by Casey Morgan
I supposed they had been taught not to talk to strangers, though, and decided not to hold their silence against them. Instead of trying to get a response, I continued to the splintered front door and knocked.
After a few seconds, I didn’t hear anything. Maybe I didn’t knock loud enough?
I knocked again, this time a little louder. Finally, I heard someone coming to the door from the other side. It abruptly opened and then standing there before me was a dirty, gray-haired warlock in broken glasses and a cap, and he was using a cane to walk.
He eyed me briefly.
“You and the rest of the Luck’s Hollow Improvement Society can piss off!” he bellowed, before I could say anything.
The door slammed, and I could hear him walking away. I wasn’t sure what to do now. He had mistaken me for someone else.
Had he not gotten the letter I’d sent? I was told they didn’t have a phone at the house and that mailing a physical letter was the only way to reach them. So, I had done that, but it had gone unanswered.
I knocked again.
Again, I heard movement, but these steps sounded more sure of themselves. They were slower and more deliberate. When the door opened again, a witch about the same age as the warlock, wearing a bonnet and a thread-bare pink dress, stood in front of me.
Her wiry grey hair poked out of the sides of her bonnet. She tucked in a few strands and glared at me.
“What the fuck do you want, lass?” she demanded.
I stepped back, startled by her harsh greeting.
“I’m Shanna. Shanna McDonnell,” I explained.
She kept glaring at me. The words didn’t seem to register.
“From America,” I continued. “We sent a letter. I was supposed to be coming with the guy who was going to be my husband, Derek. I’m a cousin on Diarmuid’s side of the McDonnell family.”
“Oh,” said the old witch. “Well, since you’re kin, you can come in. But don’t touch anythin’! You keep your grubby hands to yourself, missy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, rather shocked.
I followed the old woman inside. The house was messy, and it didn’t look like there was anything in the house worth touching, let alone stealing. Most of the furniture was broken. Trash was piled in corners and dust covered the shelves.
When I got to the kitchen, the old man was sitting at a large wooden table reading a newspaper. He looked up and saw me.
“Who is this, then?” he demanded.
“Shanna McDonnell,” said the woman. “A cousin of Diarmuid’s from America.”
“What are you doing joining the Village Improvement Society?” demanded the warlock.
“I-I-I’m not in the Village Improvement whatever,” I said. “I’m here to visit you. Did you not get my letter?”
The old man looked to his right. There was a large stack of unopened letters. I could see my letter in the pile, still sealed.
“I’ll get around to it eventually,” he said with a grunt. “Shanna, eh?”
His tone changed, and he smiled at me. His teeth were grimy. “I’m Ailbe and this is Fiona.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
I held back my revulsion and leaned in the kitchen doorway.
“Who are all those kids out front?”
“Grandchildren,” said Fiona, putting the tea kettle on an ancient stove. “Don’t ask for names. We’ve got ten kids and over twenty grandkids. Can’t remember them all at this point.”
She pointed to a wooden chair at the table.
“Have a seat, lass.”
The chair seemed to be clean and in good repair, so I slid into it and tried to relax.
Ailbe looked me over.
“You need a love spell?” he asked.
He glared at me from over his newspaper. His blue eyes were slightly milky and bloodshot.
“What?” I asked, feeling like I must have not heard him right.
“I said, do you need a love spell?” he repeated. “I got a pile of good ones in the other room. Hardly used. Guaranteed to make any bloke fall to his knees. One hundred euros a piece. I heard ye say ya lost your fiance. Thought you might be keen on getting a new one. One of those oughtta do the trick, if ye buy enough of ‘em.”
I shook my head, feeling shocked. Love spells were forbidden. Any kind of magic that took over someone else’s emotions had been outlawed over a hundred years ago.
Ailbe frowned in disappointment. He sucked his teeth and rubbed the oily stubble on his chin.
“How about a hex, lass? Ya got someone who done you wrong? Is that how ye lost your fiance?” He leaned towards me. His breath smelt like stale smoke. “I’ve got a good black hex that’ll cause wasting disease.”
