A Heck of a Hex

Chapter 6

“On Monday at midnight, I’ll be able to interfere and break the hex.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Dalia said.

“No problem,” stated Miss Hobbs. “You’ll have to stay at my house all week. No school, no leaving, no kidding!”

“I don’t want to leave,” said Dalia.

Later that afternoon, all the windows were drawn at Miss Hobbs’ house. The sisters were sitting on the sofa watching television. Lucille turned to Dalia.

“Didn’t you say Miss Hobbs is a Goddess?”

“Yeah,” Dalia stated.

“Why would a Goddess need a house?” Lucille asked. Dalia shrugged.

“Beats me.”

“I just don’t think it makes sense,” Lucille maintained.

“Maybe she has been hiding on Earth for a long time,” Dalia suggested.

“This whole thing is crazy,” Lucille admitted.

 “Will our lives ever return to some semblance of normalcy?”

“When the hex is broken,” said Dalia.

“There have to be remnants of the curse lingering after something like this,” Lucille stated.

“Think positive,” Dalia said.

“You didn’t see the look in Mom and Dad’s eyes,” Lucille answered.

 “They seemed so animal, crazed.”

“I saw my best friend’s eyes though,” admitted Dalia. : She tried to kill me.”

“What brought this curse on?” Lucille asked.

“I signed a joke name to an autograph,” Dalia admitted.

“That’s it?” Lucille asked.

“Yep,” Dalia nodded.

“Absolutely crazy,” Lucille stated. “What unlikely causation. This dude must be nuts.”

“I would be the one to mouth off to a male Annie Wilkes,” joked Dalia.

“I didn’t know you had read Misery,” Lucille pondered.

“Never read it,” shrugged Dalia. “Just saw the movie.” There was a silence between them. Then the girls went back to watching television.

“Not sure where Miss Hobbs is?” Dalia said.

“I don’t really care,” remarked Lucille. “I am just glad we’re here together and safe.”

“You and me both,” Dalia responded.

Both girls sank on the sofa. Their eyes grew heavier; both ladies let out yawns. They went to their sleeping quarters. They took a nap and awoke a few hours later. It was after dark now. When the tree branch scraped against the window, Dalia sat up on her cot.

“You awake?”

“Yeah,” answered Lucille.

“I’m really looking forward to having our normal lives back,” Dalia commented.

“It will be,” stated Lucille. “Still not sure if it will all work out in the end,” Lucille said.

“I love your optimism,” joked Dalia. Then she went off to the bathroom. Next, there came a tapping at the window. Lucille noticed a raven tapping at the glass. Lucille felt some force inside herself; it caused her to walk over to the window. She stared into the beast's eyes.

“Kill! Kill!” It urged her to murder Dalia. Lucille found a baseball bat nearby and picked it up. Dalia returned from the bathroom. She saw her sister staring at her with the bat in hand.

“Why do you have a baseball bat?” Dalia asked, trying not to panic. Lucille just stared in silence, thinking to herself: “Kill, Kill, Kill!”

“Put the bat down,” Dalia pleaded.

“No,” Lucille replied. Then she lifted the bat and charged at her sister. Dalia lowered her shoulder and tackled her crazed sister. She took the bat from her and threw it across the room. They wrestled around the room, battling until fatigue overtook them. They passed out.

At last, the big day came. A fierce battle raged on; Polomo and Alex were both killed. The curse was really broken. Lucille and Dalia’s lives returned to normal. The hex was finally gone! Dalia and Lucille remembered the ordeal, but no one else did. Not Rachel, Flo, or Bob either.

Chapter 7

The autumn leaves blew in the wind. Today was a special day; it was Lucille and Dalia’s birthday. They were college freshmen attending buck University. It was a small college in the town of Scott, Oregon. There was a nearby park. Some college kids engaged in a game of touch football. The gentle wind kissed Dalia’s face as she ran. Her ponytails swayed from side to side.

Her shorts were black, exposing muscular but still very feminine thighs. Her muscles ripped as she ran. From her sophomore year in high school and on Dalia had taken to weight training. Right before starting college, Dalia had dyed her hair blonde. Her tanned skin complimented the new hair color nicely. The sun shone brightly. Yet the cold would be here before they knew it. Then the snow would come. A Midwestern girl like Dalia was used to the snow. Because she played her sport inside; the cold would not affect her game.

Some of the boys stopped and observed the pretty girl running by. She ignored them. Boys stared; that was what they did. Their admiration for their perception of the ideal female form caused them to seek out the most attractive mates. She was not looking for a boyfriend. Dalia was nineteen years old today and a college freshman. She was in an environment of change and stability at the same time.

