PREVIOUSLY...
TWELVE FOR A DASTARDLY CURSE3: CIRCLE THE PSYCHOPOMP
Eve stood rigid and brittle, mind racing. She played back the events of the previous twenty-four hours over and over, analyzing and scrutinizing every hour, minute, second - every interaction, every line of dialogue, every word of her inner thoughts. She’d arrived; drank; slept; buried a suspicious bird; then the girl had been murdered, she had been arrested, and promptly shipped out of town.
Out of town.
Distinctly out of town - she recalled the large wooden sign at the town border bidding her farewell, a grinning woman paying her a fond wave of the hand as the other wrapped around a large gnarled and white tree trunk, all leering out from what remained of faded and cracked paint. It had passed by the window of the coach and she thought she’d seen the eyes of the painted woman move to watch her go, but had quickly succumbed back to sleep. When she woke it was time to alight, and that was when she had found herself here, once more, in this rundown and decrepit bar that felt haunted by something other than Eve’s own unexpected presence.
The voice of the barman came in like lantern light through swamp mud.
“Miss? Lady?”Eve snapped back to reality - what
appeared to be reality - and focused on the man in front of her, who was frowning, with his hands on the bar and leaning ever so slightly forward. She realized she’d been stood unmoving just inside the doorway for the better part of ten minutes.
“You drinkin’ or not, ‘cause I’m gonna close up otherwise and I ain’t got time for backwater weirdos.”Eve glared, but approached the bar.
“I’m drinking.” She answered, firm and with finality. The barman paused.
“...alrighty. What can I getcha?”Eve tapped the handle of the draught pump, her fingernail clacking against the plastic.
“Clean your pipes lately?”“They gotta be cleaned?”There was a pregnant pause.
“I’ll take what you have that’s not from those pumps.”“Can of Lone Star Red, then.” The barman said, begrudgingly and with a hint of embarrassment. He fetched the beer and Eve cracked the tab quickly and took a long first swig. She grimaced as she swallowed.
“God, that’s still awful.”The barman just nodded and picked up a broom that was resting against the counter, going back to idle sweeping. Eve didn’t look at him, but paid attention nonetheless while she continued her drink; the third time she caught him stealing a nervous glance at her eye, she turned on her stool to face him entirely. He cleared his throat and focused on the floor.
“New in town?” He finally asked, a hint of shakiness in his voice.
“Just tryin’ to pass through.” Eve answered, flat and emotionless.
“Won’t be stayin’ then?”“Not if I have any choice in the matter.”The barman nodded again, responding in a non-committal hum. Eve finished her can and set it aside. The barman paused his sweeping.
“You wanna start a tab, or just pay for the one?” He waited patiently as Eve remained silent, staring hard at him. He began to sweat. Eve stood up, walking towards him, studying him with every step; the barman felt like he was suddenly in grave danger, and had been since the moment this woman stepped foot in his bar. There was an aura of wrath about her that enveloped him whole.
Eve stopped a few inches from his face.
“You really don’t remember me, do you?”“N-no, miss, p-promise, I ain’t seen you n-never, n-nor anythin’ ya d-done!”Eve stepped back; the barman took a breath and relaxed his hands, which had gone knuckle-white gripped around the broom handle. Eve seemed satisfied; or, at least, pacified. She sat back down.
“Alright then. And I’ll start a tab.”The barman walked back around the bar and fetched another can.
“I’ll need ya name, in that case.”“Eve. Eve Coffin.” She answered, holding a hand out in front of her. The barman looked at it quizzically, before micro-shrugging and taking it to shake.
“Samuel Black.” Eve nodded and cracked her next can. She resolved that, at least for now, her circumstances were dire, but there was little to be done with the oncoming fugue. When the haze cleared, she would investigate; but for now, she would drink. If the tab ended up needing paying in the end - that would likely be a
good thing.
-
She had no need to ask for directions this second go-around; she traced her steps from the previous night - same night? - and made her way back to the halfway-house. She’d saved some cash on drinks by opening the tab, but divorcing herself from the Coffin family, and thereby forgoing their considerable fortune, had opened up some financial vulnerabilities. Five dollars for a bed and a roof was considerable value from where Eve currently stood.