I pulled back from him suddenly. He frowned at my reaction.
“Too much? How about a green hex that’ll cover their body in warts?”
I stared at him wide eyed. He mistook my shock for interest and leaned in closer.
“That’s a beauty of a spell. Nigh undetectable. Ye canna even find the recipe for that one anymore. Fifty euros!”
“She doesn’t want a hex, Ailbe,” said Fiona dismissively, as she plopped a dirty, cracked tea cup in front of me. “The girl’s come from America. She’s probably stirred more hexes that you have.”
“Well, it never hurts to ask!” insisted Ailbe, frowning at her. “She might need one for a friend.”
Fiona slapped a dirty dish towel onto the table in front of us. “Stop it! No one wants your spells. They are junk.”
She waved a thin finger at Ailbe’s face. He dropped his paper and stood up in his seat.
“They are not junk! Spent days on some of those hexes. They are good quality, all of them,” insisted Ailbe. “If you weren’t as blind as a bat, maybe you’d see it!”
“If I wasn’t as blind as a bat, I would’ve noticed how ugly ya were before we got married,” said Fiona. “Then I wouldn’t be living in this shithole with you!”
Alibe threw his hands up into the air. “Nag-nag-nag!”
He sat and turned to me.
“Did you ever hear so much complaining, Shanna? It’s night and day with that here. Night and day!” complained Ailbe. “And I put up with it for forty-three years!”
“Forty-four, ya wee ass!” corrected Fiona, who had turned back towards the stove. “She doesn’t need to hear your whinin’. She’s got her own husband-to-be to take care of now. Though, not sure why he ain’t here with her.”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, actually, Derek and I split up,” I explained. “He’s not my husband-to-be.”
“Change his mind? Smart lad,” said Ailbe, glaring at his wife.
“Ailbe!” snapped Fiona.
She turned from the stove and glared at him.
Ailbe shrugged and gave me a sheepish expression. “Not you specifically, darlin’. I was just meanin’ the institution of marriage. It wears down a man to nothing.”
“Except you,” corrected Fiona. “You were nuthin’ when we met!”
“Didn’t stop you from marrying me, did it?” countered Ailbe.
I played with my empty tea cup, uncomfortable with their bickering. It was different from the friendly teasing at Hennessy House. It was mean-spirited in nature.
“Actually,” I said, trying to focus the conversation. “Derek ran off with my younger sister, Nora.”
They both looked at me.
“What’d ye do to drive him away then?” asked Ailbe.
“Ailbe!” chastised Fiona. “Can’t ye see the girl’s in enough pain? Her younger sister stole her man! A plain Jane like her was lucky to have him. Don’t make it worse by reminding the poor thing she could die alone.”
“I didn’t say all that!” countered Ailbe. “Her sister’s younger. Of course the man’s gonna go for the younger, hotter sister. That’s a given!”
“It’s not a given,” insisted Fiona. “There’s more to love than age. Or looks.”
“Aye, that’s why I asked what she did to d
rive him away, ya daft cow.”
“The poor girl’s got enough problems without you prying into her life! Her man left her for her sister. Who would want her now?” snapped Fiona.
Geez. What a way she had, of being harsh while trying to be nice. I wasn’t sure she had the capacity to be truly nice to anyone at all.
She took the squealing kettle from the stove and poured it into my cup.
“Here’s yer tea, girl. Drink up.”
“Um, thanks?” I said, unsure.
The tea was slightly green and had little twig looking things floating in it. I could see my reflection in it. I had never considered myself a plain Jane. People had always complimented my eyes, my curves, my smile. But now I couldn’t help but wonder if Fiona was right, and if Nora was hotter.
The McDonnells’ house was definitely not a place to go to get your ego stroked. They were being rather offensive, but I could tell they didn’t mean to be. They seemed to not know any other way to be. It was as if someone had forgotten to teach them manners and they never learned on their own.
A man in a red bathrobe and underwear walked into the kitchen. His grimy, narrow face looked similar to Ailbe’s, but he had oily black hair. He was eating from a bag of crisps.