 This was certainly not high school anymore. If you were given an assignment you were expected to do it. If you did not, your grade suffered. You weren’t going to be coddled by your professors. They were lifelong academics that expected their students to discipline themselves the same way they had done when they were college students. 

The bell rang and Mr. Phillips walked into the classroom. He wore blue jeans and a long-sleeved collared shirt, a tie, and sandals. His hat was bright red. Lucille observed this from her vantage point. They all sat at a round table. Mr. Phillips and Lucille helped bring the total in the class to six. The slogan on the hat was Make America Great Again.

“Write about it,” Mr. Phillips said pointing to the hat. So the pencils started to fly. Mr. Phillips observed the students as the scribblings of their hearts poured onto the page. After fifteen minutes Mr. Phillips asked their students to pass their writings to the professor.

“Again,” Mr. Phillips reiterated. “I don’t care what you write. You can call me the Anti-Christ if you like; I just want you to get the points.” Then he got up and walked over to the chalkboard, grabbing a piece of chalk, gripping it in his hand. He started writing on the chalkboard. Mr. Phillips dropped the chalk, spinning around on his heels.

“As you can all see, I wrote the words fake friend on the board.”

 He took a slight pause before continuing.

“A false ally or foe trope is when a person in a film that poses or seems to be a friend turns out to be an ally or vice versa.” The class looked on in wonderment and intrigue.

“A few films that use this trick are: Last Action Hero, Total Recall, and Die Hard 2,”

 said Mr. Phillips.

 “Does anyone know why a screenwriter would bother with a trope like a false friend/ally?” A pudgy student with freckles and glasses raised his hand.

He wore blue shorts and a black t-shirt that read:

“Scifi is my d**g of choice. It’s a reflection of the real world,” Herbert replied.

“Exactly,” Mr. Phillips replied. Then the bell rang.

“See you all Wednesday,” Mr. Phillips said.

After class, Lucille headed back to her dorm. She saw her sister sitting on the bed, cross-legged, and reading a book on basketball. Lucille sat down at her desk and fired up her laptop. She started reading a script assigned for class.

“There’s a colloquium tonight,” Dalia stated. “You going?”

“What is it?” Lucille asked.

“It’s some author named Gary Wright,” Dalia replied.

“Oh I love him,” Lucille answered. “What time does his talk begin?”

“About 5:30 pm,” Dalia said.

When 5:30 pm rolled around, the room was full. It was not a big place; there were twelve chairs. Every one of those chairs was filled. On the front rectangular desk was a sign-in sheet. Lucille reached over for the pen as a handsome stranger. His eyes were brown and looked like wet marbles.

“Please, ladies first,” the handsome stranger named Kenny said. Lucille signed in and handed the pen to Kenny. She tried not to stare. They took their seats; Kenny sat in the row in front of Lucille. The author, Gary, walked into the room. He wore a gray Armani suit, with Gucci shoes, and a two thousand dollar Rolex. He stood behind the little podium and then grabbed the top of the podium.

“Hello, Buck students and faculty. My name is Gary Wright, and I wrote Power,” Gary said.

“What would you do with unlimited power?”

Lucille looked at Kenny. Her stomach ached a little and her mouth felt a bit dry.

“Imagine if you had everything you ever wanted,” Gary said.

Kenny leaned in, his eyes focused wolf-like on the speaker.

“You have to start with a visualization,” Gary said. From that, you have to pursue it relentlessly.” The talk ended and the students were let out. Lenny approached Gary. Lucille stayed behind too. Gary and Kenny shook hands. Lucille could not understand what they were saying from her vantage point but they both seemed heavily engaged in a serious conversation.

When 6:30 came about, Professor Moss walked in clad in black. His hair clashed with his dark clothes as Professor Moss’s hair happened to be white. He carried a briefcase into the classroom. He set the case by his desk, walked to the front of the class, and began lecturing.

“In this world, there is a realm of existence beyond the natural; it’s referred to as the supernatural,” began Professor Moss. “By a show of hands, who thought that witches and warlocks were just the stuff of storybooks, television, and films?”

Everyone raised their hand except for Dalia.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I noticed you did not raise your hand,” Professor Moss said.

“Yep,” Dalia answered.

“Do you have any experience with witches or warlocks?” Professor Moss folded his arms across his chest. “Hmm?” he said.

“Well,” Dalia started. She could feel all the judgmental eyes studying her.

“I uh, was hexed by one.” He examined her for a moment, his body remained completely still.

“Remarkable!” replied Professor Moss.

“What was the warlock’s name?”

“His name was Alex Sanders,” Dalia’s voice was practically a whisper.

“That is absolutely remarkable,” Professor Moss said.

“After class would you care to meet me in my office?”

“I guess,” shrugged Dalia.

“Alex Sanders was a powerful warlock,” began Professor Moss. “He started his own religion, a sect of paganism known as Windfire. He was believed to have conceived a son with the goddess Palomo.” Dalia’s jaw dropped; she could not believe her ears. Dalia had stayed in Polomo’s house. She had become a makeshift mentor for Dalia and now she was to learn her enemy and mentor had shared a bed.

“Alex was known to have a violent temper,” Professor Moss admitted.

“He had turned his son into a chicken for defying him. The spell was eventually broken after Alex’s death. What the boy looks like will be a mystery, but he will have a birthmark on his left wrist in the shape of a dragon’s skull.”

The class let out. Then Dalia followed Professor Moss into his office. He took a seat in his big leather chair, leaning back, and placing his hands behind his head. She took a quick cursory glance over her shoulder and observed a bookshelf filled with books on the paranormal.

“You are a very lucky human being,” Professor Moss admitted.

“Why is that?” asked Dalia.

“You were able to have a curse laid upon you by the greatest warlock that ever lived,” said Professor Moss. “I find paranormal studies fascinating. You are a walking testimonial to the validity of warlocks and the one true religion is Windfire.”

“Lucky me,” muttered Dalia. “May I go now?”

“Go ahead,” Professor Moss said. “You’re free to go.” Then Dalia exited.

She got back to her dorm room around 10:00 pm. Her Paranormal Studies class was held on Monday nights from 6:30 to 9:45. She found her sister watching a movie upon her return. It was some sappy romance flick.

“Hey dude,” Dalia said. “What’s up?”

“Since when am I a dude?” Lucille asked. Dalia chuckled.

“Just seeing if you were paying attention. Anything exciting happens in your world?”

“I’m pretty sure I met my future husband today,” Lucille admitted.

“What’s the gentleman’s name?” asked Dalia. Lucille shrugged.

“Beats me.”

“I can see the wedding invitations now,” joked Dalia. “Mr. and Mrs. Unknown Name.”

Lucille wore a mask of shame and embarrassment.

“I tried talking to him, but I chickened out.”

“Relax,” said Dalia. “Let the old love doctor show you how to pick up a guy.”

“If you’re the love doctor, I’m in big trouble,” said Lucille.

The next day Dalia handed Lucille a top. It was one of Dalia’s own shirts. Lucille tried it on and studied herself in the bathroom mirror.

“It’s a little revealing,” Lucille said timidly.

“Guys like when you show a little skin,” Dalia said.

“I don’t feel comfortable in wearing something this revealing,” Lucille protested.

“But you look so cute in it,” Dalia admitted.

“Really?” asked Lucille while studying herself in the mirror once more.

“I suppose it does have a certain charm to it.”

Today was Tuesday; she had Biology. The class was held in a relatively big lecture hall. It sat thirty-five students. Yet there were only thirty-four students in the class here today. There had been thirty-five students initially, but one student named Arnie had dropped the class after the first week.

“Be natural, be yourself, and be confident,” advised Dalia.

“Sounds like you got that from some cheesy motivational poster,” Lucille remarked.

“Good luck!” Dalia stated.

Lucille entered the lecture hall and made her way toward the back of the auditorium. She was one of the first ones to arrive. She put her bookbag down by her feet after pulling out a gel pen and a notebook. The more students that poured in, the more she tried covering herself. Most of the seats were taken except for the one right next to Lucille. In walked Kenny, clad in blue jeans and a black skater t-shirt.

“Mind if I sit here?” asked Kenny.

“Ah, okay,” Lucille answered. Kenny sat down.

“I just added this class this morning,” Kenny admitted. “How’s this professor?” asked Kenny.

“They call him The Bonecrusher,” revealed Lucille. In walked a broad-shouldered bald man, wearing a scowl, and an ill-fitting brown suit. Kenny leaned over and whispered to Lucille.

“He doesn’t look so tough.”

 Lucille did her best to stifle a smile. She noticed a birthmark on his wrist.

“What’s that?” Lucille asked.

“That’s a birthmark,” Kenny answered.

 “It’s supposed to signify my inner strength. It’s called the Rage of the Dragon.”

“Cool,” replied Lucille.

 After class Kenny wrote his cell number on a piece of paper and handed it to Lucille.

“I think you’re a really cool girl,” Kenny admitted. “I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Later in the day, Lucille found herself at rehearsal. She was going to be in a play entitled:

“Mr. Laramie Says Things.” It was made up by the drama teacher Mr. Warren.

She strode out on stage; full-voiced, confident, and in her element. She found herself dressed in rags. A fellow castmate by the name of Hope Moore addressed Lucille.

“You look most unpleasant,” Hope said.

