A skeleton dances when the front door swings open, drawing my latest customer inside. I go overboard decorating, but this season is the bread and butter for shops like mine. In January, I might spend weeks without pulling cards for anyone, but come October, even the most devout Catholics know the veil between the world thins, and they line up around the block for me to draw their tarot spread or recommend some crystals.  

This latest entrant seems to be one of those Halloween believers. Blonde bouffant high atop her head and meticulously pressed designer suit, she looks like she’s lost on her way to report about the morning weather. She glances furtively around at my collection of gemstones as though the larger crystals were teeth waiting to tear her flesh until she catches sight of me behind the counter. She makes a bee-line in my direction, fear in her eyes, begging me to save her from drowning in the milieu of oddities in which she’s found herself. 

I smile. “Welcome to Aradia’s Broom Closet. I’m Natalie. What can I do for you today?” 

“I have a problem, and I need your help.” She pulls a black velvet ring box from her pocket and casts it to the counter as though it were a bug. “This used to be my grandmother’s. I can’t explain it, but I think the ring is cursed.” 

My curiosity piqued, I open the box to find a gleaming, flawless, square-cut topaz that has to be two karats big sitting in antique gold flanked by trios of tiny, round diamonds. Glancing from the ring to the woman in bewilderment, I apologize, saying, “I’m not sure how I can help.” 

“Don’t you have some kind of unhexing spell?” she insists, boring holes into me.  

I blink twice. “Have you tried cleansing the stone?” I ask as gently as I know how.  

Her blank stare speaks volumes. “I’ll pay for anything you’re able to do,” she promises. 

“The Hunter’s Moon is next week,” I tell her. “Leave the ring, and I’ll prepare a ritual purification.”  

I suggest a sum of money, thinking she’ll barter, but she agrees on the spot. I take down her name and number. Or maybe she gives me a fake name, Vanessa Rock. After she leaves, I look in the box again. It’s pretty for an overstated antique piece of jewelry. I can’t imagine what could have her so worked up.  

*** 

Another day ticks off the calendar toward Halloween, and business is steady. By eight o’clock, my legs ache, and I’m ready to lock the door. I snag the ring box off the counter and leave after a quick closing up.  

I see the moon already rising from the car window and reach into my purse to pull out the topaz and set it on the dashboard. My eyes dart from the road. When they flick back, there’s a dark shape directly in my path. I slam on the pedal, and the brakes squeal, fishtailing as the friction fights inertia. My heart’s beating so hard I think I’ll choke as it leaps out of my throat. When I finally skid to a stop, the headlights resolve on a trembling sheepdog, who shuffles off. I get the ring box out in the open before I move on, but my breathing doesn’t return to normal for the rest of the trip. 

Flinging the door to the house ajar, my younger daughter meets me in the driveway after hearing me pull in. Lily is all hugs and kisses as I usher her back inside. “We don’t have much time before bed,” I tell her. “How do you want to spend it?” These nights when I work late are heartbreaking.  

“Let’s play Candyland and watch The Lego Movie,” she declares. 

I chuckle. “We have time for Candyland, anyway.” 

Her older sister sits in her designated spot on the sofa with her laptop and cell phone, young adult melodrama streaming on television.  

“I take it your homework is done,” I call across the room. 

She grunts, which I can only interpret as teenage slang for an affirmative, but I leave it at that and lay out the gameboard. 

Once the munchkins are asleep, I return my attention to the ring. I snag the box out of the car. In the moonlight, the topaz has already taken on a different quality. I set my intentions to purify it while it still glows in the fresh air. Back inside, I place it in the bay window in my dining room, among my selenite, and light some sage. The fragrant smoke swirls around the stones, cleansing away any negative energy.  

*** 

I’m aware of a shadowy presence at the foot of my bed before my eyes have a chance to open. I bolt upright, but I can’t make out distinguishing features in the dark. Something moves toward me. 

“Mommy?” Lily’s small voice squeaks. “Can I snuggle with you? I had a bad dream.” 

My vision adjusts to the gloom, and I’m able to discern the outline of her purple outer space pajamas against the wooden facade of my dresser. “Sure, sweetheart. Climb in here with Mommy. Tell me what’s wrong.”  

“These mean demons were chasing me. And they all had shining gold eyes.” She climbs up into my bed. “Like the dog with three heads from your cards,” she adds, her voice sheepish. 

I wrap her in my arms and bundle us into the blanket. “Oh, so you were looking at my tarot deck. Maybe that’s what this is about.”  

“Mom, just listen. There were different kinds of monsters. Only a few looked like your tarot cards, but they were all made of shadows and had the same flashing gold eyes.” She snorts, despite snuggling into the covers.  

I kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry you had a dream that scared you so bad.” 

“That wasn’t even the worst part!” she assures me. “The terrifying part was the lady at the end.” 