The book and the sign were still there. “NATE” had been scribbled again in the column for room 5, but not crossed out this time; she dutifully wrote her own name in the column for room 6 instead, and then went in search. The layout was familiar, the memory of her last stay not even 30 hours old in her mind, but when she approached the room she had stayed in the night before - number 5, it had been at the time - she noticed the painted digit upon the door undoubtedly read ‘6’. She looked at the nearby doors for 5, wondering if she’d somehow gotten it wrong, but while 3, 4, and 7 were all visible, 5 was not. It should have been this one - and yet it wasn’t. This one was 6. Unequivocally 6.
Eve placed a hand on the edge of the door, looking up and down the corridor before she pushed through into the all-too-familiar room. She had that feeling of being watched again; a pervading sense of unease, the uncomfortable aura of being victimized by voyeurism. She didn’t undress this time; instead, she fished the athame from her bag, and carefully carved a crude representation of the nazar at the top of the door-frame, whispering quiet, steady chants as she did so. When she finished, she stepped back, breathing heavily, and then took one deep breath that seemed to suck all sound from the room and leave a vacuum of stillness and silence; then she exhaled, and the carved eye splintered out into the wood slightly, and then the feeling went away.
Eve collapsed onto the mattress, pulling the thin sheets up and around her; her last registered sight before she lapsed into sleep again was of a near-identical carved eye in the very bottom corner of the wall - only this one was closed.
-
Eve dreamt of little girls and looking into ponds and seeing more than the silt at the bottom. She dreamt of thrashing fish and clouds of mud from the riverbed making murky viewing. She dreamt of iced over lakes that reflected cold sunlight and splintered threateningly.
-
Eve woke to a rough jabbing in her side with the toe of a leather boot. In her half-slumbered haze, she recognized that there was a foot inside the boot; that foot was attached to a leg, and the leg in turn attached to the old hag that she'd encountered on her last stay. Eve guessed she was the proprietor, or at least some kind of housekeeper. Not that the house was all that kept.
"Witches don't get discounts." She said, and Eve rolled her eyes. The woman crooked an eyebrow, but let it go.
"But I seen your carving up there. So either you made a raw deal with somethin' best left alone, or you're tryin' to repent for some old sin."Eve sat up, already reaching for her bag. She said nothing, but couldn't help diverting her gaze when the woman mentioned sin.
"Runnin' from sin it is. You had a look about you. Five dollars for the room."Eve fetched her bag and stood up; she hadn't even taken her shoes off when she'd laid down to sleep. She handed a five dollar bill over, and the woman took it wordlessly, which Eve thought a small mercy. The woman turned and left, putting a hand to the nazar above the door as she went. Eve followed her shortly, and did the same.
On the ground floor, the old woman was sat at her desk again, still not looking up from the ragged magazine she leafed through. Eve didn't stop this time. As she stepped out of the front door of the house into cold daylight, she saw a magpie perched on a rooftop a couple buildings over; it flew away as she started down the street toward to the promenade.
-
The high street was already lurching sleepily into the day as Eve made her way to the town square; she traveled in search of a decent breakfast, something to chew through as she analysed and re-analysed her situation. The young couple she’d seen yesterday - today? - setting up chairs for their cafe were there again, dutifully unfolding their undoubtedly cheap furniture, and as she approached the shopfront she could hear the telltale sounds of a coffee pot being made and a grill being fired up. The smell of the ground beans was rich and enticing, and Eve’s stomach groaned with demands. She realized she hadn’t eaten since before her first visit to the town, and that hunger came full force from the pit of her belly. Shit beer and dread did little to nourish her. She pushed forwards into the shop, and quietly took a seat by the window; idly, she once again watched the old man across the street waft incense, and then pause to stare at his reflection. The moment protracted itself, and then the shop-keep turned away from his reflection, swinging his gaze to fix eyes with Eve. She felt a pang of unease as the old man furrowed his brow and then looked at his reflection again, before nodding much as he had the day before, and retreating back into his shop. Suspicion grew in Eve, but as the smell of bread being heated began to blossom through the cafe, hunger overtook any urge of investigation.
