**An Unforgettable Celebration: The Return of the Restaurant**
Emma returned home with her husband, Oliver, after celebrating her birthday at a fancy restaurant in London. The evening had been perfectfilled with laughter, family, and colleagues. Many of the guests were strangers to Emma, but if Oliver had invited them, she trusted his judgment.
She wasnt one to question her husbands choices. Arguments made her uneasy, and it was easier to go along with him than to prove a point.
“Emma, do you have the flat keys handy? Can you grab them?”
She rummaged through her handbag, searching for the keys, when a sharp pain shot through her finger. She jerked her hand back violently, sending her bag tumbling to the ground.
“Whats wrong?” Oliver frowned.
“Something pricked me.”
“Honestly, your bags such a messno wonder.”
Emma didnt argue. She picked up the bag, carefully retrieved the keys, and they stepped inside. The sting was already forgotten. Exhausted, her feet aching, all she wanted was a hot shower and bed.
The next morning, she woke to a throbbing pain in her fingerred, swollen, and angry. She remembered the jab from last night and frantically searched her bag. At the bottom, she found a large, rusted needle.
“What on earth?”
She couldnt fathom how it had gotten there. Disgusted, she tossed it aside, then reached for the first aid kit to clean the wound. After bandaging her finger, she went to work, but by midday, a fever had taken hold.
She called Oliver.
“I dont know whats happening. I feel awfulfever, headache, my whole body aches. And I found that rusted needle in my bag.”
“You should see a doctor. It could be tetanusor worse.”
“Dont worry. I cleaned it. Ill be fine.”
But within hours, she was worse. Barely managing to finish her shift, she hailed a cab, knowing she couldnt endure the Tube. At home, she collapsed onto the sofa and fell into a deep, feverish sleep.
She dreamt of her grandmother, Margaret, who had passed when Emma was just a girl. Though she barely remembered her face, she knew it was herfrail yet somehow powerful.
In the dream, Margaret led her through a sunlit meadow, pointing out herbs she needed to brew a remedysomething to cleanse the darkness gnawing at her. She warned Emma that someone wished her harm, but to face them, she had to survive. Time was running out.
Emma jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Only minutes had passed. The front door clickedOliver.
“Whats happened to you? Look at yourself.”
She staggered to the mirror. The woman staring back was unrecognisablehair tangled, eyes hollow, skin sallow.
“What is this?”
Then she remembered the dream and told Oliver.
“I saw Grandma Margaret. She told me what to do”
“Emma, get dressed. Were going to hospital.”
“No. She said the doctors cant help me.”
Their first real argument erupted. Oliver called her mad for trusting a dreama ghosts advice. He grabbed her arm, trying to drag her out.
“If you wont go willingly, Ill make you.”
She wrenched free, stumbled, and hit the edge of the table. Olivers face twisted in guilt. Snatching up her bag, he stormed out.
Emma barely managed to text her boss*sick, need days off.*
Oliver returned near midnight, apologising, but Emma only whispered,
“Take me to Grandmas village tomorrow.”
By morning, she looked like death itself. Oliver begged,
“Emma, please. I cant lose you.”
But they drove. The village was a blur from childhood, a place she hadnt seen since her parents sold Margarets cottage. She dozed until a sudden certainty woke her.
“There.”
She staggered from the car, collapsing into the grassbut she knew this was the place from her dream. She found the herbs, and they returned home. Oliver brewed the remedy as she instructed. With each sip, strength trickled back.
Later, in the bathroom, her urine ran black. Instead of panic, she whispered,
“The darkness is leaving”
That night, Margaret returned. The rusted needle had been a cursesomeones malice. The remedy was temporary. Emma had to find whod done it. And Oliver was involved.
“Do this: buy needles. Recite this over the largest: *Spirits of night, hear me true, reveal the one who means me harm.* Hide it in Olivers bag. Whoever pricks themselves is your enemy.”
At dawn, Emma acted. Though weak, she insisted on going out alone.
“Oliver, make me soup. Im starving.”
That night, she slipped the needle into his bag.
“Are you sure youre alright?” he asked before bed.
“Ill be fine.”
The next evening, Oliver returned from work.
“How was your day?”
“Finewhy?”
Then, casually:
“Funny thingIrina from the next department tried helping me with my keys. She got pricked by a needle in my bag. Went absolutely livid.”
Emmas blood ran cold.
“Whats between you and Irina?”
“Emma, dont. I love only you.”
“Was she at the restaurant?”
“A colleague. Nothing more.”
It all clicked.
Later, in her dreams, Margaret taught her how to return Irinas malice. The woman had tried to remove her rivalby any means.
Days later, Oliver mentioned Irina was on medical leave*mysterious illness, doctors baffled.*
Emma visited Margarets grave that weekend, the first time since the funeral. She cleared the weeds, laid flowers.
“Sorry I never came. I thought once a year was enough. I was wrong.”
A gentle breeze brushed her shoulderslike an embrace. When she turned, no one was there.
