The Spell Breaker

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Sylvie had no choice but to ring the bell on her neighbour’s front door.

It mattered now more than anything. She had to know the exact location. No more guesswork leading to wasted hours and dead ends. It was the last thing she ever wanted to do – but the risk of not acting outweighed her reluctance.

As she walked down the drive towards the ornate front door, she prayed for Jack to be out, away on one of his mysterious trips. Her mind pulled her back, but her feet took her forward. She needed to see him, but she knew it could reignite their conflict. She had worked hard to blot out those days, weeks and months and the last thing she needed was to kick it all off again.

Please be out.

Please be in.

The bell was a ridiculous antique contraption – typical of Jack to be so awkward. It required gargantuan finger strength to depress the rusty centre far enough to set off the loud, angry burst of bell.

The deed was done. Sylvie braced herself.

She could hear Jack’s death-defying smoker’s cough getting closer.

Knowing that he was now looking through the peephole, she tried to smile.

The door opened so abruptly it nearly sent Sylvie flying off the crooked, slippery step. Not a good start for someone who wanted to appear in control, assertive, clear.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi Jack, how are you these days. Looking well.’

‘I look like death. What is it?’

‘It’s next week and I still haven’t found the right place. I know you know. I need your help.’

‘Oh. Now you need my help. Funny.’

‘Look. Can we put the past behind us. I know we both said things we shouldn’t have…’

‘No – I said everything I should have.’

‘Jack – please…’

‘I’m not inviting you in. You might discover my cauldron and book of magic spells – and the newts and hemlock, not to mention…’

This was getting nowhere. Sylvie had to get to the point.

‘Jack – I have accepted that the strange sounds were not part of cult. You must agree it was an easy mistake to make. Please let’s move on – how you live your life is up to you. Right now, it’s about Granny Mumma.’

‘I didn’t kill her. It wasn’t me or my cult members.’

‘Stop it, Jack. That’s not funny.’

‘Well, what have I got to do with Granny Mumma – who, incidentally, never spoke a kind word to me?’

‘A lot.’

Sylvie tried to adjust her body language to look more compliant, more needy. She knew Jack would respond better if she didn’t try the ‘assertive’ method’.

‘Jack – I need you to do this for me, for the friendship we once shared and might share again.? You know that deep down I have always been fond of you despite your ..’

‘Despite my what? My bad taste in shirts?’

‘No… forget I said that.’

‘Spit it out Sylvie – I know what you want. I need you to ask nicely.’

‘I want the map you stole; I mean borrowed, from Granny Mumma.’

‘Ah. The map.’

‘Please. I can’t keep her in a cardboard box forever. I need to know where her special spot was. The place she wanted us to scatter her ashes. It matters. If I get it wrong I will feel I have betrayed her. I can’t sleep for worrying about it. Please Jack. The map means nothing to you.’

Sylvie was now in full-on begging mode. She was also fighting back an odd mix of grief and anger – liable to erupt into sobbing or violence at any moment. Or both.

‘The map that marks the spot, eh? I’ve checked it out – the spot. Strange choice. Noisy. I guess the by-pass wasn’t there when she knew it as a kid. Shame really. The special tree’s still there though. I tried to climb it. I didn’t get far. Getting old.’

‘Where’s the map Jack?’

‘I smoked it.’

‘What?’

‘Going to that spot took me back to my youth. I scrunched up some grass and old leaves and made a roll-up. It didn’t work too well. The map’s a-gonna for sure.’

Sylvie was now more angry than sad.

She put her finger hard down on the bell and wouldn’t take it off. The sound was deafening. Her finger hurt.

I hate you so much. I have always hated you. You weirdo. I curse you with your own sick spells. Get out of my way.

Sylvie pushed Jack aside and stepped through into the dusty, damp smelling hall. She took the first thing she could see and through it to the floor. She just wanted to break something.

It was all done in a red mist.

Then the mist lifted. All was quiet. A grey dust lay in the gaps between the shattered ornament.

‘The spell is broken’ said Jack calmly.

‘I don’t understand – why aren’t you angry. I’ve broken your vase. I’ve made a mess – what is it? Why are you smirking like that?

‘That dust is my father’.

Out of nowhere, the hall was filled with the sound of laughter – not cackling, just pure joyful laughter.

The sad spell was broken.

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