Full Moon Curse

01. This is NOT a drill. I really am Cursed.

This is what it's come to. Sleepless nights two weeks out of the month, unsure, dreading the days before and the days just after. Endless speculation over a bottle of vodka. Or two... three and half bottles maybe... Having really no one to talk to, so you fill up dollar store journal after dollar store journal. Not wanting to step foot outside, even on a work day. Paranoia getting worse. Social isolation, getting worse. Hooking up constantly, using human flesh as a temporary cocoon. Consulting some hokey pokey witch. This is what it's come to.

Okay, so I'm being dramatic. Maybe. But I am sure that for at least two weeks out of each month--the first week of the month, and sometime around the last--like clockwork, just goes to shit. And I'm no conspiracy theorist, and give no stock into that astrology bullshit but... It might have something to do with the moon with it's various stages, particularly the new moon and of course the infamous full moon.

Yea, I know I just said astrology is bullshit, but sometimes I wonder, you know? Who doesn't?

I originally got the idea from my friend and fellow BFA of the Fine Arts with a concentration in Film; Oscar. A beautiful, sensitive man, one who could be called a tortured artist while still retaining some semblance of likeability with the Grecian looks to match; you know, aquiline nose, small well shaped lips and large, bright eyes. I always knew he was into the occult, like tarot cards, psychics, things of that nature. So after several months of these freakish occurrences around each full and new moon, and months of Oscar pestering me about feelings I just gave in and told him. He kind of reacted how I thought he would at first, nonchalant, but as I began to speak more to him about what was happening he started bringing up all this occult stuff more and more.

Eventually, he presented his most strange idea to me yet.

It was a nice, sunny day. We were sitting down in our favourite coffee shop, just the two of us sitting by the window bathed in early morning sunshine. There weren't a lot of people around, inside and outside the shop but the few who were around looked cheery in a way that made me irrationally irritated. In fact, I had barely touched what I had ordered;  my favourite drink; coffee, pure black, and my scone. Oscar was staring at me deeply, chewing on his bottom lip. I could tell he wanted to say something, so I nodded my head a little in his direction.

The first few times were funny dude. Like the week all your clothes shrunk by several sizes. Oscar cracked a hesitant smile, but it faded after he saw the probably pitiful look on my face. If I looked as droopy as I felt, no doubt all the skin on my face was sagging towards the floor.

I said some stuff I can't remember. It felt like I was swishing marbles around in my mouth.

Don't want to sound crazy but it sounds like grade A witchcraft to me. He held his two hands up, palms out. Just sayin'. I waited for him to explain.

Okay, so you know about hexing? Well that's when a witch curses you. Nowadays, with the rise of emoji spells you got easier access to making hexes, but like, in all serious Sinemm. It sounds like you've gotten SERIOUSLY hexed. Like, in a coven, witch-y sisterhood you know... Whoever is doing this wants to build things up. They start out with mildly irritating spells like your shoelaces self tying and tripping you up. Then they graduate to more malicious things like ill fitting clothes and your food going missing. Who knows what's next...

The amount of words spilling out Oscar's mouth was so strange. He had a tendency to talk a lot but I could tell he knew a lot about this subject.

But you're in luck, Oscar slammed something down on the table and slid it over to me. A shiny business card. It looked normal, but when you turned it a certain way, a crystal ball and several strange symbols popped up. I know an actual psychic, witch type girl and I was thinking you pay her a visit. I'll even come with you, for you know. Moral support. He grinned and I thought he looked quite stupid. Partially because he sounded ridiculous and partially because he was starting to get on my nerve.

And after our brief meet up at the cafe, I'd been seriously thinking it over--the whole psychic thing that is--after giving myself a few days to wallow in some self pity. At this point I was seriously thinking that someone had put a curse on me, starting to believe it. So what did that mean for me? Am I really so bad of a person that someone takes the time out of their lives to cause misfortune in my life two times out of every month?

Well, yes apparently, or I wouldn't be in this position.

But last night, hours before Oscar came to pick me up, I used my insomnia for good (I guess) and started up a word document so I can get as much info about the situation as possible. Anything that could help get to the bottom of things, should this whole... psychic help blow up in my face. I scoured Google for any and all information on full moons--I got your average Wikipedia article and a few sketchy looking astrology websites. I went deeper into the rabbit hole, viewing websites by self proclaimed witches and a couple of Tumblr blogs on the subject, but I feel even more lost after.

I got ready. The quick shower made me look a bit better. Color gathered in my cheeks, and my eyes looked a bit more alert. Still, I looked like a starved rat with dark circles under my eyes, and thick dark hair plastered against my forehead.

I slipped into Oscar's car. We stared at each other for a second, and he started giggling.

Ahaha. Ooh, Sinemm. You look almost like a... sexy, bisexual warlock.

Don't even start Oscar,  I mumble. 

What? I can't flirt with my friend? This bromance is so one sided... Oscar pouted.

You're straight and you have a girlfriend. So shut up. I can't help but smile though. If Oscar's good for anything, it's making you feel better.

And I think I'm starting to feel a little better.

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So now I find myself standing in front of an ordinary looking brownstone. I glance at Oscar before we both stride up the steps to the front door, which opens before I can even press the doorbell.

Oscar looks up at me, smug. I roll my eyes. Obviously Oscar knows this girl. Wouldn't be surprised if he fed her some info before I got here to make the whole psychic thing believable. I'm struggling to keep an open mind, and I don't see myself succeeding.

The hand that opened the door disappears, and I take a couple of slow steps into entryway. I am blasted with a strong, kind of sweet scent. Next to me, Oscar lets out a series of coughs. The whole house is dark, a series of candles leading the way down the hall.

So fucking weird.

The candles lead straight to the basement door. How has this place not burned down yet?

Oscar, this is too much, I say, spinning around on my heel. It's obvious that the reason why this person dresses up this house in all this nonsense is because they're most likely all sparkle, zero substance. I mean look at this place. It's like some corny haunted house. Except it's not Halloween, your friend here just thinks she's the star of a Tim Burton film.

Oh yeah? Well... Go home. Good luck getting there though. I have the keys to the car. And the actual drivers license.

I-

Are you going to come down or not? A voice calls out lightly. I blink. Why does she sound so young? Oscar called her a girl, but most people just call women "girls" whether they actually are one or not. I actually expected a woman, maybe middle age, like the Long Island medium. Most of these shady ass psychic ladies tend to be old enough to be my mom, so the assumption is a healthy one, I guess.

Well, there's no turning back now. And it's not like I'm paying for any of this. At least... I haven't heard anything about paying. And if there is a price to pay, I'm sure as hell making Oscar pay it. I step carefully down the concrete stairs, wary that I could trip and fall at any moment.

Um... Hello? I get silence back. A large object blocks my view, but I can see pulsating red light. Shit's demonic! Hello...?

I stepped into the light. Perched up on what could only be described as a throne, surrounded by medieval style art of witches sat a figure dressed like The Virgin. I can't see her face at all, but I can tell that she's young.

Hi Sinemm Beceri! Are you ready for your consultation?