I didn’t normally respond to demands, especially demands by purple-wearing, soothsaying, weirdly-named psychics.
But at this point, I was more worried than peeved by Aurora’s “request” to visit her immediately. On my cell phone just minutes earlier, an on-line newspaper bleeped a headline: “Man found dead on quest to find Hal the Huntsman treasure.” (See last week’s From Dawn to Dusk.)
Was Todd the man found dead? Perhaps Aurora/Dawn truly could “see” the answer. Continue reading
Dawn turned to Dusk.
Dusk turned to Dawn. Six times.
And then I could wait no longer.
So I ignored psychic Aurora’s “suggestion” to go on as if nothing had happened. Too much was at stake. (See last week’s Fear of Dawn.)
I blamed Todd, of course. His pursuit of me had seemed so genuine until I realized that his professed love was actually “gem”uine. Continue reading
“Yes, I can help you,” she answered, “but my magic has a price. Although under the circumstances, perhaps you will be eager to pay it.”
“How do you possibly know ‘my circumstances’?” I asked the woman. My friend Lacey told me that her cousin Jennifer knew a woman who was a psychic. This “spirit goddess,” as she called herself, rented a small room in the tiny village 20 miles from my home. I deemed myself desperate enough to pay her a visit.
Perhaps “pay” was the operative word here. I didn’t expect her services for free, but… “Whatever my circumstances, what is your fee?” I asked. Continue reading
A few minutes after dawn, I notice some movement outside my window.
Because it’s summer, with flowers blooming wildly and birds singing as if there’s no tomorrow, I assume some kind of wildlife has entered my yard.
Cracking open the back door, I peek out. Despite my admiration for foxes and wild turkeys, I don’t necessary want to tiptoe out into the yard and run into any family squabbles. Continue reading
From my window I observe the woman watching the birdfeeder, and I wonder if she is as strange as she seems.
“Come come, my dears, come come,” she croons, like a female Frank Sinatra. The birdfeeder is less than half-full or more than half empty, depending on your perspective, and has been for a week now, much to my dismay.
Oreo, the next-door neighbors’ black and white cat, caught one of the lustrous red cardinals in her mouth, mid-air, a week ago Monday, and the feeder has not been visited since. Continue reading