In Threes

Jamie stared down into the mouth of the open grave. The name engraved on the coffin lid plaque may have read the name of one of his closest friends but he still couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t have been Tony lying down there. The service was over but he remained. The rest of the mourners were heading back to the cars, to follow the funeral procession to the wake being held at a local social club. Jamie still could not take it in. They were only in their late twenties. It just seemed to be awfully young to be burying your friends. Another of his close friends patted him on the shoulder.

‘Bloody tragic, isn’t it?’

‘I’m just stunned, Todd.’

Todd just nodded and wiped away a tear. He turned and walked to his car. Jamie saw the sobs racking Todd’s shoulders as he went. Jamie took one last look at the grave. He sighed.

‘See you, Tony.’

The function room was packed with mourners. Jamie shook hands with the family members and other friends. He tugged his tie loose and squeezed in a free spot at the bar. As he took a sip of his pint he glanced around the room. Everyone was wearing black and had the same haunted, devastated look on their faces. He found a free table at the back of the room. He placed himself down taking the seat facing out across the room. He took a long gulp of his beer.

‘Howayeh, Jamie?’

On the next table Tony’s grandmother, an elderly Irish woman with thick glasses and grey perm, smiled warmly at him. Her eyes held a deep sadness that he fully understood.

‘I’m sorry, Esther.’

‘It’s a sad day.’

Her few words seemed to say it all. On days like these so much was said, but sometimes you did not need to gush and spill out platitudes. This woman had clearly expected her grandson to outlive her. It was just tragic. A sad day seemed not to cover it but at the same time capture it perfectly.

Later that afternoon the mourners drifting away. Jamie finished the last of his beer. He said goodbye to the remaining friends and family. He stepped outside. He buttoned up his coat against the cold. Tony’s grandmother was climbing in the back of a taxi. As she closed the door she slid the window down and waved him over.

‘See you, Esther, take care.’

‘You need to be careful, Jamie.’

‘How’s that?’

‘These things always happen in threes. Tony was the first. If you’re not careful you could be number two or three.’

Before he could reply the taxi whisked her away. Jamie watched the tax-cab pull out into the main road and drive away. Jamie shook his head. Maybe some people needed these superstitions to help them make sense of the harshness of life. One of his aunts had all these superstitious rituals that she clung to. It reminded him of a documentary he’d seen about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The sufferers would be convinced that something bad would happen if they did not perform certain task a specific amount of times. His aunt could spend twenty minutes in a department store waiting to get a clear run down a staircase as it was bad luck to cross on the stairs. He was sure the ‘things happening in threes’ was one of those superstitions. It was all nonsense of course. It helped his aunt to cope, she would be okay, everything would be fine, if she stuck to these rules. Unfortunately, life wasn’t like that. It was random and brutal and could end at any time. That was that.

He headed for the bus stop.

Early the following week Jamie received a phone call from one of his friends. As soon as he picked up he knew something was wrong. His friend Tim tried to get his words out. Finally he managed to mutter the words clearly enough for Jamie to understand.

‘It’s Todd. He’s dead.’

‘What? How?’

Jamie dropped onto the sofa as his friend described how, in a freak accident at work, Todd had been crushed by a warehouse door swinging shut. Jamie felt ice cold and as though he was dreaming. Jamie couldn’t believe it. How could this be? Another of his friends dying so soon after Tony? That was just unbearable. He stammered that he’d talk to his friend soon and hung up.

And why did it have to happen to Todd? They were part of a larger group of friends but Jamie, Tony and Todd had been the closest of friends. They were the key part, the centre of the circle of friends. The rest of the group were not quite as close, as tight, as the three of them. They were friends of friends, and hangers on, and some drifted in and out. It was always Jamie, Tony and Todd, and the rest of the group were strictly the supporting cast. He spent the rest of the evening on the phone to friends and family. Everyone was just shocked and utterly distraught.

Before heading to bed Jamie sipped a whiskey. He raised the glass in a silent toast to his departed friends. His two best friends were gone. He sighed. His two best friends. A shiver went through him as the words of Tony’s grandmother came back to him. Could it really be the case that Todd was number two and he could be the third and final victim of whatever strange curse was upon them? No, surely not. Things just happened, that’s all. There was no weird superstition at work. Nothing happened because it was predestined. Tony and Todd dying so closely together was awful, it was a tragedy for those that knew them. But that was all. He put the thought out of his mind and went upstairs to bed.

As he drove to work the next day he decided he’d take a few days off. He was unsure how he’d spend the time but he needed a break to clear his head. Maybe he’d take a trip to North Wales, go to the seaside, or walking in the Welsh hills. The minute he got to work he would see about booking some time off. He was almost at the office. He pulled to a stop at the traffic lights. The lights changed to green. He set off. At that moment, a lorry came tearing right across his path. Jamie slammed on the brake. His car screeched to a stop just short of ploughing into the side of the passing wagon. He held his breath and sat in his car, heart pounding, in the middle of the crossing. If he would have set off a second sooner, or not been as quick with the brake pedal, he would have been killed. The driver of the car behind sounded their horn. Jamie set off slowly, still shaken by the near miss. He arrived at the office in a state of panic. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d narrowly avoided a fatal collision that troubled him. There was something else niggling at him. Always in threes. Could it be that he was number three?

He made himself a strong cup of tea and crossed the office floor to his desk.

‘Look, it’s snowing.’ Someone called.

Everyone turned to the window. Jamie glanced around. Sure enough a heavy snowfall had started. Already the ground was becoming covered with a white blanket of snow. There was a mixed reaction by his colleagues. Some gushed at how lovely a covering of snow made everything. Others grumbled about how bad the traffic would be on the journey home.

Jamie was still tormented by the recent events. One of his workmates asked if he was okay.

‘Not really no.’

‘Are you ill?’

Instead of going into everything he simply nodded.

‘Why don’t you get yourself off home? I’ll let everyone know.’

Jamie mumbled thanks and leaving his cup of tea to go cold on his desk shuffled back towards the door.

He took the journey home really carefully. He made sure there was no cars coming as he pulled out of the industrial estate. He approached a busy roundabout. The road was busy. Maybe a lot of people were heading home because of the severe weather. The snow really was coming down. It wasn’t just snowing it was almost blizzard-like. He pressed on the brake as he neared the roundabout. His car didn’t slow. He stepped down hard. Nothing. His car kept going. He swore and called out in terror. His car sailed on towards the busy roundabout. He was sure he was going to hit something. He yanked the steering wheel, and, with rear wheels skidding, he managed to avoid the traffic on the road.

He tried the brakes a few minutes later. Thankfully the car did as he wanted. He sighed. This was all so very strange. He had a bizarre feeling that something was gunning for him. Was it the curse of the three? He just wanted to be at home, behind closed, locked doors. Hopefully then he’d be safe from harm.

He parked up outside his house. He rushed up the steps, fumbling for his house keys. He slipped on the icy steps. He lost his footing. The last thing he felt was his head cracking the pavement.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom