I won the bet. The one I mentioned last time between Fionn and I about Reid’s line of romantic partners. It’s not really anything to celebrate, I suppose. I feel like the amount of time each of them lasts gets shorter by the week. I may have won our bet this time, but Fionn’s been in a dour mood more often than not these past few weeks, so I haven’t cashed in my winnings, nor have we renewed the terms.
I don’t claim to understand romance or relationships, but every time I see Reid’s lover-of-the-week I get the sense I should be equally worried about him as I am about Fionn. It’s unusual, in my opinion. I’ve known him for two years and I’ve never heard him mention anyone like that, yet recently it’s been a constant stream of them. Fionn jokes, we make bets, but why do I have the feeling that something else more sinister is lurking beneath this behaviour? Do I speak to the Madam, find out if Reid’s been possessed with something? Am I overreacting? Being too possessive? Christ, is it jealousy? Reid can have a life outside and exclusive of the shop. I have no right to interfere or to judge. Perhaps my own anxieties about Fionn are being projected onto Reid because I can fix the ones with him easier than the ones about Fionn.
I should stop worrying. Reid’s an adult, he can have as many partners as he wishes, as long as everything’s consensual there’s no problem, and no reason for me to worry.
Fionn, on the other hand. I hate feeling helpless, but that’s exactly what I do feel whenever I’m in the shop. It’s like the burden gets heavier, the guilt weighs heavier every time I see him wandering the aisles, or trying to distract himself with a painting, an item of clothing, every mirror in the damn place. I don’t think he’s really forgiven me for taking away his last toy, his chance of escapism. He’s reluctant to share his finds with me, and I’ve stopped inquiring. To say things are strained would be accurate.
It had been a quiet day, Fionn was lost in the shop, Chronos and I were sorting out the jewellery underneath the cabinet. By sorting I mean I was putting them beside him on the glass counter, and whichever one he didn’t like would disappear as if by magic. So really, it was Chronos that was sorting it out, I was just his hands.
Movement at the door caught my easily drawn attention, and when I turned, I saw Reid with a lad beyond the glass pane. They were standing close, talking, reaching out for each other’s sleeves, arms, hands. The lad, a fair-haired, brown-eyed gangly looking young man, noticed me and waved eagerly, causing Reid to turn around. I waved stiffly back, the dark thought that I’d probably never see this lad again crossing my mind. When I heard Chronos’ voice in my head saying that he’d seen a young lassie behave similarly towards Reid a few days earlier I felt a pit in my stomach. Reid was changing partners more frequently. But that was absolutely fine, nothing to be concerned about.
They kissed each other goodbye, and Reid came into the shop, the bell above the door echoing damply, as if affected by the dour, stagnant mood that settled in the air. I almost jokingly blurted to Reid;
What’s this one’s name?
Before I held my tongue. Instead, I simply asked if he was happy. I thought he’d mutter something stoic, a huff of “obviously”, even a grumpy “of course”. He looked startled by the question, like he’d expected me to tease him, to judge him. He looked away for me, not quite out of embarrassment but something else, bashfulness, self-consciousness, before mumbling “aye”. And that was the end of it.
I asked him if he could go and try to find Fionn, keep him company for a while, and he obliged, whilst Chronos and I went back to sorting out the jewellery. When the bell went again, not long after, Chronos and I stared curiously at the petite woman who came in. Brown curly hair framed a delightfully round face, but this lassie was anything but cheery. She stared at the wee shite and me as though we’d told her we’d kill her dog.
Gingerly, she snapped a simple white card down on the scarce empty space of the glass counter, amongst the cocktail rings and pearl necklaces. I smiled in an attempt to calm her down, but she refused to make eye contact with me for long and followed me at least a metre apart up the stairs to the front room.
Only green tea for this lassie. I was taken aback; I think she’s the first person in two years to ever ask for something else. I was even more surprised when I found some in the kitchen. Assuming it was brewed like normal tea, I scurried back in and took my place on the floor beside the coffee table. Chronos had even joined us for this one.
The lassie wouldn’t look at the Madam much either, and appeared distracted, as though she had an earphone in and was actually on the phone with someone. This went on for so long the Madam had to prompt her to tell her story.
Shifting her position on the sofa, the lassie looked down at her nails and began to pick at them. This action centred her, focused her attention. It was a few weeks ago, she began, she’d started hearing people’s voices, their inner voices, in her own head.
I know better now than to assume she needs a doctor, or a psychologist.
She corrects herself, realising how it sounds. It’s not her own thoughts she’s hearing, but others. She can read people’s minds. The Madam checks that this didn’t happen before, and I remind myself I’ll have to ask if that’s a thing actual people are able to do later. It’s never happened before, the lassie confirms, it’s only started in the last few weeks.
I’m failing to see how this is a bad thing. The number of times I’ve wished I could listen to a person’s thoughts. I wonder if it works on animals?
One morning she’d woken up to go to work. After getting dressed and making some coffee, she went to say goodbye to her boyfriend. He didn’t like her outfit, thought it made her legs look fat. She’d asked him to repeat himself, but he’d claimed to say nothing.
Knowing that having a fight would make her late for work, she ignored it and left, only to hear the same things from strangers waiting for the bus, and on the bus, and from her colleagues in work. Her legs looked fat, her hair was unclean, her make-up was smudged. It began to escalate. She was lazy, she was unprofessional, she was incompetent.
All of the things that all of us fear the world thinks about us, she was hearing from people she considered pals, loved ones. It had been constant ever since. Her boyfriend, her best pals, her colleagues, her parents, her family. She knew what all of them thought about her, what all of them disliked and wanted to change.
Eventually, understandably, she’d had enough. She begged the madam, lower lip beginning to quiver, to make it stop. She’d never asked for this ability, and didn’t want it. She couldn’t stand hearing all of the bad things people thought about her.
I take it back, her ability is shite, I don’t want it either. Who knew telepathy could be such a double-edged sword?
I was prepared and ready to stand up when the Madam instructed me to go to the cabinet and fish out a woven bracelet. At first, I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, a woven bracelet? I opened the door of the cabinet and unusually there were thin woven bands hanging from small hooks on the interior. All different colours, none the same as each other, and none monotonal. Greens, reds, purples, and blues, all woven together in chevrons, or blocks, or on a gradient fading from one to the other.
Madam Norna indicated that it was a blue and white one on a hook near the end of the row. They looked like the friendship bracelets my pals and I used to give each other when we were bairns still in primary school. You could buy them as well as make them, and it was the rage to be wearing one or more at the same time. I bet there’s a mouldy box in my Da’s loft full of the things.
I closed the cabinet and laid the bracelet on the coffee table before the lassie. My boss explained that the bracelet was to be worn for an entire month, without being taken off, and eventually the lassie would stop hearing people’s thoughts.
Wasting no time, she snatched the bracelet from the table and tied it around her wrist, pulling on the knot just to ensure it wasn’t going anywhere. She thanked the Madam and left, without payment.
This isn’t unusual, there are some customers who are helped for free. I presumed it was because someone else, probably Madam Anora, had cursed the customer to have the shitest kind of telepathy.
I said as much to the Madam, asking how the bracelet would halt whatever curse had been thrown at her. Her red lips curved, and stupidly I thought I’d impressed her by hitting the nail on the head. I was proud of myself for about 5 seconds.
Madam Norna began to shake her head gently, the smile turning into a condescending smirk. The customer wasn’t cursed at all. I know my boss doesn’t make jokes, but she was kidding, right?
Did the customer really just wake up one day with this horrible ability? That wasn’t a thing, wouldn’t we have had customers like her before? Wouldn’t it be on the news? Wouldn’t there be even more Youtubers and Tiktokers?
Noticing my confusion, and probably being so used to it she could draw it from memory, the Madam explained that although it was possible to curse someone in a similar way, nothing of the sort had been done to that lassie.
She was doing it to herself.
She wasn’t hearing other people’s thoughts at all; they were her own fears and insecurities that she was mentally projecting onto the people around her. When she thought she was hearing their voices in her head, it was just her own voice masking itself as theirs. That’s why they only ever said negative things about her. Her low sense of worth and her lack of confidence had created a demon of sorts, one that haunted her mind, and one that was excellent at impressions. No one was thinking those things about her, only herself.
There was no curse. Only the customer.
There didn’t always have to be a Madam Anora, or an enchanted object, or an eternal grudge, there was plenty of power in normal people, in the ones that walked past the shop without noticing it. Some people didn’t need to be cursed, because they were more than capable of making themselves suffer.
The bracelet was more placebo than anything more concrete. It would work for a while. But eventually, if our demons aren’t vanquished, they’ll keep coming back, time and time again.
Scots-ish language version
I won the bet. It’s no really anything to celebrate, I suppose. The one I mentioned last time between Fionn and I aboot Reid’s line of romantic partners. I feel like the amount ae time each of them lasts gets shorter by the week. I may have won our bet this time, but Fionn’s been in a dour mood more often than not these past few weeks, so I haven’t cashed in my winnings, nor have we renewed the terms.
I dinnae claim tae understand romance or relationships, but every time I see Reid’s lover-ae-the-week I get the sense I should be equally worried aboot him as I am aboot Fionn. It’s unusual, in my opinion. I’ve known him fae two years and I’ve never heard him mention anyone like that, yet recently it’s been a constant stream ae them. Fionn jokes, we make bets, but why do I have the feelin’ that something else more sinister is lurking beneath this behaviour? Do I speak tae the Madam, find oot if Reid’s been possessed wi’ something? Am I overreacting? Being too possessive? Christ, is it jealousy? Reid can have a life ootside and exclusive ae the shop. I have no right tae interfere, or tae judge. Perhaps ma own anxieties aboot Fionn are being projected ontae Reid because I can fix the ones wi him easier than the ones aboot Fionn.
I should stop worryin’. Reid’s an adult, he can have as many partners as he wishes, as long as everything’s consensual there’s no problem, and no reason fae me tae worry.
Fionn, on the other hand. I hate feelin’ helpless, but that’s exactly what I do feel whenever I’m in the shop. It’s like the burden gets heavier, the guilt weighs heavier every time I see him wanderin’ the aisles, or tryin’ tae distract himself wi a painting, an item ae clothin, every mirror in the damn place. I dinnae think he’s really forgiven me fae takin’ away his last toy, his chance ae escapism. He’s reluctant tae share his finds wi’ me, and I’ve stopped inquirin’. Tae say things are strained would be accurate.
It had been a quiet day, Fionn was lost in the shop, Chronos and I were sortin oot the jewellery underneath the cabinet. By sortin’ I mean I was putting them beside him on the glass counter, and whichever one he didnae like would disappear as if by magic. So really, it was Chronos that was sortin’ it oot, I was just his hands.
Movement at the door caught my easily drawn attention, and when I turned I saw Reid wi’ a lad beyond the glass pane. They were standin’ close, talkin, reachin’ oot fae each other’s sleeves, arms, hands. The lad, a fair-haired, brown-eyed gangly lookin’ young man, noticed me and waved eagerly, causin’ Reid tae turn aroond. I waved stiffly back, the dark thought that I’d probably never see this lad again crossin’ ma mind. When I heard Chronos’ voice in ma heid sayin’ that he’d seen a young lassie behave similarly towards Reid a few days earlier I felt a pit in ma stomach. Reid was changin’ partners more frequently. But that was absolutely fine, nothin’ tae be concerned aboot.
They kissed each other goodbye and Reid came intae the shop, the bell above the door echoin’ damply, as if affected by the dour, stagnant mood that settled in the air. I almost jokingly blurted tae Reid;
“What’s this one’s name?”
Before I held ma tongue. Instead, I simply asked if he was happy. I thought he’d mutter somethin’ stoic, a huff ae “obviously”, even a grumpy “of course”. He looked startled by the question, like he’d expected me tae tease him, tae judge him. He looked away fae me, not quite oot ae embarrassment but somethin’ else, bashfulness, self-consciousness, before mumbling “aye”. And that was the end ae it.
I asked him if he could go and try tae find Fionn, keep him company fae a while, and he obliged, whilst Chronos and I went back tae sortin’ oot the jewellery. When the bell went again, no long after, Chronos and I stared curiously at the petite woman who came in. Brown curly hair framed a delightfully round face, but this lassie was anythin’ but cheery. She stared at the wee shite and me as though we’d told her we’d kill her dog.
Gingerly, she snapped a simple white card doon on the scarce empty space ae the glass counter, amongst the cocktail rings and pearl necklaces. I smiled in an attempt tae calm her doon, but she refused tae make eye contact wi’ me fae long and followed me at least a metre apart up the stairs tae the front room.
Only green tea fae this lassie. I was taken aback, I think she’s the first person in two years tae ever ask fae somethin’ else. I was even more surprised when I found some in the kitchen. Assumin’ it was brewed like normal tea, I scurried back in and took ma place on the floor beside the coffee table. Chronos had even joined us fae this one.
The lassie wouldnae look at the Madam much either, and appeared distracted, as though she had an earphone in and was actually on the phone wi’ someone. This went on fae so long the Madam had tae prompt her tae tell her story.
Shiftin’ her position on the sofa, the lassie looked doon at her nails and began tae pick at them. This action centred her, focused her attention. It was a few weeks ago, she began, she’d started hearin’ people’s voices, their inner voices, in her own heid.
I know better noo than tae assume she needs a doctor, or a psychologist.
She corrects herself, realisin’ how it sounds. It’s no her own thoughts she’s hearin, but theirs. She can read people’s minds. The Madam checks that this didnae happen before, and I remind maself I’ll have tae ask if that’s a thing actual people are able tae do later. It’s never happened before, the lassie confirms, it’s only started in the last few weeks.