“Did she have flashing eyes too?” I ask. 

“No, she had a ring with a gold stone,” she says, fading off. 

A chill runs down my spine. I can’t help but imagine the grandmother Vanessa had mentioned.  

I smooth her hair, telling her to go back to sleep, but I find it hard to take my own advice.  

*** 

The shop is closed on Mondays; I have the day off. The strange activity starts about three, just before the girls get home from school. To make myself a snack, I got out crackers and a plate. I turn to grab cheese from the refrigerator and a knife from the block. When I turned back around, my plate was gone. So I deposit the goods in my arms onto the counter and move to fetch the plate again. When I returned to the pile, the crackers had vanished.  

My irritation with my snack can go no further because Megan walks into the house. I ask how her day went and am met with another guttural reply followed shortly by the sound of her slamming door. In half an hour, Lily comes home, waving the picture of an astronaut she made.  

“Hang your art on the fridge, baby,” I call, but she sets it on the counter and leaves her bookbag on the floor to grab a cup of pudding to eat in front of the TV instead.  

Ten minutes later, she shrieks, “Megan!” from the kitchen. I run in to determine what the fuss is about. Her face contorted in a pitiful look of shock; she stands cradling her picture. Her eyes fill to the brim. “Mommy, why would she do this?” 

When I get closer, I can see the paper. A dark splotch covers its surface like the ink from a well spilled across it.  

“What’s up?” Megan trots into the kitchen.  

Holding up the ruined artwork, Lily’s tears begin to fall.  

Megan’s teenage toughness melts away in an instant, and she attempts to join us for a hug. “Oh no. What happened?” 

Lily cries harder.  

I squeeze her. “Lily, I don’t think your sister destroyed your picture.”  

“Me?” Megan squeaks out. “I’ve been in my room.” 

“I worked on this painting all week.” She chokes out complaints between sobs. “She was perfect.” 

“She was beautiful,” I assure her, hugging her tightly to me. 

Megan takes the construction paper from her sister’s hand. “Yeah, but how did this happen?”  

As she studies the inky stain, my eyes slip around her to the bay window behind her. The back of the black ring box stands out against the green altar cloth underneath it and the white pieces of stone encircling it. Even from where I’m standing, I notice something amiss. “What the hell?” I mutter. When I reach the sill, I see that my smooth selenite rod has shattered into smaller fragments, splitting in half down the length of the cylinder before fracturing into jagged chunks. The topaz shimmers brightly in the evening sun.  

I feel compelled to shut the lid and end the spell, but I only have three more days until the full moon. 

*** 

This time, it starts in my dreams. Shadowy forms hunt me with glowing eyes that seem to be made of topaz, as Lily described. I’m shaken awake right before they can devour me. 

Megan sits on the edge of my bed. “Mom, I had the worst nightmare.” 

I sit up. “Were you being chased by shadow demons with glowing yellow eyes?” 

She gasps. “How did you know?” 

“I just had the same one,” I confess. 

“And the old lady at the end whispering, ‘It’s mine’ over and over?” she asks, staring agape. 

“You woke me up before I saw her,” I say. 

“I dreamed about the old lady again.” From the doorway, Lily’s voice startles us. She flips on the light before climbing into bed. 

I hug her tightly. “I’m sorry that dream is so scary, baby.” 

She sniffles. Looking down at her, I see a dark streak forming under her nose. “Oh, honey. Your nose is bleeding. Look up and let me get you a tissue,” I instruct her.  

I reach over to the bedside table and snatch the box, but before I can pluck some and apply them, Megan pipes up, “Uhh, Mom-” Two red lines run down her face as well. 

“My god,” I begin, only to feel an immense pressure buildup behind the bridge of my nose. With an intense burst of pain, the blood starts to run out of my nostrils, too.  

Terrified, I fly out of my bed and dart into the dining room. There in the window sits the ring, its stone shining blood red in the moonlight. Looking at it makes me tremble. Then, the shudder spreads from me into the house itself. At first, it seems the floor derives the movement from my feet, but within moments, the chandelier overhead sways, and I know this can be no illusion.  

I snap the box closed, breaking the spell, and everything stops that instant. The girls are in the doorway behind me, and I check Lily’s nose, but the bleeding stops, leaving only the tissue stuck to her face. Megan checks, too, and finds the same. 

For extra reassurance, I braved the cold of October and stowed the ring in my car after binding the whole box with black ribbons. “We’re safe now,” I promise the girls. 

*** 

I called Vanessa the next morning. At least she didn’t give me a fake number. She tromps into the shop with the same designer veneer, but only this time, I understand her misgivings about the crystals.  

“Well?” she demands when she reaches the counter. “Did it work?” 

I shake my head. “There are still two days before the full moon,” I hand her the tied bundle. “You need to get rid of that ring.” 

Editor: Lisa Mildon