“You should pay me better if you want me to afford something fancier than rags,”

replied Lucille.

“If I paid you any more money then I’d be the one in rags,” Hope said.

 Dalia was in the gym.  The logo, a giant steer, was painted on the midcourt. She dribbled and shot, swish. The ball went into the net. A girl walked into the gym. She had fiery red dragon’s breath hair and moved with a long and easy stride.

“Care to play a little one on one?” the girl asked. Dalia turned around.

“I’d like to know who’s challenging me.”

“The name is Karen Watts,” the girl said. “Junior point guard.”

“Dalia Becker. Let’s play.” Karen spun out of the way of Dalia. Swish. When Dalia had the ball, Karen stole it right back. They played to twenty-one and Dalia only scored four points the entire game. She hunched over, hands on her knees.

“You got some sweet moves,” Karen said. “But you’ve got to do better than that to best me.”

“Are you trying out for the team?”

“Yeah,” Dalia said.

“The season starts in November. You’ve got some time to improve,” Karen stated.

“You should be proud.” Dalia’s eyebrows raised.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve played everyone on the team currently and you’re the only girl to score four points against me,” answered Karen.

“I feel so special,” mocked Dalia trying not to vomit.

 Karen looked her up and down and said with a grin:

“You’re really pretty. If basketball doesn’t work out for you, then you can always take up cheerleading. I’m sure you’d look real cute holding a pair of pompoms.”

Dalia’s blood bubbled under the surface of her skin. They played another game and then another. Each game was a little better for Dalia than the previous one, but the result was always the same. Karen won and Dalia lost. She returned to her dorm room, salty and tired. She fell face down on the bed. Dalia started to drift off to sleep but was jolted back into the waking world by the sound of her sister entering the room while singing.

“I’m walking on sunshine.” Dalia looked at her sister.

“Why are you so chipper?”

“Remember that guy I was telling you about,” Lucille asked.

“Your future husband?” asked Dalia. Lucille nodded.

“Turns out his name is Kenny and he gave me his cell number.”

“Cool,” Dalia said. “Looks like my advice worked.”

“Yeah right,” Lucille said. “He has this interesting birthmark.”

Dalia sat up in bed; she leaned in. Lucille dropped down on her own bed.

“What does this guy’s birthmark look like?” Dalia asked.

“It looked like a dragon skull,” Lucille admitted. Dalia wanted to scream. She felt as though Mike Tyson himself had slugged her in the gut. Her jaw hit the floor.

“What?” Are you joking?”

“No, I’m totally serious,” Lucille responded. “Why?” Dalia shifted her weight.

“Sounds like an interesting birthmark. You said he gave you his phone number?”

“Yep,” Lucille stated blushing slightly.

“You gonna call him? Dalia asked locking eyes with her sister.

“Lucille shrugged. “I’d be too embarrassed.”

“He gave you his number didn’t he?” Dalia questioned.

Lucille nodded. “Absolutely.”

“He clearly likes you,” Dalia said. “What are you waiting for?”

“Why are you so worried about my love life all of a sudden?” Lucille asked.

“The birthmark,” Dalia said.

“Yeah,” Lucille stated,” What about it?”

“My Paranormal Studies professor told me Alex Sanders’ son had a birthmark in the shape of a dragon’s skull on his left wrist,” Dalia explained. Lucille shook her head.

“Why would a warlock’s son go to a small college in Oregon?” Lucille wondered.

“You’re stretching,” Dalia admitted. “If you don’t call this guy, I will,” warned Dalia.

“Alright,” Lucille said. “You are annoying.”

Lucille examined the paper and pulled out her cell phone.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Ask to meet him at Post for coffee or something,” Dalia answered. And ask him if he minded if your sister tagged along.”

“Why do you want to come?” Lucille asked.

“I want to have a three-way,” Dalia joked.

Lucille started laughing. All her tension left.

“Be serious. Do you want to check out his birthmark?”

Dalia nodded. “After that, I’ll split.”

Lucille dialed the number. She heard it ringing.

Kenny answered. “Hello?”

“Ah, hi. It’s Lucille Becker. I was wondering if you’d like to meet for coffee over at Post?”

“Sounds nice,” Kenny said.

“Would you mind if my sister tagged along?” Lucille asked.

“Not at all,” Kenny stated.

“Great,” Lucille said as her voice cracked.

“See you soon,” Kenny answered.

Dalia and Lucille sat at Post awaiting the arrival of Kenny.

“Do you think he’ll show?” Lucille asked.

Dalia laughed. “He’s meeting two chicks; the guy probably thinks he’s gonna get lucky.”

Lucille frowned.

“That’s the second joke you’ve made about sleeping with the guy I like. Reel it in.”

 Dalia rolled her eyes.