“The End.” The words kept flashing in strident neon in my face. It wasn’t the ending. My life was just beginning after living so many years with such a miserable man. He was out of my periphery and had been for several months. I tried not to think about him at all as I felt sunshine and hope cascading in a protective aura around me.
I decided to call in sick to work this day because it was such a lovely Friday and I wanted to lie in the sun at the beach, eat whatever I wanted, and to feel beholden to no one. I felt so free and energized.
As I was closing my apartment windows in case it rained, a solitary robin flew in through the opening, flitted around the room and then flew out. I remembered my mother telling me that if a robin flew into a room, death would follow. What a silly superstition! I packed my beach bag with bathing essentials and at the last moment, threw in a mirror which fell out of the bag onto the tile floor, shattering into many shards. I disregarded the ill portent of the broken mirror and went on my way to the ocean which always drew me to its peace and beauty.
As I got out of my car at the beach, a stray black cat ran in front of me. “Here, kitty, kitty,” I coaxed as I took crackers out of my purse and scattered them on the ground. I noticed that I stepped on a crack on the sidewalk but disregarded it because I didn’t have to worry about breaking my mother’s back because she had passed long ago. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that today was not only Friday, but Friday the 13th. “Nothing will go wrong today,” I reassured myself, “in fact, everything will go according to plan!”
When I heard my cell phone ringing insistently, I dug it out of my beach bag and answered. It was the police department telling me that my ex-husband had lost his car brakes, crashed into a bridge abutment and was dead. Well, it positively was “The End” for him, I laughed as I pretended that it was karma for all his evil deeds. But in the back of my mind, I knew that it had nothing at all to do with the superstitions that had befallen me today. Oh no! I smiled as I remember my father teaching me how to take care of an automobile, a lesson that had come in handy. On the way to the beach, I had stopped at my ex’s place of work and cut his brake lines. Oh yes, it certainly was unlucky for him! I rolled over and applied more suntan lotion, pondering the certainty of his fate.
Brid of the raven hair watched freckled-faced Conn out of the corner of her eye, hoping to catch him glancing after her shapely form.
As usual, the lummox gave never a twitch to indicate he knew she even existed.
Instead, Conn was listening to old Benjamin´s droning tale about how they went about catching a wummin’ in the old days.
As if a man knew anything about catching! Not for real, at any rate. The choosing was a woman’s business when all was said and done. Men didn’t know their own best interests.
That’s how she ended up under Conn’s window at the following full moon, with her mother’s best silver sugar bowl full of water from the holy well.
Everyone knew that well water caught in silver and exposed to the moon was a powerful component of all kinds of love potions. It was also surprisingly effective at getting rid of warts and such.
She began the enchantment, sprinkling moon-lit well water round herself in a circle and chanting Conn’s name softly to the wind three times.
No sign the big lummox was even stirring.
After half an hour, a cloud crossed the moon and a slow drizzle began.
It seems that it was not a night for magic.
Disconsolate, Brid tramped across the wet field to her own house, ready to climb the apple tree and reach her attic window.
In a cross mood, she rounded the old tree with less care than usual, only to trip over a dark lump crouching by its roots, stubbing her toe.
The lump uttered a startled curse and dropped what appeared to a silver salver with about an inch of water swirling in it.
"Conn MacCoyle!", gasped Brid, in a choking voice. “Whatever brings you lurking under my window on this moonlit night?”.
Conn hung his head and growled something indistinct, while Brid surreptitiously chucked her mother’s best silver sugar bowl into the underbrush behind her.
I have a job to do. Just like anyone else. Yeah, people freak out when they see me coming their way. People freak out over a lot of things, but when it's me, they have good reason. I don't particularly enjoy being the tool with which the universe inflicts bad karma (well, one of them anyways), but it's the lot I was given.
I am The Black Cat. Not a black cat, The Black Cat. Bad things befall those whose paths I cross. Now, it's a common misconception that if any black cat crosses your path it's bad luck. There are ordinary black cats and then there is me. By nature, I have the ability to be in many places at once. Now and then a glitch will happen and someone will see me twice, like deja vu, but not always. It's just a little bug that no one has bothered to fix.
