April 20th Back from Emilys birthday dinner, an evening Ill not soon forget.
Emily and I left the restaurant in Covent Garden where wed celebrated her birthday with a crowd of family, colleagues and a few acquaintances shed never met before. James had invited them all, so I assumed it was for a good reason.
Emily never argues with me; she prefers peace over proving a point. Its easier for her to go along than to challenge my decisions.
Emily, have you any spare keys? Could you fetch them? I asked. She rummaged through her handbag, then winced and dropped the bag onto the floor.
What happened? I asked.
Just a little scratch, she muttered.
You could get lost in that thing, so its no surprise.
She didnt argue. She lifted the bag, coaxed the keys out, and we stepped inside our flat. By then the ache in her legs from the nights dancing made her long only for a shower and a soft bed.
The next morning her hand was throbbing, the finger swollen and red. Remembering the previous night, she dug through the handbag and, at the bottom, found a large, rustcovered needle.
What on earth? she gasped. She tossed the needle into the bin, fetched a firstaid kit and disinfected the wound. By noon her temperature began to climb.
She rang me:
James, I think Ive caught something nasty. I have a fever, a pounding head, my whole body aches. I found that rusty needle in my bag yesterday thats what I cut myself with.
I suggested, You should see a doctor; it could be tetanus or an infection.
She replied, Ive dressed the wound, Ill be fine.
But hour after hour her condition worsened. She barely made it through the day at work, hailed a black cab and trudged home, too weary to take the tube. She collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep.
In her dream her late grandmother, Ethel, appeared the one who had died when Emily was a child. Though I have never seen Ethel, Emily felt certain it was her. The old woman, bent and wiry, guided Emily through a field, pointing out herbs to gather, insisting she brew a decoction to cleanse her body. She warned that someone was out to harm Emily and that she must survive to fight back. Time was short.
Emily awoke drenched in sweat. It seemed shed slept for ages, yet only a few minutes had passed on the clock. The front door slammed open I had returned. She slipped off the sofa and shuffled to the hallway. When I saw her, I could barely catch my breath.
Whats happened? Look at yourself in the mirror.
She stared at her reflection. Yesterday shed seen a bright, smiling face; now her hair hung in clumps, dark circles framed her eyes, her skin was pallid, and her gaze was empty.
She recalled the dream and said, Grandma told me what to do
Emily, get dressed. Were going to the hospital.
No, she whispered. Grandma says the doctors wont help.
A fierce argument erupted. I called her hysterical, accusing her of letting fever fuel wild fantasies. For the first time we truly clashed. I tried to force her out of the flat, gripping her wrist.
Dont want to go voluntarily? Ill make you.
She broke free, lost her balance and struck the corner of a wardrobe. Angrily I snatched my bag, slammed the door and fled. She only managed to email her boss, claiming she was ill and needed a few days off.
I returned after midnight, apologising, but she only said, Take me to the village where my grandmother lived tomorrow.
The following day Emily resembled a living corpse. I begged, Dont be foolish, lets get you to a doctor. I cant lose you.
She insisted we drive to the village, though we hadnt been there since her parents sold the old cottage after Ethels death. She slept through most of the journey, waking only as we neared the outskirts.
Here, she announced.
We pulled up, and she collapsed onto the grass, exhausted but convinced she was where Ethel had led her. She collected the herbs shed been shown, and I brewed the mixture as instructed. She sipped it slowly, feeling a gradual lift.
When she stood from the bathroom, her urine was black. Instead of panic, she recalled Ethels words: The darkness will pass out
That night Ethel visited her again, smiling, then spoke:
The rusty needle placed a curse on you. My brew will restore you, but only briefly. You must find who did this and return the evil. I cannot see the culprit, but it is tied to you, my son. If you had not thrown the needle away, I could have told you more.
She gave a new instruction: purchase a pack of needles, chant over the largest, Spirits of the night, hear me! Reveal the truth, show me my foe Slip that needle into your husbands bag; the one who cast the spell will prick themselves on it, revealing their name so you can return the harm.
Emily awoke still weak but convinced she would recover, trusting Ethels guidance.
I resolved to stay home and look after her, surprised when she asked to run an errand alone.
Emily, youre barely standing. Ill go with you.
James, make me a soup; Ive a fierce appetite after this illness.
She followed Ethels advice, and that night the enchanted needle lay in my bag. Before bed she asked, Are you sure Ill manage on my own? Should you stay with me?
Ill be fine, she answered.
By the third day the brew acted like an antidote; the lingering malice seemed to wane. I returned from work, and she greeted me at the door.
How was your day? I asked.
It was fine, why? she replied.
I then told a tale: Imagine Ivor from the next department tried to help me, reached for the keys in my bag and got pricked by a needle. How did that needle get there? She looked at me with such hatred I thought shed kill me with a glance.
What about Ivor?
Youre the only one who matters, Emily. I love only you.
Was she at your birthday dinner?
Yes, a good friend, nothing more.
Understanding blossomed; the old needles origin made sense. Ivor had been jealous and had slipped the needle into my bag, hoping to remove me as a rival for Emilys affection.
We followed Ethels final guidance, planning to return the curse to Ivor. A few days later Ivor called in sick, claiming he was gravely ill and doctors were useless.
Emily begged me to take her to the village cemetery where she hadnt visited since her grandmothers burial. She bought flowers, gloves, and with effort found Ethels grave. She laid a bouquet in a bottle of water, sat on the bench and whispered:
Grandma, Im sorry I didnt come sooner. I thought a yearly visit was enough. I was wrong. Ill come more often. If it werent for you, I might not be here now.
I felt a warm presence on my shoulders, then only a gentle breeze.
Looking back, I see how stubborn pride, fear, and a stubborn belief in unseen forces can cloud judgment. Yet love, patience, and a willingness to listen to those who have gone before can guide us through the darkest hour.
**Lesson:** When illness and superstition intertwine, the truth often lies in simple honesty, compassion, and the courage to face the source of our fear rather than flee from it.