She was approached timidly by the hostess, a waif of a woman with long brown hair drawn back into a high ponytail that brushed the nape of her neck. She had a sharp nose and sharper eyes, but an aura of self-doubt pervaded any sense of a cunning intelligence. Eve thought of the paten rolling around in her bag, and how it could be used to impart confidence and assurance should she wish it. Eve also thought of how her family had misused or outright corrupted spellcraft for material gain. Better to leave it alone. She requested a coffee and a breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. The hostess departed with her scribbled order, and returned quickly with a chipped white mug of hot coffee, and a clumsy handful of salt, pepper, sugar, and creamer, that splayed across the table as everything was set down. Eve quietly thanked her for the coffee, trying a terse smile, and then pushed the creamer away as she dumped sugar into her mug and stirred, sipping the scalding sweet liquid quickly. It seared down her throat into her screaming stomach, but rejuvenated Eve as it went; she eagerly took another sip and savored the taste and scent.
She carried on like this, sipping and savoring and burning her tongue, tapping her fingers against the ceramic as she waited for the food. She almost felt normal - she could be any individual public citizen, any sleepwalking denizen, going through the motions of her daily routine; lurching from one auto-piloted action to the next, drudging on through days and weeks fantasising about escaping the monotony but too cowardly to break out of the well-worn rut. Comfort could have come easy to Eve had she toed the line her parents and predecessors had set for her. Instead, a teenage act of petty rebellion had irrevocably altered the course of her life; a forbidden epiphany had her perspective reeling, and she had chosen -
chosen, she reminded herself - to sever the familial connection.
Rumination on Eve’s bloodline was interrupted by the appearance of breakfast. The toast was burnt - the smell caught in her nostrils and she suppressed a cough - but the eggs were a appetising golden colour, flecked with pepper and still hot. Eve thanked the hostess, who apologised for the bread before departing, and hastily scooped up her knife and fork to dig in; with food in front of her, her appetite truly reared its head and she found herself famished and voracious. She devoured the egg and a slice of toast, and was chewing on the second when the hostess reappeared with a pot of coffee.
“Top you up?” She asked, and Eve smiled - a genuine smile, for even Eve Coffin could not sour hearty breakfast and good coffee - and gestured eagerly towards her mug, nodding. The hostess poured, and then lingered.
“Nice to see a new face in town.” She said, making idle conversation.
“Came in on the bus yesterday. Just passing through.” Eve replied, mouthing words around the last swallowed pieces of bread.
“Funny, I thought the station was closed on Sundays. Been wrong before though, ha!” She paused awkwardly as Eve shrugged, sipping more coffee to wash the taste of burnt toast away.
“Anyway. I’m Sandy.”“Eve.” Eve replied, reluctant. Sandy stood silent for what Eve felt was just a second too long. There were two loud
BANGS on the front window of the cafe, and Eve jumped; when she looked, two distinct patches of feather-dust and blood stained the outside of the glass. Eve didn’t need to peer over the lip to know there were two dead magpies on the ground outside.
“You stayin’ for a while, Eve?” Sandy asked suddenly, like snapping out of a fugue. Eve raised an irritated eyebrow.
“Like I said. I’m just passing through.” Sandy laughed.
“You stayin’ for a while, Eve?” Eve pushed her coffee away and stood up.
“No.”Sandy laughed harder.
“You stayin’ for a while, Eve?”“I said no!” Eve answered, raising her voice.
Sandy bent over, struggling to breathe between laughs. She gasped for air as her body shook with racking guffaws. Eve seized her by the shoulders, chanting a fierce and furious counter-ritual. The words Sandy got out were pained and wheezed, and underpinned Eve’s chant hideously - some kind of distraction, a counter-counter-spell.
“TWINKLE TWINKLE WRETCHED EVE.” Still the laughing.
“Let her go!”“WHAT HATEFUL NIGHTMARE WEB YOU WEAVE.”“I said stop! She has no part in this!”“FOREVER CURSED BY EVIL EYE.” The words were fading as Sandy struggled for oxygen. Eve chanted harder and louder, trying to weave her work above the din of twisted laughter.
“HAUNTED NOW UNTIL YOU DIE.” There was no stopping. The convulsions and chittering continued as Sandy collapsed to the floor, Eve unable to hold her up.
“ROTTING SICKLY SWEETLY EVE.” The final chortles ballooned up from Sandy’s chest through her throat, expelling the last bit of breath left in her body. Her final words were a forced, choked whisper, spoken like someone was stood on her chest, pushing out the words.
“No-one left on earth...who’ll grieve.” 
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