“Bad luck and leprechauns, Ronald!” snapped Fiona, slapping her forehead. “We have a guest.”
Ronald held out the bag of crisps, offering me some. At least I think that was what he was doing, but his offer was only expressed in the form of a grunt. I declined.
Fiona stepped forward and grabbed the robe the man was wearing. He wiggled out of her grasp and scurried to the other side of the room.
“Your robe! No one wants to see your spotted underwear, Ronald,” snapped Ailbe. “You gettin’ dressed this week?”
Ronald shrugged and, to my great relief, pulled his thin robe closed and tied it.
“I already got dressed yesterday, so I already did get dressed this week,” he countered weakly.
“This is your cousin, Shanna,” introduced Fiona, waving a hand at me.
She returned to stand by the stove. She had a few small potatoes near by and she started chopping them up.
“Hi,” I waved, giving Ronald a smile, trying to be friendly.
“She was jilted at the altar by her husband — Oh, sorry, love. Husband-to-be. Now ex husband-to-be. The poor’s thing just falling apart, and we were helping her by giving her advice,” explained Fiona.
So that’s what they think they’re doing, I thought, nearly amused.
Ronald took a seat at the end of the table. He stared at me while he finished his crisps. It was not a kind stare.
“Something went very wrong,” concluded Ailbe. He looked over to me. “Did ya turn him gay? Because if ya did, that’ll ruin a marriage.”
“You don’t turn people gay!” snapped Fiona. “They either are, or they aren’t, ye stupid man.”
“Well, I wished you’d turn me gay so I could get out of here!” yelled Ailbe.
“Wait,” said Ronald, holding up a hand and clearly not understanding. He seemed to ignore his parents’ bickering; I’m sure he was used to it. “Who is gay now?”
Ailbe made an impatient face.
“Shut up, Ronald. Go and get your cousins one of the love spells to show her,” Ailbe ordered.
He pointed towards the other room.
“She doesn’t want to see a love spell,” snapped Fiona. “She was just heartbroken. Get her a forget-me spell, Ron.”
“It’s easier to love someone else than to forget the first person,” insisted Ailbe. He winked a milky eye at me. “More fun too.”
I looked away, feeling awkward. I didn’t want to buy any illegal spells, no matter which one was easier.
“What’s in this tea?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
The tea tasted unusually bitter. I pretended to drink more, but I was looking for a place to dump out the rest.
“This and that. Do you take cream? Sorry, love, I plum forgot to ask ye,” said Fiona.
She went to the ice box and opened it up. Inside was a mess of half eaten meals and things wrapped in foil. Fiona took out the milk and filled my tea cup to the brim with it.
Now I had more to drink than ever, and even less of a desire to drink it. This was a nightmare.
“If you need a man, you should lose weight,” suggested Ronald, his eyes fixed on my chest. “Not that you’re all that fat, but it can’t hurt.”
“Now there’s a good suggestion, lad!” agreed Ailbe. “If only this one would take that advice.”
He pointed at Fiona.
The old witch’s face turned red. She waved her hand in the air, gathered magic and then sent two small lightning bolts into Ailbe’s cap.
“If I could lose any weight, I’d lose one hundred and fifty pounds of you!” she snapped. Then she glared at her son. “What a terrible thing to say. The girl’s not that fat. In America, she’s probably considered thin.”
Ailbe pulled off his smoking cap and patted his hair. It was slightly singed.
“Damnable, woman,” he muttered. When all the sparks were gone from his head, he looked at me. “I do have a drought of disgorge, lass. It’ll take off those extra pounds right quick. Thirty euros.”
He leaned towards me again. He was clearly eager to sell me something, anything, so I figured he must be temporarily out of work.
“Ronald,” I said, turning away from the old man and desperately trying to change the subject. “What do you do?”
“What do I do for what?” asked Ronald, obviously not understanding.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
“I do odd jobs,” he explained. “For my ma and da.”
“He’s out of work,” corrected Ailbe.