I’m failin’ tae see how this is a bad ‘hing. The number ae times I’ve wished I could listen tae a person’s thoughts. I wonder if it works on animals?
One mornin she’d woken up tae go tae work. After getting’ dressed and makin’ some coffee, she went tae say goodbye tae her boyfriend. He didnae like her outfit, thought it made her legs look fat. She’d asked him tae repeat himself, but he’d claimed tae say nothin’.
Knowin’ that havin’ a fight would make her late fae work, she ignored it and left, only tae hear the same ‘hings fae strangers waitin’ fae the bus, and on the bus, and fae her colleagues in work. Her legs looked fat, her hair was unclean, her make-up was smudged. It began tae escalate. She was lazy, she was unprofessional, she was incompetent.
All ae the things that all ae us fear the world thinks aboot us, she was hearin’ fae people she considered pals, loved ones. It had been constant ever since. Her boyfriend, her best pals, her colleagues, her parents, her family. She knew whit all ae them thought aboot her, what all ae them disliked and wanted tae change.
Eventually, understandably, she’d had enough. She begged the madam, lower lip beginning tae quiver, tae make it stop. She’d never asked fae this ability, and didnae want it. She couldnae stand hearin’ all ae the bad things people thought aboot her.
I take it back, her ability is shite, I dinnae want it either. Who knew telepathy could be such a double-edged sword?
I was prepared and ready tae stand up when the Madam instructed me tae go tae the cabinet and fish oot a woven bracelet. At first I didnae have a clue whit she was talkin’ aboot, a woven bracelet? I opened the door ae the cabinet and unusually there were thin woven bands hangin’ fae small hooks on the interior. All different colours, none the same as each other, and none monotonal. Greens, reds, purples, and blues, all woven together in chevrons, or blocks, or on a gradient fadin’ fae one tae the other.
Madam Norna indicated that it was a blue and white one on a hook near the end ae the row. They looked like the friendship bracelets ma pals and I used tae gee each other when we were bairns, still in primary school. You could buy them as well as make them, and it was the rage tae be wearin one or more at the same time. I bet there’s a mouldy box in ma Da’s loft full ae the things.
I closed the cabinet and laid the bracelet on the coffee table before the lassie. Ma boss explained that the bracelet was tae be worn for an entire month, withoot bein’ taken aff, and eventually the lassie would stop hearin’ people’s thoughts.
Wastin’ no time, she snatched the bracelet fae the table and tied it roond her wrist, pullin’ on the knot just tae insure it wasnae goin anywhere. She thanked the Madam and left, withoot payment.
This isnae unusual, there are some customers who are helped fae free. I presumed it was because someone else, probably Madam Anora, had cursed the customer tae have the shitest kind ae telepathy.
I said as much tae the Madam, askin’ how the bracelet would halt whitever curse had been thrown at her. Her red lips curved, and stupidly I thought I’d impressed her by hitting the nail on the head. I was proud ae maself fae aboot 5 seconds.
Madam Norna began tae shake her heid gently, the smile turnin’ intae a condescending smirk. The customer wasnae cursed at all. I know ma boss doesnae make jokes, but she was kiddin’, right?
Did the customer really just wake up one day wi’ this horrible ability? That wasnae a ‘hing, wouldnae we have had customers like her before? Wouldnae it be on the news? Wouldnae there be even more Youtubers and tiktokers?
Noticin’ ma confusion, and probably bein so used tae it she could draw it fae memory, the Madam explained that although it was possible to curse someone in a similar way, nothing ae the sort had been done tae that lassie.
She was doin’ it tae herself.
She wasne hearin’ other people’s thoughts at all, they were her own fears and insecurities that she was mentally projecting ontae the people aroond her. When she thought she was hearin’ their voices in her heid, it was just her own voice maskin’ itself as theirs. That’s why they only ever said negative ‘hings aboot her. Her low sense of worth and her lack ae confidence had created a demon ae sorts, one that haunted her mind, and one that was excellent at impressions. No one was thinkin’ those ‘hings aboot her, only herself.
There was no curse. Only the customer.
There didnae always have tae be a Madam Anora, or an enchanted object, or an eternal grudge, there was plenty ae power in normal people, in the ones that walked past the shop withoot noticin’ it. some people didnae need tae be cursed, because they were more than capable ae makin themselves suffer.
The bracelet was more placebo than anythin’ more concrete. It would work fae a while. But eventually, if our demons arenae vanquished, they’ll keep comin’ back, time and time again.