by K. Ward
A man walks into an Occult store and finds something he likes.
|The Magic Orb
By K. Ward
On the first Saturday of October in the year 2017, I walked into an Occult store called, The Magic Orb. The first thing I saw was a crystal ball on display in the center of the store, and my eyes locked onto it with wonder and fascination.
The store itself was very old and a little dirty. Products were packed onto the shelves a little haphazardly, strewn one on top of the other, crowding the tiny retail space. It was obviously not well-staffed; otherwise, the shelves would have been neatly arranged, the items and books carefully organized so that one could easily navigate among the merchandise.
I saw that crystal ball, and I liked it. I walked towards it, ignoring the man at the cash register behind the counter, and looked at the sparkling object. Its surface had a little dust on it, but I picked it up carefully and looked through the glass, admiring the way the light glinted against and through it. “How much?”
“Fifty dollars,” he said. He was a man who looked like he was in his mid-forties, with hair beginning to turn gray on the top of his head and on his beard.
“I’ll take it!” I said.
And so the man sold it to me. He put it in a paper bag with a receipt, and I took it home.
Hours later, I sat down with the crystal ball. “Crystal ball, crystal ball, show me something I would like to see.”
And I looked into the glass. At first, I only saw the fading sunlight, coming in through the blinds, glinting inside of it. And then I saw colors dancing through it. And then the colors took form, the form of ballerinas dancing in a ballet. “Where is this?” I asked. And I saw a picture of the New York City skyline. The New York City Ballet!
But I became bored with watching the girls in their pointe shoes and tutus. I said, “Crystal ball, crystal ball, show me something else.”
And I saw the image of the ballerinas disperse like dust in wind, and then colors formed and came together again in the shape of a street fiddler playing before an audience. “Where is this?” I asked. And then I saw the Eiffel Tower. Paris!
But then I became bored with the image of the fiddler, and so I asked another question. “Crystal ball, crystal ball, show me what is outside my house.” And the crystal ball went dark. It would not show me an image.
I heard a knock, knock, knock. “Crystal ball!” I said. “Crystal ball! Show me what is making that sound!”
But it was too late.
When my bloodied, dying body was lying on the floor, the crystal ball finally showed me an image: one of a masked murderer with a machete leaving the front lawn and running away into the shadowed night.