Riley's Curse

The air always felt different when Riley left their body behind. It wasn’t a sensation they could see—no shimmering silver cord, no glowing outline of their form drifting free. Riley had no mind’s eye, no way to picture the world even when their consciousness stayed tethered to flesh. Aphantasia, the doctors called it. A blank slate where others painted memories or dreams. But when Riley astral projected, the blindness didn’t lift—it deepened. They couldn’t see the world they entered, yet they felt it, sharp and alive, a tapestry of vibrations, sounds, and instincts no sighted person could fathom.


Riley’s power wasn’t delicate or ethereal. It was raw, forceful, like a storm trapped in a bottle. They could push objects with a thought, sense the heartbeat of a stranger miles away, or trace the jagged edges of a cliff through the echo of wind alone. Their mother, Ellen, didn’t understand it. She called it a curse, a devil’s trick, and every time Riley came back to their body—sweaty, trembling, exhilarated—she’d be waiting with a Bible in one hand and a rosary in the other.


“You’re meddling with things you can’t control,” Ellen would hiss, her voice tight with fear. “It’s not natural, Riley. It’s evil.”
But Riley couldn’t stop. The pull was too strong, the need to do something with this gift too fierce to ignore.


It was late summer when Riley felt her. They’d been drifting, their astral self skimming the edges of the nearby mountains, when a pulse of pain jolted through them—sharp, ragged, desperate. Someone was hurt. Riley focused, tuning out the hum of the world until they locked onto her: a woman, crumpled on a rocky ledge, her breaths shallow and uneven. She’d been free climbing, scaling the sheer face of a peak with no ropes, no harness, just chalk-dusted hands and stubborn will. A foothold had crumbled, and she’d fallen twenty feet, shattering her left leg and fracturing ribs. Her name, Riley learned later, was Mara.


Riley couldn’t see her—not her tangled hair, not the blood streaking her arms—but they felt her. The heat of her skin, the jagged rhythm of her pulse, the weight of her exhaustion. Mara was fading, slipping in and out of consciousness, too far from help to survive alone. Riley didn’t hesitate.


“Hold on,” Riley whispered, though no one could hear. Their astral form pressed close, a presence Mara couldn’t name but somehow sensed. When she was awake, Riley guided her, urging her to crawl, one agonizing inch at a time, toward the distant gravel road where her truck waited. Mara’s hands clawed at the dirt, her broken leg dragging uselessly behind, and Riley felt every grunt, every sob, as if it were their own.


When Mara passed out, Riley didn’t stop. They couldn’t carry her—not physically—but they could move her. With a surge of will, Riley pushed at her limp form, sliding her body across the ground, careful not to worsen the damage. It was slow, grueling work, like dragging a sack of stones with invisible hands. Mara would wake, groan, and crawl again, and Riley would nudge her forward when she faltered. For two days they went on like this, a strange dance of determination and desperation, until the crunch of gravel under Mara’s palms signaled the truck was near.


“Keys,” Mara rasped, fumbling at her pocket. Riley felt the metal’s cold edge through her trembling fingers and willed it into the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, and Mara collapsed against the wheel, bloodied and broken but alive. Riley stayed until they heard the distant wail of an ambulance, summoned by a passing hiker who’d spotted the truck weaving down the mountain road.


Back in their body, Riley slumped against the bedroom wall, heart pounding, hands shaking. They’d done it. They’d saved her. The thrill of it burned in their chest, a triumph no blindness could dim.


But Ellen knew. She always knew. The door banged open, and there she stood, her face pale and furious.


“What did you do?” she demanded, clutching her rosary so tight the beads creaked. “I felt it, Riley. That—that wrongness in the air. You went out again, didn’t you?”


“I saved someone,” Riley said, voice hoarse but steady. “A woman. She was dying out there.”


“You don’t get to play God!” Ellen shouted, tears streaking her cheeks. “This isn’t a gift—it’s a trap! You’re letting something evil use you, and I won’t have it in my house. I forbid you, Riley. No more. Swear it, or so help me—”


“I won’t swear,” Riley cut in, standing despite the ache in their bones. “I can’t see the world, Mom. Not like you do. But I can feel it, and I can help it. If that’s evil, then I don’t care what you think.”


Ellen’s sob echoed as Riley turned away, but they didn’t look back. The mountains called again, a faint pulse of life beyond the walls, and Riley knew they’d answer. Blind or not, cursed or not, they were more than their mother’s fear. They were a force, and the world needed them.