Cornelius Searches for Help

Cornelius Fritz cautiously opened a purple door that was beneath a sign with a picture of a crystal ball and the word ‘Psychic’ on it. To him, it looked like Tyrian purple. The jangle of a small bell announced his entrance before he even took a hesitant step inside the building.
“Tyrian purple, also known as Phoenician purple, is an extremely expensive pigment primarily used for textiles, rarely used for artistic purposes, and most likely never used for outdoor painting,” Sanford Hollister commented, following Cornelius inside. His curious gaze roved over the interior of the building.
“Hello?” Cornelius called out, gripping his hands together, trying to hide their trembling.
“Come on in,” came a voice from somewhere in the back of the shop.
“Look at all this glitz and glamour,” Sanford murmured. He clasped his hands behind his back and trailed slowly about the room. A tall stand lamp with a beaded shade made him cringe. Chunks of quartz in different colors were displayed on a side table. He paused for a moment, his interest piqued, but did not touch them.
The middle of the room was dominated by a large round table, covered with an ornate silk cloth. Something rested in the center of the table, covered with a yellow blanket made of satin.
“Took you long enough,” reprimanded an old woman. The thump of her cane reverberated on the floorboards as she swept aside the beaded curtain and came out of the back room. Waves of gray hair spilled down her hunched back and framed a weathered face that held a pair of sharp blue eyes.
“Ex.. excuse mm…me?” Cornelius looked on the verge of bolting.
“Well? I haven’t got all day. Did you bring cash? I only take cash, you know.” Those sapphire orbs narrowed with suspicion. “My services aren’t free,” she huffed, poking her cane towards him to emphasize each word. It thumped back to the floor. She folded wrinkled hands atop the cane’s curved section and scowled at Cornelius.
“I.. I don’t have cash,” Cornelius fretted.
The old woman grunted and threw a hand up, waving him towards the door. “No cash, no service!”
“I don’t like her, Cornelius,” Sanford stated. He crossed his arms and peered at the old woman as if she were a piece of animal dung that was stuck to the bottom of his best pair of shoes. “Let’s leave.”
“No!” Cornelius shouted. “Please, help me…” His voice shook as he pleaded with her.
“I said I want to leave, right now, Cornelius.” Sanford demanded. “You’re disappointing me again.”
“Shouting at me isn’t going to do you any good, young man,” the woman warned. “Now, get out.”
“No! No! I refuse to go until you help me!” Cornelius lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders, desperate to make her listen. “If you don’t help me, you’re dead!”
How could a woman that ancient move so fast? The cane jabbed upwards and caught Cornelius under his jaw, snapping his head back. “Don’t you dare threaten me, boy! The likes of you can’t kill old Agnes.”
“Oh, Cornelius didn’t mean he would kill you,” Sanford said, his silken tone whispering right next to her ear where he had leaned in close. “No, that lovely part will be left up to me.”
“It’s him,” Cornelius sobbed. “You can’t see him, but he’s there! He will kill you, I swear it. I can’t stop him. I’ve tried so many times to stop him.” He sat as a miserable lump on the floor cradling his jaw.
Sanford’s lips slowly curled with malice. He raised his arms and reached for the old woman’s throat.
The satin blanket atop the table stirred and out from beneath it shot a ball of orange fur. The angered feline hissed and spit, leaping for Sanford’s faded out form. Sanford shouted as the animal passed right through him. He glared at the cat, whose back was arched as it growled at him. “You’re next.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Hollister,” Agnes disagreed. Her hand shot out and firmly wrapped bony fingers around his ghostly throat. “You’ve caused enough hate and sadness. Plus, I love my cats."
Sanford wrapped his hands around her arm that, for him, was far stronger than any steel. He was heating up, rapidly heating to the point of boiling. The whimper that began in the back of his throat grew into a screeching wail. He thrashed and fought, but to no avail. Grey mist turned to red and he felt every agonizing lick of the flames that consumed his incorporeal form, dragging him to the depths where his true agony would soon begin.
“Thank you,” Cornelius whispered, tears continuing to flood his cheeks. “I… I was being honest. I have no cash to pay you. How can I repay you?”
“I do, on occasion, provide my assistance as a community service.” Agnes offered, grudgingly. “Don’t I, Franny?” She cooed to the orange tabby that was rubbing itself against her skirts.
The cat meowed at her and then ran over to sniff at Cornelius. Placing her paws upon his chest, Franny rubbed her chin under his jaw and began to purr like the rumble of an outboard motor. Cornelius lifted a shaky hand to stroke her head and scratch behind her ears.
“Ah, so that’s the way of it,” Agnes nodded. Her eyes drifted closed, she murmured a few words and listened to the faint tinkling of bells. “That’s better now, isn’t it?” Opening her eyes, she smiled at Franny happily rubbing up against a black cat.
“Come along now, Fritz. I’ve work to do,” Agnes chuckled, “and you have mice to chase.”


Word Count = 944

Winner of 10/12/22 Writer's Cramp Contest

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For Writer's Cramp 10/12/22 - Write a story or poem inspired by this prompt:

Use these three phrases in your story/poem and make sure you BOLD them:

a purple door
a black cat
a yellow blanket

One of your genres must be: Thriller/ Suspense OR Ghost

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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy