I still remember that night as if it were a tableau painted long ago, a memory that has settled like dust on the rafters of my mind. Emma Whitaker and I had just left a bustling restaurant in York where my husband, Thomas Clarke, was celebrating his birthday. The evening had been a successnumerous guests, relatives, and colleagues, many of whom Emma had never met before, but Thomas had deemed it proper to invite them all.
Emma never was one to challenge Thomass decisions; she avoided quarrels and preferred peace to proving a point. It was easier to go along with him than to argue.
Emma, have you got the keys? Could you fetch them, please? Thomas asked.
She rummaged through her handbag, searching for the metal clink. Suddenly a sharp sting made her drop the bag onto the floor.
What happened? Thomas asked, concerned.
Ive cut myself on something, she replied, wincing.
The inside of that bag is a maze; nothing surprises me, he chuckled.
Emma did not argue. She lifted the purse, gently extracted the keys, and they entered their flat. By then the throbbing in her leg from the evenings fatigue had faded, leaving only the longing for a hot shower and a soft bed. By morning her hand throbbed with a swollen, crimson finger. She recalled the previous nights mishap and, out of curiosity, opened her purse once more. Amidst the usual contents, at the very bottom, she found a large, rustcovered needle.
What on earth is this? she muttered, baffled at how such a thing could have slipped into her bag. She tossed the needle into the waste bin, fetched a firstaid kit, and tended the wound. After dressing it, she headed to work, but by noon a fever began to rise.
She called Thomas: Tom, Im not sure what to doI think I caught something nasty yesterday. Ive got a fever, my head aches, my whole body aches. Imagine, I found a big rusty needle in my bag and thats what cut me.
Maybe you should see a doctor; it could be tetanus or an infection, he suggested.
Dont overreact. Ive cleaned the wound; itll be fine, Emma replied.
Hour by hour her condition worsened. She barely managed through the day, summoned a cab, and trudged home, knowing the bus would have been too taxing. Collapsing onto the settee, she fell asleep.
In her dream, her late grandmother Eleanor appeareda figure she had not seen since childhood, though she sensed it was truly her. Eleanor, bent and ancient, seemed frightening to some, yet Emma felt her presence was protective. The old woman led her across a field, pointing out herbs to gather, urging her to brew a decoction to cleanse her body. There is someone who wishes you harm, Eleanor whispered, but you must survive to fight them. Time was short.
Emma awoke drenched in sweat. It felt as though she had slept for ages, but a glance at the clock showed only a few minutes had passed. The front door slammed; Thomas had returned. She slipped off the settee and shuffled to the hallway. Seeing her, he gasped, Whats happened? Look at yourself in the mirror.
She approached the mirror. Yesterday she had seen a bright, smiling face; now she could barely recognize herself. Her hair hung in tangled clumps, dark circles marked her eyes, her complexion was ashen, and her stare was vacant.
What is this? she whispered, recalling her dream. I saw my grandmother; she told me what to do
Emma, get dressed; were going to the hospital, Thomas said.
No, my grandma says the doctors wont help, she protested.
A fierce argument erupted. Thomas called her mad, accusing her of delirium from the fever. For the first time they truly quarreled. Determined to force a hospital visit, Thomas grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her out of the house.
You wont go willingly, so Ill make you, he snarled.
Emma slipped free, lost her balance, and struck her head against a cupboard corner. Enraged, Thomas seized a bag, slammed the door, and stormed out. Emma managed only to send a message to her boss, stating she was ill and needed a few days off.
Thomas returned late in the night, apologising, but Emma replied simply, Take me to the village where my grandmother lived tomorrow.
The next morning Emma resembled a living corpse more than a healthy woman. Thomas pleaded, Emma, dont be foolish, we must go to the hospital. I cant lose you.
Instead they drove to the little hamlet that had been abandoned since her parents sold the old family cottage after her grandmothers death. Emma slept through most of the journey, waking only as they neared the village. Here, she said, pointing.
She alighted from the car, collapsed onto the grass, and felt certain she stood where the dreamgrandmother had guided her. She gathered the herbs shed been shown, and they returned home. Thomas prepared the brew as instructed. Emma sipped it in small draughts, feeling her strength return incrementally.
She barely made it to the bathroom, and when she rose again she saw her urine was black. Rather than frighten her, it reminded her of Eleanors words: Darkness emerges.
That night Eleanor visited her once more, smiling, then spoke: A spell was cast on you through that rusted needle. My brew will restore you, but only briefly. You must find who did this and return their evil. I cannot see the culprit, but it is tied to your husband. Had you not thrown the needle away, I could have told you more.
She continued, Buy a packet of needles, and over the largest one say: Spirits of the night, hear me! Reveal the truth. Help me find my enemy Place that needle in your husbands bag. The one who placed the curse will prick themselves on it, and we shall learn their name and can then undo their malice.
Grandmothers image faded like mist.
Emma awoke still weak, yet convinced she would heal. She knew Eleanor would aid her. Thomas resolved to stay home and tend to his wife, surprised when Emma asked to go to the shop alone.
Emma, youre barely on your feet. Ill come with you, he offered.
Tom, make some soup; I have a voracious appetite after this illness, she replied.
She followed Eleanors counsel. That evening the enchanted needle lay in Thomass bag. Before retiring, he asked, Are you sure you can manage on your own? Should I stay by your side?
Ill be fine, she answered.
Emma felt better, though she sensed a lingering darkness. The third days decoction acted like an antidote, weakening the malevolence within her. She waited anxiously for Thomass return from work. When he entered, she greeted him at the door and asked, How was your day?
It was fine, why do you ask? he replied.
She thought she had failed, but Thomas added, Imagine this: today Iris from the neighboring department tried to help me by reaching for the keys to my office because my hands were full. She stuck her hand in a bag and was pricked by a needle. How did that needle get into my bag? She glared at me as if shed kill me with a look.
What about this Iris? Emma inquired.
Emma, you are the only one who matters to me. You alone I love, he said.
Was she at your birthday dinner? she asked.
Yes, a good friend, nothing more.
Emma felt the pieces click into place; now she understood how the ancient needle had found its way into her purse. Thomas went to the kitchen where dinner awaited. That very night Eleanor showed Emma how to return the evil to Iris. She explained that Iris had wanted to remove a rival to claim Thomass affection. Had her plan failed, she would have turned to sorcery again; she would stop at nothing.
Emma obeyed every instruction. Soon Thomas reported that Iris had taken sick leave, saying she was gravely ill and doctors were helpless.
Emma asked her husband to drive her one weekend to the village cemetery she hadnt visited since her grandmothers burial. She bought a bouquet, donned gloves, and painstakingly cleared the overgrown grass from the grave. When she reached the stone, a photograph of her grandmother was etched therethe very woman who had visited her in dreams and saved her from death. Emma set the flowers in a vase of water, sat on a bench, and spoke:
Grandmother, forgive me for not coming sooner. I thought a yearly visit from my parents was enough. I was wrong. Ill be back now. Without you, I might not be here at all.
She felt a warm pressure on her shoulders, as if Eleanors hand rested there. She turned, but only a gentle breeze swirled through the air.
