Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Joel Hatcher grabbed the Greater Portland phone book from the derelict booth at the gas station, flipped it open and searched for the heading Curse Removal.

Finding nothing under Curses, he flipped ahead to Spiritualist. He scanned each ad listing, overwhelmed by choices—palm readers, tarot card specialists, mystics and astrologists—and one that said curse removal.

“This one,” said a quiet voice from behind him. “This is the one you want.”

He looked over his shoulder. No one was there. A streetlight flickered and buzzed. Great. So now he heard voices too. As a cursed man, though, was he so far from insanity? He shivered at the dark path his thoughts took. He needed to focus. There was no voice, only his own mind struggling to find a rational solution. To make a choice based on nothing solid, nothing real.

His gaze centered on that one listing.

Madame Eugenie—Palm Readings, Spiritual Guidance, Curse Removal.

He ripped the page out of the book, opened his cell and punched in the number. He hoped she had late hours. Very late hours. He glanced at his watch. Midnight.

When he caught sight of the pustules all over his wrist he had to look away. The oozing, cracked skin disgusted him. Made him hurt more. He tugged his sleeve down.

Five rings.

Six rings.

No answer.

Pick up.

On the seventh ring, a chipper female voice filled his ear. “Madame Eugenie…”

“Hello? I need help. Can you help me?” Joel ducked his head. It had started to rain. He headed toward his car parked by the gas pumps.

“…is here to help you with your spiritual needs. Twenty-four hours a day. Leave a message, and she will get back to you soon.”

“Goddammit.”

Beep.

A homeless man, drinking from a bottle hidden in a paper bag, strolled by with a shopping cart. Joel pulled up the collar of his denim jacket and turned away from the streetlights, but a car drove by and the headlights illuminated his face.

The homeless man locked eyes with Joel. His face lit up with horror, and he dropped the bottle. It hit the sidewalk with a smash. The man took two steps backward and stumbled over the curb.

Joel stepped forward to help.

“Get away from me.” The old man held up a defensive hand. “Don’t touch me.”

As he backed away from the frightened man, Joel spoke into his cell, “This is Joel Hatcher. I need your help. Could you please call me…?” He heard a click on the other end of the line.

“Hello? Are you there?”

The homeless man yelled for help, pushing his cart down the street at a full sprint.

Joel ran toward his car. “I need to see you. Now.” He scanned the dark gas station to make sure no one else watched.

“Who is this?” asked the woman on the other end. “Have you been to see me before? My appointment hours are between eight and…”

“You said on the message twenty-four hours a day.” Joel tucked his cell phone under his chin and slid into the driver’s seat. Bluto meowed at him from the backseat.

“Yes, well, for my regular clients I am…”

The cat meowed more piteously. Joel reached back, grabbed the carrier and set it on the seat next to him.

“Is that a cat?”

In his rearview mirror the homeless man continued to run, now down the middle of the street, his shopping cart abandoned. “I can’t live like this anymore.” Joel adjusted the mirror. “I need help.” After two days, it wasn’t any easier to look at himself. Sores covered his face, neck, even his hands. He looked like the victim of a nuclear holocaust. And the pain. Like fire across his skin, flaring up from an uncomfortable sunburn to raging flames.

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

“And you need help with what?”

“A curse…curses. It’s too hard to explain over the phone.”

Madame Eugenie paused on the other end of the line. “I have room tomorrow at nine thirty, if you’d like to stop by then…”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” Joel smoothed out the yellow phone-book page on his dashboard. “775 Orchard Boulevard, right?”

“You can’t come to my house now, are you crazy?”

He shifted his car into reverse and backed away from the gas pumps. “You’re going to help me now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Right now.” As he shifted back into drive, the phone slipped from his shoulder. Orchard Boulevard was only a few miles away.

“If you show up at my door, I’ll call the police.” He could barely hear her voice.

The moment the cops saw his face, his arms, his hands, they’d put him in quarantine, and he’d die there with no chance to fix this curse. A modern-day leper. He hardly looked human anymore.

He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He gritted his teeth as a flare of heat traveled down his legs, as if someone held a flaming torch to his thighs.

“You hear me? The police!”

He didn’t have time to explain, didn’t have time to allay her fears.

He took the last turn so sharply, his tire rolled over the curb. But he’d reached Orchard Boulevard. Help waited only a few houses away. Once she caught sight of him, she would either panic and not let him in or maybe, just maybe, she would pity him. Maybe she’d encountered someone else like him. A stirring of hope in his chest pushed him to drive faster. Bluto made one last meow, then settled in his carrier.



Gen hung up the phone. The urgency in the man’s voice chilled her. Most of her clients came to her looking for guidance, for help in making difficult decisions in their lives. A palm reading over a soothing cup of tea in the afternoon. Not this. She shook off a feeling of dread.