Anyways, that's what I do. I go about my business being a regular cat, but you can bet, any human I come across has it coming. I have nothing to do with who gets what. I find out at the same time they do and, although now and then I feel a little pity, I do understand that it's their own actions that led to it so... I try not to get too hung up on it.
Every now and then a human who has no sense in their head, someone who isn't superstitious, will try to snatch me up, take me home with them. I'm pretty good at making myself completely undesirable, though, and they usually let me go without a fight. I've had animal control called on me a few times but, hey! I'm a black cat. It isn't difficult to give those boneheads the slip. A month or two ago an animal control van gave chase and wound up on its roof in a ditch. I'm assuming the driver had a karmic debt. Probably animal cruelty. That would be my guess.
So, I don't have many friends, of the human or feline variety, but that's alright. I'm a loner. I get my meals from the backs of restaurants and lonely old ladies who put left overs out for me sometimes. I'm always careful not to go trotting across their paths though. Would be a shame if harm came to them because they had the heart to feed a lonely ol stray.
So, just as an "fyi". Yeah. I exist. I'm for real. You won't know me from any other black cat, but if I'm coming your way, it's all bad for you. I apologize in advance for my own existence. Have a... well, you know. Happy Halloween.
My family is Creole, we believe in Voodoo and Hoodoo, and witchcraft old folk type.
Never let a wild bird fly in your house, they bring a message of impending death of a loved one. This one I've seen happen so many times.
If an owl shows himself to you wings open he's telling you of a major upheaval in your life. Beware the owl hooting at your window, a death will happen soon.
Your ancestors on the other side send you messages through nature, they hope that you are smart enough to pick up on it. Most humans are not. Birds are messengers birds pecking at your windows are trying to tell you something.
Nature is in touch with the spirit world and is a conduit to the physical.
If your dogs are barking at nothing, they are seeing spirits good or bad.
That's is all for now.
Friday the 13th
Bob jerked awake but restrained his desire to leap out of bed on this very dangerous day. It was Friday the 13th so he carefully placed his right foot on the floor, waited a moment, and then deliberately set the left one down. There was no possibility of starting out on the wrong foot today. He got dressed with unusual care, checking to see that nothing was on inside out or backwards and that he had no loose buttons that might suddenly separate themselves from the garment to which they had been attached. He would have liked to stay home all day but he had an important physics test that he couldn’t miss. Finally, he put on his lucky socks, which were argyle, and his good sneakers after checking to make sure he had a penny in the right one.
In the kitchen, his sister, Karen, was eating breakfast, which consisted mostly of jam and a small amount of toast to hold it up.
“Hi,” Bob said. “You want some bread with that jelly?”
“Hi,” Karen replied, ignoring Bob’s comment. She looked up.
“It’s Friday the 13th!” they cried at the same time.
“Jinx!” Another simultaneous exclamation.
Bob stuck out his pinky to meet Karen’s. They linked fingers and then pulled them apart to vanquish the bad luck that could so easily follow.
“You want some breakfast?” Karen crammed half a slice of bread into her mouth and began to clean up.
“I’ll get something on the way to class,” Bob replied.
“Mom said be careful,” Karen called as her brother walked out the door.
“I always am,” Bob called back.
The university was located at the top of a huge hill where it could look down over the town and bathe the inhabitants in its glorious light of wisdom and learning. At least, that was what Bob had been told since he was in elementary school. For this reason, he had been happy and excited when he was accepted to enter those hallowed halls of learning, but now he thought mostly about the long trudge uphill, carrying books and a laptop, and the steep skid back down at the end of the day. The ancient and very beautiful trees that lined the streets had long ago lifted the concrete sidewalks, adding a pattern of cracks to the inevitable lines between sections. This created a special problem for Bob as he tiptoed and hopped over the worst parts. He was not about to accidentally step on either a line or crack, even if it wouldn’t literally break his mother’s back or his father’s spine. He certainly couldn’t risk it today of all days.
