Returning from the birthday feast a night that haunts my memory.
Eleanor and her husband Thomas had been dining out in a fine London restaurant to mark his birthday. The evening had been a success: a crowd of relatives, colleagues and old acquaintances filled the room. Many faces Eleanor was seeing for the first time, yet Thomas had deemed it proper to invite them all.
Eleanor was never one to question her husbands decisions; she sidestepped quarrels and preferring peace over proving a point.
Eleanor, have you got the keys? Could you fetch them? Thomas asked.
She rummaged in her clutch, searching for the metal. A sudden sting made her drop the bag onto the floor.
What happened? Thomas pressed.
Ive nicked myself on something.
The thing in your bag could swallow you whole, so its no surprise.
She did not argue. She lifted the clutch, gently retrieved the keys, and they slipped inside their flat. The sharp pain faded from her mind as fatigue settled into her limbs; all she craved was a hot shower and a soft bed.
The next morning Eleanor awoke with a throbbing hand; her finger was swollen and crimson. The incident of the previous night resurfaced, and curiosity drove her to open the bag once more. Digging through its contents, at the very bottom she discovered a large, rustcovered needle.
What on earth? she muttered, baffled how such an object could have found its way in. She tossed the needle into the waste bin, fetched a firstaid kit, and cleaned the wound. After bandaging, she went to work, but by noon a fever began to rise.
She called Thomas.
Thomas, Im not sure what to do. I think Ive caught something nasty yesterday. Ive a fever, my head hurts, I feel achy all over. Imagine I found a big rusty needle in my bag and thats what pricked me.
Perhaps you should see a doctor; it could be tetanus or an infection.
Dont dramatise, love. Ive tended the wound; Ill be fine.
Yet with each hour her condition worsened. Barely making it through the workday, she hailed a cab and hurried home, knowing the bus would be too exhausting. She collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep.
In her dream, her late grandmother Margaret appearedshe had died when Eleanor was a child. Eleanor could not explain how she recognised her, but she felt certain. Margaret was stooped and wrinkled, the sort of figure that might frighten a stranger, yet Eleanor sensed she had come to help.
Margaret led her through a meadow, pointing out herbs to gather, urging her to brew a decoction and drink it to cleanse her body. She warned that a malevolent presence sought to harm Eleanor, and that she must survive to battle it. Time was short.
Eleanor awoke drenched in sweat. It seemed she had slept for ages, but a glance at the clock told her only minutes had passed. A sudden bang at the front door announced Thomass return. She slid off the sofa, rose and entered the hallway. Seeing her, Thomas gasped.
Whats happened? Look at yourself in the mirror.
Eleanor approached the glass. Yesterday she had seen a bright, smiling face; now her hair hung in clumps, dark circles framed her eyes, her complexion was ashen, and her gaze was empty.
What is this? she whispered.
She recalled the dream and told him, I saw Grandmother in my sleep, she told me what to do
Eleanor, get dressed, were going to the hospital.
I wont go. Grandmother said the doctors wont help.
A fierce argument erupted. Thomas branded her mad, accusing her of feverinduced visions. For the first time they truly clashed. Thomas tried to force a trip to the infirmary, seized her wrist and attempted to pull her from the flat.
If you wont go willingly, Ill make you.
Eleanor broke free, lost her footing and smacked her head against the corner of a wardrobe. Enraged, Thomas snatched the bag, slammed the door and stormed out. Left alone, Eleanor managed only to send a message to her boss, claiming illness and requesting a few days sick leave.
Thomas returned after midnight, apologising profusely, but Eleanors reply was terse:
Take me tomorrow to the village where Grandmother lived.
The following morning Eleanor resembled a corpse more than a living woman. Thomas kept urging, Dont be foolish, we must go to the hospital. I cant lose you.
Instead they drove to the little hamlet of Littlebrook, a place Eleanor hadnt visited since her parents sold Grandmothers cottage after Margarets death. She slept through most of the journey, waking only as the village drew near.
This is it, she whispered to Thomas.
She stepped out of the car, collapsed onto the grass, and felt certain she was exactly where Margaret had guided her in the dream. She gathered the herbs she had been shown, and they returned home. Thomas prepared the brew according to her instructions. Eleanor sipped it in tiny draughts, feeling a gradual lift in her spirits.
She barely made it to the bathroom when she rose, only to see her urine dark as ink. Rather than frighten her, the sight recalled Margarets words:
Darkness will pass
That night Margaret visited again in the dream, smiling, then speaking.
The rusted needle cast a spell upon you. My brew will restore you, but only briefly. You must find the one who wrought this and return his malice. I do not know who it was; I cannot see, but it is linked to your husband. Had you not thrown away the needle, I could have told you more.
Take a packet of needles, and over the largest speak: Spirits of the night, hear me! Reveal the truth, help me find my foe. Place that needle in your husbands bag. The one who laid the curse will prick themselves on your needle. Then we shall learn their name and can return their evil.
Margarets spectre faded like mist.
Eleanor woke still ill, yet convinced she would recover with her grandmothers aid. Thomas resolved to stay home and care for her, surprised when she asked to venture to the shop alone.
Eleanor, youre barely on your feet. Ill go with you.
Thomas, make a soup; I have a terrible appetite after this illness.
She followed Margarets counsel. That evening the enchanted needle lay in Thomass bag. Before sleep, he asked, Are you sure you can manage on your own? Should I stay by your side?
Ill manage.
Eleanors health improved, though a shadow of the curse lingered. By the third day the decoction acted like an antidote; the malign influence felt its strength wane. She waited anxiously for Thomass return from work, greeting him at the door.
How was your day? she asked.
Fine, why do you ask?
She thought the matter was settled, but Thomas added, Imagine, today Iveractually I mean Claire from the accounts departmentwent to fetch keys for my office because my hands were full. She reached into my bag and pricked herself on a needle. Where did that needle come from? She glared at me as if Id killed her with a look.
What about this Claire?
Shes the only one who matters to me. Only you, Eleanor.
Was she at your birthday dinner?
Yes, a good friend, nothing more.
The pieces fell into place for Eleanor; she now understood how the old needle had slipped into her clutch. Thomas retired to the kitchen where dinner awaited. Later that night, Margaret appeared again in the dream, showing Eleanor how to return the curse to Claire. She revealed that Claire coveted Eleanors place beside Thomas and would not hesitate to use sorcery again.
Eleanor obeyed every instruction. Soon Thomas reported that Claire had taken sick leave, claiming she was gravely ill and doctors were helpless.
Eleanor begged Thomas to drive her to Littlebrook for a weekend, to the graveyard where she had not been since Margarets funeral. She bought a bouquet, donned gloves, and, with difficulty, located Margarets stone. At the foot of the marker she saw a photographher grandmother, the one who had visited her in dreams, the one who had saved her from death. Eleanor tidied the grave, placed the flowers in a vase of water, sat on a bench and whispered:
Grandmother, forgive me for not coming sooner. I thought a yearly visit from my parents was enough. I was wrong. Ill be here more often. Without you I might not be here at all.
She felt as if Margarets hands rested on her shoulders. Turning, she saw only a gentle breeze stirring the leaves.
