You come to her door in need - there is a hex on you, set by a former co-worker. Everything you touch at work goes wrong. And youâd think itâs all coincidence, because itâs mostly little things like a missing signature or the wrong papers stapled together and maybe itâs just a mistake, except⌠the person who got fired to make space for you has sent you nasty letters dripping with something black that you really hope is ink, and there was that one time when you got HRâs signature and watched it fade as you walked it back to your cubicle.
So. Hex. Needs removal. And you only know of the one witch.
You knock on the door of her trailer, and she answers in a faded, splotchy pink terrycloth bathrobe. Her hair is a mess. The TV in the background is playing some oldies black and white comedy show. You stammer out a few details, and she rolls here eyes and half-nods, steps back, and waves in your direction.
Since she leaves the door open, you think that means âcome in,â and you do.
She half-points, half-waves at a ratty-looking green easy chair. You assume that means âsit down,â since sheâs wandered off in to the kitchen. She puts something in the microwave, and a few moments later, comes back into the living room carrying a coffee cup and cigarette.
She walks around the room, circling behind you and muttering.
âBy fire and air, this space is purified.â She waves the cigarette. âBy water and earth, this space is made sacred.â She sips the coffee. She walks around the room three times, waving the cigarette and sipping coffee, while you grow more nervous and wonder if you could reach the door while sheâs on the other side of the room.
She slams the coffee cup onto the table in the middle of the room, and sets the cigarette in a cheap glass ashtray with a Motel 6 logo on it.
âYou need,â she finally addresses you directly. She still looks hungover. âYou need a chakra balancing.â
âChakra⌠balancing? Is that one of those things with the⌠crystals? Or bells?â
âWell, for some people, I guess. Or you could get laid on a pool table, but I spose thatâs not as easy to do these days. OrâŚâ she turns around again, goes back to the kitchen and starts rummaging through drawers. âAha!â
She holds up a golden wand!
She holds up a golden vibrator. Itâs about 8âł long, plain bullet shape, the kind that sells for $15 in tacky novelty shops. Even from across the room, you can see that some of the gold paint is chipped.
She starts walking back toward you, and you cringe into the chair. âTh-thereâs no pool table here!â you say.
âWhat? No, of course not. Do I look like I could afford a pool table?â She gestures at the room with the vibrator.
âIâm notâ I donât wantâ you canâtââ you start to say, not letting your eyes leave the vibrator, until she notices you stammering, and peers at you in confusion.
âEh? Oh! No, Iâm not gonna touch you with this. Muck up the energies something awful, that would. Jusâ stand up for a moment, weâll get âer fixed.â
You start to stand. (Youâll have an easier time dashing for the door that way. Right now, sheâs between you and the door, but thatâll probably change, right?)
She walks close to you, counting her steps under her breath, taking ever-smaller steps until she reaches 13 steps and is right next to you. She grabs you shoulder with the other hand. âTurn,â she says, and nudges you to face away from the door.
âNo touching,â you repeat.â
âNope, no touching. Jusâ aura work.â When youâre facing away from her, she lets go of your shoulder, and turns on the vibrator.
Itâs loud. You flinch, but manage not to run.
She waves it up and down - you can see her arm moving, and your skin is crawling at how close she is - and she mumbles some more words.
âone two three four five six seven, all the tangles float to heaven.
Seven six five four three two one, no more more trouble, only fun.â
Then she waves the vibrator over your head - you can hear it - and shrieks âAAAAIIIIEEEE EVOHE!â While your ears are ringing, she turns it off and puts it in a pocket, and grabs your shoulders and spins you around.
And around. And around. She keeps you spinning until youâre dizzy, and just at the point youâre sure youâre going to fall down or throw up, she stops you, grabbing both shoulders and facing you.
She peers into your eyes. (She still looks hung over.) She sniffs a bit, and nods. âThatâll throw âem off. Keep âem running in circles, is what I always say.â
âKeep who running in circles?â
âDemons. Or pixies. Something like that. Pesky liâl buggers who muck up the numbers and steal your good silverwareââ she breaks off, looks around the room, shouts in the general direction of the television.
âAnd donât think I havenât noticed that thing with the toothbrush!â she says, at nobody you can see.
She waits. You wait. Nothing happens. She stares at you. âWell?â
âWell, um, what?â you say.
âWhy are you still here?â
She rolls her eyes. âIs done; all cured now; get out.â She makes shoo-ing motions with her hands. âIâm missing my show.â
You leave. You have no idea what happened.
But you donât have any more problems with the wrong papers being stuck together, or invoices filed in the wrong folders, or stamps falling off the envelopes. So you guess it worked.
