The Deal

The Hex

I believe myself to have a strong sense of self and an even stronger disregard for other's judgements, but the looks and whispers come to be too much. Even for me.

Grabbing my boots, my hat, and my matching purse, I head inside with a heavy heart and misty eyes. I cringe at the nasty writing as I walk through the door and contemplate my next move. I could leave the paint on the door as some act of defiance, but I know it would hurt my Nan to see.

However, the thought of getting on my hands and knees to scrub the hateful words from the door while the whole town watches and cackles like I'm a circus performer is too much for me to bear.

This Sophie's Choice is interrupted though, when I finally see what was thrown through the window. I had grabbed all the supplies from the shed in the garden and hadn't even been inside yet to assess the window damage.

My stomach churns and a small scream involuntarily falls from my lips at the sight.

The corpse of a rat, limbs shriveled up, mouth agape to reveal its yellowed teeth, and black fur stained with dried blood.

A rubber band wrapped around it's body to hold a small note written in the same writing as the paint on the door, "HERE'S YOUR DINNER, WITCH!"

An involuntary whimper escapes me and in a frenzy, I grab a paper towel, gloves, and an empty box from the supply closet. Through my tears I pick up the poor animal and carefully remove the malicious note before placing its body into the box and sealing it.

I grab a wand of sage and light it with shaky hands, letting it's healing properties wash over the entirety of the shop, focusing on the coffin of the rat, and take it outside to cleanse the alley, now tainted with hatred.

Once the sage is out, I take the rat into the garden and bury it amongst the flowers.

The naïve children can mock me all they want, but using a defenseless animal as some kind of tool to taunt me is unforgivable.

I cover the box with dirt and try to control my rage, the bright outlook of the morning now dark and daunting. I pocket the note, crushing it in my fist and promising to enact justice when I get a chance.

Collecting myself, I head back inside to wash the dirt and stench of death from my hands. I sweep up the shards of grass and place a ring of protection stones around the spot where the body lay for hours.

I don my shoes and hat once again, flip the OPEN sign over –even though I doubt anyone will come in with a warning sign literally painted on the door-, and plaster a large smile on my face as the clock strikes 8 AM.

Like clockwork, my Nan's light tread can be heard on the back staircase and I brace myself for the uncomfortable explanation I must give, but take a little gratitude that she didn't come down the stairs out front.

She is in her usual loose and long frock, feet bare, and hair untamed. Her usual mystic purple, though, has transformed into a muddled green akin to the deepest layer of a swamp.

A dark green aura is not a permanent state, but is representative of a time in one's life full of insecurities and resentment. This aura consistently reflects a feeling of self-blame and inner doubt. This aura will pass as these feelings are dealt with, but it often reflects a time of strife.

Well, looks as if she is already aware of the vandalism.

She stops at the foot of the stairs and holds my steady gaze in silence. I try to communicate my simultaneous sympathy for her and contentedness for me.

"Comment va ton coeur, ma chère?" (how is your heart, dear?) She speaks in a language most familiar to her, one she can feel safe and at home in, so I respond in the same manner.