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The Gypsy’s Curse

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  • The Gypsy’s Curse

    The little village of Steeling lay in a comforting fold in the South Downs.
    June wanted just two days to reach her zenith of midsummer.
    Miss Price straightened a little painfully from her garden tidying allowing
    herself a small smile of contentment at the old English roses with their
    cupped petals fully open, drinking the warmth of afternoon sun.
    Miss Price turned; a gypsy woman was leaning over the little white gate.
    “Buy something from a gypsy lady, it ull bring you luck” she pointed to
    the wicker basket on her arm.
    Miss Price inspected the basket’s contents; ribbons, sprigs of heather
    wrapped in aluminium foil, a few clothes pegs.
    “Yes, I’ll have that roll of scarlet ribbon please, how much is it?”
    “Two shilling”
    She opened her old leather purse.
    “There you are”
    “Read your fortune for a fiver?”
    Miss Price smiled
    “No I don’t think so my dear. I’m turned seventy and I’m content with
    whatever the good lord has in store for me”
    “Ah now don’t you go upsetting a gipsy lady, or it’s likely to go very bad
    for you”
    “Bad for me?”
    “We have the power you see, never heard of the gypsy curse?”
    Miss Price shook her head.
    “No, and I’m sorry but I don’t want my fortune read”
    “Be it on your own head then you old cow, you’ll never pass water for a
    “Really, well good afternoon”.

    For Morella it had been an unprofitable day, she winced as she thought of
    what Lucian would say. The old van was parked opposite the Brown
    Bear; a swarthy man with the obligatory bangle earring was leaning on
    the door smoking a cigarette. Morella approached nervously.
    “Good God woman”
    “I’m sorry Lucian, I’m sorry; there’s no trade here at all”
    “Bugger the trade, what the hells happened to your face?”
    “Here, look in the van mirror”
    Morella bent down her mouth opened but no sound came.
    The face that looked back at her was covered in black warts, even as she looked another popped out on the tip of her nose.
    It was then she found her voice with a scream that set the village dogs barking and woke the vicar from his afternoon siesta.

    Miss Price poured the creamy milk into the large saucer and set it down on the oak floor.
    The black cat ignored the milk looking up at her with inquiring jade eyes.
    “Now I won’t have your scolding Malkin, they will all be gone by
    morning. Yes it was rather naughty but the thought of a gypsy presuming
    on a witch of the Second Meridian, well.
    Now drink your milk like a good cat or there will be no midnight ride for you tonight.”

    Last edited by Cari; 09-11-2019, 09:35 AM.