Black Spots

When I was a child I was obsessed with finding “black spots” around the house. These tiny fingernail sized black circles would turn up at various places around the house with no explanation as to what was causing them. The unsettling thing about these black spots was that their discovery was almost always followed by some kind of accident or somebody getting hurt..or worse.

I found the first mark on the window at the top of the stairs. The window, which has since been replaced, was an old rickety thing with peeling paint and jutting rusted nails, the kind you have to lift to open. I noticed it one day as I was going downstairs for breakfast. It looked like something had burned a small, round hole into the wood of the sill. It hadn’t been there yesterday.

Later that same day, my brother caught his hand in the window when it suddenly fell shut, breaking the bones of several fingers. He punctured his hand on a rusted nail too and had to go the doctor's for a tetanus injection.

A few weeks later I found another mark on a large wardrobe in one of the upstairs bedrooms. My mom had been planning to throw it out and buy a new one. Two men came to lift it out of the house. It was pretty heavy and they struggled getting it down the stairs, the man on the bottom end slipped, the other lost his grip and the wardrobe toppled over. The man underneath was unable to stop the heavy thing from falling on him. The corner struck him just under his right eye, knocking him unconscious for several seconds. His injury swelled and left a great big bruised lump under his eye.

Eventually I began to relate the little black spots to the bad things that kept happening. I would find the little marks and tell my parents " I found another black spot". Mom assured me they had nothing to do with it. This went on for a few months.

“Accidents happen” mom would always say,
“And it’s got nothing to do with any black spots, just people not being careful.”

I didn’t let it bother me.

Summer came around and mom planned a short family trip. It was just the three of us, her, my brother and I. We were going to spend a week in a rented house up the country. Of course I was excited about it. We were a somewhat low-income family and we almost never took vacations, also my mom hated flying. I was looking forward to the long drive there, and exploring the house where we would be staying. Mom said there were some woods by the house that had a walking trail where we could go to play.

But, as I climbed into the car, I noticed something worrying.

Just above the door handle, burned into the paint was another of those black spots. I screamed and cried. I refused to sit in the car despite my mom's threats to cancel the trip entirely if I didn't get in “RIGHT NOW!”. My older brother protested that it wasn’t fair to cancel the trip just because I was being stupid.

"He can stay there if he wants," he said

Mom was getting impatient. I pleaded with her that we take the bus (of course making the trip by bus with two kids and luggage would have been crazy). I pointed at the mark. I tried to tell her that something terrible would happen to us if we left in that car. She told me it was just a scratch where the paint had come away, that I was being ridiculous and holding everybody up. My brother tried to grab me and pull me into the car. I dodged him and ran into the house where I locked myself in the bathroom, refusing to come out.

Mom knocked hard on the door and told me to come out. I could hear the quiver in her voice , she only did that when she was really mad . Everybody's emotions were high now. Half an hour later I heard the sound of a suitcase being zipped open and mom calling to me to come unpack my things. "Vacation's off," I heard her call through the door. My brother was pounding on the door, now, shouting at me to come out.

"NO! Wait " I cried. “Don’t!”

I unlocked the door, pushing passed my brother and ran to stop her from unpacking. I guess I wanted so badly for our trip to go ahead that I tried to convince myself that I really was being silly, getting so scared over a little black mark. I found the suitcases still packed. I fell for her bluff. Mom didn’t say a word as we left the house. I felt guilty. I knew I'd spoiled the mood for everybody. The long drive would be awkward and silent .... if we made it alive.

Back outside, about to leave for the second time we found our neighbor, John. He was crouching next to our car, inspecting something. He looked up when he saw us approach.

" Looks like you got a leak there. I just noticed it as I was passing"

We all crouched down and saw the dark fluid that was slowly dripping onto the concrete underneath the car. John lifted up the hood to take a look.

"Were you planning on travelling today?” he asked

Mom told him our plans. His eyes widened.

"Good thing I caught you then. Looks like your leaking brake fluid. "

I looked at mom but I don't think she caught the "told you so" expression on my face, or maybe she just ignored it. Mom called a mechanic and a service van came to tow the car away for repairs. We had to wait until the next day to collect it. Nobody thanked me for saving our lives. John got all the praise for noticing the leak.

Nobody has ever believed me about the black spots. But they were real. Even now, years later as an adult, I continue to see those little black marks, always preceding some disaster or injury. Sometimes I don’t find any spots. I figure those are real accidents. Not like the kind caused by the spots, those feel malicious, like somebody or something wants to see you get hurt. That’s why I’m so worried right now.

Today I found one of those black marks on my chest.