“Who was it?” Adam asked.

His voice was only a whisper now, but it grew stronger all the time. He’d been such a comfort to her over these last few months. A voice in the dark of night when she felt so alone. Just enough Adam in order to pretend nothing had changed.

“Some man.” Her heart sped up at the memory of those words: You’re going to help me now. So desperate. “Not one of my regular clients. He said he needed my help. He’s on his way over.” She headed for the stairs. “I need to make sure Mother didn’t wake up. She’d be frightened if she knew I was letting a stranger in so late at night.”

“Let him in.” Adam appeared next to her, startling her. She hadn’t yet gotten used to his quick movements.

This wasn’t like him. He usually couldn’t wait for her clients to leave, for her to spend more time alone with him. She glanced right through his transparent body at the clock. “It’s midnight.”

“Let him in.” This time, Adam’s voice was like a caress.

“Why do you want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

He reached out to slide his hand along her neck, but his fingers passed through her flesh. The sudden shock of cold made her suck in her breath.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to worry. I’ll keep you safe.” His face leaned into hers. His eyes were pale, watery. “You will let him in because he can save me.”

Any doubts she had about opening her door to a strange man in the middle of the night left her head. This was Adam. Her husband. The man she loved. It had been so long, she’d almost forgotten the angled planes of his face, how one ear sat just slightly higher than the other, how with one look he could send her blood boiling. She wanted that back. Forever.

In life, Adam had been her rock. The one who protected her and made her feel safe. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her. “I’ll let him in.”



775 Orchard Boulevard was a run-down house with peeling yellow paint and a sagging porch. A darkened neon sign hung in the window—the outline of a hand with PALM READING above it and TAROT CARDS underneath.

The porch light glowed brightly, though, and Joel took that as a good sign. Looked as if she was willing to let him sit on her porch. Now all he’d have to do is convince her to let him inside.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to his cat. Bluto’s scarred face appeared near the door of the carrier. Joel scratched the black cat’s head with the tip of one finger. At least animals weren’t afraid of him. They didn’t care what he looked like.

Bluto gave him an answering meow.

“Chicken and giblets when I get back. I promise.” The street was empty. One streetlight flickered, on the verge of blinking out. He pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes.

He pressed the doorbell and waited either for a cop car to pull up or for Madame Eugenie to scream bloody murder. The ding-dong echoed inside the house. It was quiet. No footsteps. No creaking floorboards.

He knocked.



“It’s all right, Gen.”

She peeked out the window. A man, face hidden by a baseball cap, stood on her porch. “Are you sure?” Her hand trembled as she held back the lace curtain. How could this stranger help save her husband? It didn’t make any sense.

Adam stood right behind her. She could imagine his warm breath on her cheek. “Yes. Trust me.” His voice was soothing.

“How can this man help you?”

The hair rose on the back of her neck. She knew he hovered even closer to her now. She wanted to do what he asked, but she was still frightened. Where was the courage she used to possess before Adam died? The adventurous spirit he’d loved? Somehow in losing him she had lost herself too.

“Open the door, Gen. We need him. He’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

Adam. Her gentle Adam. She missed his hands soft on her body, lips warm on her throat. If the strange man outside could bring her husband back to her, then she would let him in.

She reached for the doorknob.

“He’s the one.” The sensitive flesh along her jaw prickled at his ghostly touch. “I promise you, he’s the one.”



“Are you Joel?” asked someone behind the door.

“Yes.” Joel stepped closer to the door and away from the bright lights on the porch. “Can you please help me, Madame?”

“You can drop the ‘Madame’. Just call me Gen.” The door remained closed between them. “What kind of help do you need?”

“I told you, curses. I’m cursed.” He rested an arm on the doorframe. “I thought I could do this myself, but I don’t have the notebooks anymore. I threw them away.”

“What notebooks?”

“They came in a package. A letter and a bunch of notebooks. I thought it was trash. I threw it out… I’ll explain if you just let me inside.”

“Why do you think you’re cursed?”

He rubbed his knuckles across his belt buckle. “Look out the window.”

“What?”

“Just look at me.”

“Okay…”

Narrow window panels framed the door. A slim hand brushed a lace curtain away. A face appeared—a very young face. Not what he expected. When she caught a glimpse of him her eyes widened. He tilted back his baseball cap to let her see the sores.

“Oh, my God. What’s happened to you?”

To hear sympathy in someone’s voice after three days of suffering, three days of loneliness, was more than he could bear. “Please. Help me.”

Her face disappeared. The lock turned. Madame Eugenie, spiritualist and curse remover, let him inside.