The Curse

Sandra flung open the double doors of Mr. Pinchard's office and strode out, her head raised, her high heels clacking on the hardwood floors, and her long skirt billowing out behind her.

Mr. Pinchard followed right behind her, ringing his hands and gazing up at her.

"You can't be serious," He muttered. "13 years of general bad luck, my marriage failing and I'm going to lose my business?"

"I meant what I said, Mr. Pinchard. I have no control over your future, I am just here as a consultant, a consultant you requested, I might add."

He shook his head. "It was my wife who suggested I get your advice on the matter."

"And, now you have it," She said turning back to glare down at him. "I have given you the only option you have to save yourself."

"I don't think I have the resources to do what I am being asked to do and what about all the people that will be affected when I share this burden with them?" He moaned.

"Their burden is not your concern, now is it? You must do what I told you or the consequences will be most dire. The choice is yours, good day, Mr. Pinchard. "

"Good day," He said miserably and retreated back into his office, closing the doors behind him.

Before she had crossed the waiting room, her phone dinged, alerting her to a new email. She froze when she saw Mr. Pinchard's name in the sender box.  The receptionist watched in terror as Sandra's face first drained of blood and then flashed scarlet.


"NOT TO ME! YOU FOOL! NOW I HAVE TO FIND 25 FRIENDS TO FORWARD THIS CHAIN LETTER TOO!" Sandra bellowed.

As Sandra left, the receptionist swore she heard Mr. Pinchard say, "Not my concern."