Bob’s knees were aching from the long climb. Upon reflection, he realized that he probably should have eaten at home, so he turned at the first cross street that would lead to the campus and where there were some stores and restaurants. Very close to the corner, Bob saw a new place that he had never noticed before or that, in fact, had not been there in the past. Even if he had not been starving by this time, the large coffee shop called The Four Leaf Clover would have attracted him. Today it was inevitable that he would stop there. It looked like the kind of place where you could get a doughnut or a piece of cake, despite the somewhat affected proclamation under the name that said the place was a ‘Tea Shoppe.’
Opening the door and stepping inside, Bob saw that the restaurant was large and bright. A number of people were eating, and things were busy. Bob also realized it was one of those feline cafes where patrons could sit and commune with a variety of cats while eating. He stood rooted to the ground in horror as a large, black specimen walked toward him on an intersecting path. The cat regarded him impassively with round yellow eyes.
Without thinking, Bob leapt back and to the side so that he and the cat would not cross paths. This propelled him into a waitress carrying a tray of salt and pepper shakers. She saw Bob and lurched out of his way, dropping her tray and watching helplessly as the contents rolled onto the floor creating a mess of enormous proportions. Several diners leapt up to try to help or get out of the way. The cats scattered to the farthest corners of the room. Bob was overcome by embarrassment and ran out of the restaurant as fast as he could, stopping just long enough to grab a pinch of spilled salt which he quickly threw over his left shoulder.
The rest of the walk to the Physics Building was harrowing. It had begun to rain slightly. A man in the foyer of a dentist’s office open his umbrella inside the doorway before stepping out onto the street just as Bob walked by. Without conscious awareness of what he was doing, Bob broke into a run to distance himself from this blatant disregard for luck. The need to avoid cracks in the sidewalk while doing so exhausted him, and he was breathless and panting when he arrived at his destination.
Bob was always cautious so he looked up at the building before joining the stream of students moving slowly through the main doors. They were doing some kind of renovation work, and the front of the building was obscured by a network of scaffolds and platforms. A particularly long ladder leaned against the building at a precarious angle that meant the shortest way in required that a person walk under it. Bob was certainly not going to risk that and jogged around to the back of the building where there was another door and no construction going on.
It was an old university, and the Physics Building was one of the oldest on campus. As he toiled up the four flights of stairs to his class along with dozens of other students, it occurred to Bob that this was just the sort of place where Isaac Newton could have dropped apples over the bannister to see how high they bounced. Bob’s command of physics was tenuous; he was only taking the class to fulfil a distribution requirement, which was why he was unusually worried about today’s test. He was hoping to major in psychology which did interest him, especially the uncertainty hypothesis they had been discussing in a recent class that suggested to him it was possible to maintain a balance of the controllable and uncontrollable forces that shaped reality.
Bob finally reached the fourth floor and stopped to rest for a moment at the top of the stairs. The building was furnished much like an old fashioned hotel. The rows of desks in the classrooms were ancient and heavily inscribed with formulas and graffiti left there by past generations of students, contrasting with the supermodern computer and projection equipment that had been installed in every room. Bob took a step towards his class, which was at the end of the hall and, looking down, saw a safety pin lying on the floor. See a pin, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck, he recited to himself stooping to reach this prize and put it in his pocket. The unexpected movement startled two girls who had been walking close behind him. They stopped short, which started a chain reaction of stumbling accompanied by a series of thuds as students here and there dropped books and backpacks.
From the far end of the hall near the stairs, Bob heard a sickening crash that he knew must have been the large mirror hanging on the landing falling to the floor. Someone must have bumped into it, knocking it from the wall. At that moment, the crush of students propelled Bob up to the door of his classroom where he just had time to read a notice that had been stuck there with tape. It said: ‘Friday, April 13, test postponed due to unforeseen circumstances.’ What other kind were there? Bob wondered as he abruptly turned and joined the column of students moving towards the stairs.
