyes were extinguished by the rapid
spike of incinerator-like temperatures as she reached out at the
morbid rictus of Mr. Gimble's glowing skull. She struggled against
her dooming fate until her aqueous humors went as dry as the sands of
Egypt. Her bright red dress darkened to crimson, then black ash.
The car was swallowed up by scorching flames and smothered by
blackening smoke. Metal ripped and contorted, pinballing bolts
underneath the bent hood. The sound grew to an excruciating decibel.
Along the hillside, the albino rabbit witnessed the roadside pyre
that it had engendered, its sanguine eyes reflecting the cavorting
blaze. With grace, the divine creature hopped up the embankment and
into the labyrinth of a shadowy forest, a forever panorama stretching
beyond optical limits. The rabbit zagged through the towering
Junipers, which stood like imposing Kremlins, contoured by the silver
moon hovering behind.
Stay tuned for Chapter 1 coming soon!!!