Ronald’s face twisted in anger. “Da! Don’t say that. You make me look bad!”
Ailbe scoffed. “You are bad! Sitting around in your underwear all day. Two of those kids outside are yours. You should at least be teaching them, so they don’t end up like you!”
“I can’t go outside in mi robe,” said Ronald, grabbing the newspaper from his father. “Don’t be daft, da!”
He opened the paper and held it up between us.
Another dark-haired man walked in the room. This one was at least dressed in jeans and a torn t-shirt. He was carrying an iPhone and was trying to pry it open with a screwdriver.
“Take a look at this beauty, da! Floated it right out of the back pocket of a — Oy! Who’s this then?” he suddenly demanded, upon seeing me.
“It’s all right,” said Fiona. “This is your cousin Shanna, from the States. She won’t say nuthin’, will ye dear? You’re a McDonnell.”
“Say what about what?” I asked, not understanding.
“That’s a good girl, then. I’m Terry,” said Terry, offering his hand and giving me a wink.
I shook his hand briefly, before he went right back to prying open the iPhone.
“You know you’ll void the warranty if you do that,” I explained. “You should try a repair spell.”
“There’s a good idea,” agreed Ailbe. “She is a McDonnell, that much is clear. Don’t damage the stolen goods, right? Maybe you could trade it in for some cash, right?”
“I suppose,” said Terry. He looked at me. “Got any money, America? It’s a good phone. I’ve got several more just like it.”
“I’ve got a phone already,” I told him.
His gaze was predatory and making me uncomfortable.
“This one’s brand new, love,” explained Terry, a growl to his voice. “I’d give you a good deal.”
“On that and a drought of disgorge,” added Ailbe, patting Terry on the shoulder proudly.
“Boys! Leave her alone. She just got here,” insisted Fiona. “The poor girl’s been through enough. You don’t have to sell her your illegal, stolen goods. We have to give her time to settle in, so we can get to know her.”
All the men glared at me, including Ronald, who dropped
his paper.
“Well, I should probably get going,” I said, wanting to flee, but not seem rude. “You all seem very… busy.”
“Aren’t you going to finish that tea, love?” demanded Fiona. “I brewed that just for you. It would be rude not to finish it.”
“Oh, of course,” I said.
I continued to choke down the tea. It was awful. There was definitely something wrong with it.
Maybe the kettle was rusty, or the water had been sitting there for days. I couldn’t figure it out, but I really wanted to just dump it. I would’ve pretended to spill it on myself, but I was afraid Fiona would just make me a new cup in that case, and I’d be back to where I started, except even worse.
“Maybe that was your problem,” suggested Ailbe, frowning at me. “You were too rude for his family. You refused to eat or drink what they spent time making for ye. Maybe ya pissed off the old man.”
His tone of voice turned nasty. “I’d put an end to my daughter’s wedding if that happened. I’d put my foot down and say, no, you can’t marry him.”
“Didn’t you do that with Dory, da? She married that bloke anyway, didn’t she?” said Ronald.
“Shut up, Ronald!” snapped Ailbe. “I was trying to tell a story to illustrate a point. You have to go and ruin it with your facts. Shut up.”
“Yes, do shut up, Ronald,” agreed Fiona.
“You see how mean they are to me, cousin,” Ronald said imploringly to me. “This is all the time. All the time, they’re picking on me. Just because I ain’t got no job! I tried. I tried really hard to get one. But I couldn’t, just because I don’t have good schoolin’! I’m stuck here. And it’s not like they have jobs either. So why do they only pick on me?”
I nodded at him, trying to make it seem like I was listening and sympathetic. Ailbe and Terry were looming over my back. Choking down the last sips of the disgusting tea, finally, I got up and started to leave.
“Well, it’s been great,” I said, quickly backing towards the kitchen door and the living room beyond it. “Nice to meet you all, but I have to get back.”
“Oh, it was a lovely visit,” said Fiona. “Come back soon, love. I’ll make you some more tea. Where are you staying?”
“Hennessey House Bed and Breakfast,” I told her.
She tutted and frowned.