Avoiding the broken glass on the stairs and the throng of confused students wondering what to do and who would clean up the mess, Bob made his way to the ground floor and headed toward the back door by which he had entered the building. Retracing his steps, he found himself on the street. It was raining harder now, and a large clap of thunder right overhead startled him. For once, Bob was glad he had left his Walkman at home that morning. He also recalled that thunder on Friday means a storm by Monday, so he hurried home, carefully navigating the lines and cracks and taking care not to pass the unfortunate Four Leaf Clover or the nearby dentist’s office on the way.
Not far from his house, a billboard with white lettering on a black background caught Bob’s eye. ‘What do you believe?’ it asked rhetorically. Bob already knew that and practically skipped the rest of the way home.
Never break a mirror. Broken mirrors bring seven years bad luck. That's common knowledge for most.
But do they know why?
Do they know what happens when the mirror fractures, splintering into hundreds of tiny shards, each sharp enough to draw blood? The noise of something shattering causes an instinctual response to turn and find out what broke. All instincts must come from somewhere.
Do they know what they released?
Some say that a mirror is like a portal to an alternate reality: just like ours, but, of course, reversed. They say that we would be able to cross over to this reality if it weren't for the entity in our way: our reflections. The reflections block our paths, convincing us to stay in our world by making us believe there is no other. Look, the baby made a friend in the mirror! they say, or Silly dog, that's just you! Why are you barking so much?
Have they ever stopped to wonder if that person in the mirror is really them?
No one ever actually sees their own face. It's impossible. They can only see through images or reflections, never with only their eyes. Always through something else.
What if we're not what we think we are?
What if that "seven years' bad luck" is them keeping us out more viciously?
What if instead of letting something out, we let something worse in?
In India , menstruating women are considered as impure and unclean . And I being an Indian girl has to follow certain rules during those days like I'm not allowed to worship God or to touch anything that shall be given as an offering to God and even not allowed to touch anyone . We are also restricted to enter the kitchen or do any household work and advised to seclude ourselves . Though I hate the fact that we are been treated as untouchables , I enjoy twisting others around my little finger . Apart from that I get time to spend with myself . But whatever may be the reason behind these superstitions , the ladies who used to work so hard during the month would get a well-earned rest during this period of time . And the last and the foremost thing is that I'm not ashamed of talking this out here and I feel proud being a girl .
They’re real, breathing, things.
Whenever I fly anywhere, as I board the plane, I always slap the aircraft on the fuselage and whisper to her, "Get us there safely."
As you might expect, I often get a laugh or a knowing smile from the flight attendant when they catch sight of me doing this.
Naturally, when we land and disembark, I give that wondrous tube of aluminium another love-tap and say, "Thanks for getting us here safely."
I'm not a pushy dad in the slightest, but my sons are gently reminded to do the same when we fly together. I wonder why I don't do something similar with cars or trains? If I did, it would almost feel like I'm cheating... or borderline OCD.
We were sitting at a stop sign when it happened.
"Black cat!" Derek yelled. He and Alex rolled down their windows and spat on the payment. Carol and I gave them a look.
"You spit when a black cat passes?"
"Even in the car?"Alex replied, a brick of a boy melting like butter.
"Yeah." The nervousness in his face was new to me so I complied, rolling down the window and spitting.
"That's so stupid." Carol remarked, driving on.
"Come on. Something bad will happen if you don't." She was silent for a moment before the car swerved into the other lane. She screamed and screamed and honked her horn as us kids freaked out. She laughed, straightened the car and went on. The rest of our trip she mocked us.
I don't know what happened that night, but she started spitting when black cats passed afterwards.
The horoscope. A lot of bad things can be said. But i wanna show you, why i even if i dont trust it, enjoy it. First is obvious, our desire to be in a group, be it a football fan club, a geeky club, or a specific music taste group. We want to be organized into a group. But besides that, the horoscope is mich like a fortune cookie but a bit more detailed and often. Everyday you can start with the horoscope giving you hope for something good. Every week again, and every year. It insipers us, it gives up ego boosts about our good traits and warns us to fix bad ones. Even tho sign specific ones could work for any other group. It still is a positive message meant for only you. So why is it so bad.