Everyday Magic. A young woman, no more than twenty years of age, with bright
red hair done in a bun, with a few stray bangs framing her face, taps her ...
Everyday Magic
A young woman, no more than twenty years of age, with bright red hair done in a bun, with a few stray bangs framing her face, taps her fingertips against a sofa’s armrest. She is anxiously awaiting an arrival. She looks at her watch. Half past eight in the morn and-‐ Wait, half past eight? Oh, dear…I’m late. Allow me to quickly cut off my communication to the fly on the wall, the fly that was my spy. Are you daft, fly? Couldn’t you see my time was flying by? I jolt back
and find myself in front of the blue door that belongs to the blue house with the funny little garden, three houses down on the left side of Tango Lane. Tango Lane…I like that name. …Sorry, going off topic. I straighten my black tie and un-‐tuck half of my shirt. What, are you judging me? You don’t know me, man. Woman. Child? Elder? That last one was a joke, by the way. Well, let’s knock on the door. Waiting, waiting…more waiting…So sorry, I would have invited you earlier had I know it was-‐ Ah, here we go! The door opens and out pops one Trudy Travis, the woman from before, the one with the sofa. Her eyes widen. I smirk and do my little bow. Lovely vixens always love my sense of style and fashion; it’s just an attraction. “You’re a fox…” Trudy Travis whispers. ‘How bold!’ ‘Shameless!’ I bet that’s what you’re thinking. I am afraid you’d be wrong. A fox I actually am. A fox on two legs, donning a tie and vest ensemble and my favorite pair of trousers. What, I mislead you? Well…I did say vixens, didn’t I? “Well, of course. You did you read my ad in the paper, didn’t you?” I ask. “Yeah…it just said your name was Gareth T. Fox!” Trudy Travis exclaims.
“Yes…Gareth. The. Fox,” I pause…we’re about to get off topic and we can’t have that, “Now, what is your problem, Trudy Travis?” She simply stares as I sashay in and sit on the sofa. Trudy Travis follows me in, a slight shade of pale added to her face. “You know what? Fine. Ever since I opened the silly box, strange and just plain weird things have been happening to me…I don’t know who to go to,” Trudy Travis explains, “I want it to end. So, when I saw the ad for an…ah…what was it?” “Urban Shaman.” I say. “Ah, yes…I…I just thought you would be able to help, but you’re just another of those things!” Trudy Travis wails, “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat…I just keep hearing and seeing things! Things like you!” Now, that’s just rude. I hold finger up and wag it. Yes, that’s right: I am upset. No, another jape. From upstairs, a pair of fine gentlemen with shiny blond coats bring me the box in question. I thank them for their service. Yet, Trudy Travis yells again. “What are my dogs doing now?!” Trudy Travis questions, “Shamus, Robert, sit!” “Excuse me, but you are being rude again,” I look to Bonaparte and Napoleon, “I am so sorry, chaps. Don’t worry; I have her right as rain before I retire from her ire.” I take up the box. I frown. From the green paint to the golden trimmings to the rusted keyhole, I can tell this box is evil. It’s a bad box. Poor Trudy Travis. How could she have known? Oh, well. This box isn’t meant
for her hands or even mine. I throw the box up in the air and wag my finger again. This time I really am upset. A small spark spits and soars to the falling box, setting it aflame. Trudy Travis screams and shrinks. The burning bad box bursts just before it hits the floor. Gone but it will be back. Just not for Trudy Travis. “W-‐What…?” Trudy Travis asks. “I have done my job, Trudy Travis. You will be bothered no more with things from The Dwell, things that do not mean you well,” I pause, “Now, payment?” Trudy Travis weakly nods. Can you believe she’s actually going for money? I would prefer honey. I clear my throat as I stand and dust myself off. “No, no, Trudy Travis. I have no use for coin. No, your payment will be this,” I flick my trick, flare a flame, and present a black and red seed, “A seed that you will plant on the second floor’s northern window when the moon is high and the shadows are nigh. You will not give it water or food or conversation. I will be back for it when the time is right.” I hand her the seed and bow again. Well, friend, time to go. No more fun, time to go home. Oh, by the way…should you find a box on the road or in the hall, walk by with scarcely a stare. I think you’ll find The Dwell fancies you a little too well. Or perhaps your hands are meant for the box. Either way, till next time you see this fox. Cheers!
