walked past her on the left. Then some dodgy investor ran away with all her money. Then her house began to show cracks, like wrinkles on an old woman’s face. People noticed that Mona was looking tired and sad and began to stay away. For if her unlucky streak was as powerful as her lucky streak then they would be in trouble for sure.
Only Margie remained loyal to her beloved friend, Mona and every afternoon at 3.30pm sharp, she would pop round with a cake and tea in a teapot.
One afternoon, Margie found Mona in a terrible state. "The worst thing of all happened," she wept. "My treasured ring – the ring that my mother gave me on her death bed – slipped off my finger this morning and I have no idea where it is. I will never find it!" And with that she collapsed in a great sobbing heap.
"I have an idea," said Margie stroking the cheek of her sparrow-like friend.
A short time later they found themselves sitting side by side on a bus, both hunched over a newspaper. Circled on the classifieds page was an advert for Balthazar Button, a Modern Day Sorcerer (complete with references). Rumour had it that he was one of the most powerful and savage sorcerers known to man.
"Levitation, mind-reading, invisibility, visions, telepathy, demon slaying, hexes, spell-casting - you name it - he‘s done it," explained Margie to her gloomy friend.
They eventually arrived at a non-descript council house with net curtains and faded plastic flowers in a vase on the window sill.
"Are you sure this is it?" asked Mona as they made their way up the garden path.
"That's what it says here," replied Margie clutching the newspaper nervously.
The door opened and there, before them, stood a very ordinary man with long grey hair and a thick moustache which seemed to hide almost all of his mouth. His face was tanned and lined, as though he had spent his entire life in the garden and his eyes were deep set and piercing. "Follow me," he said, shuffling into the living room in what appeared to be a bathrobe and ladies slippers.
"Your mother is here," he told Mona and then went on to provide a description of a small, frail old woman that smelled of marzipan.
Mona Malone nodded her head vigorously.
"She says for me to tell you that there is a curse on you. It is the curse of a nun whom you aggrieved."
"Sister Kelly!" said Mona, her eyes as wide as saucers.
"She was so angry with you for running away from the children’s home that she went mad. From the day you left the convent, the Sister’s life had been blighted by pain and bad luck. First she developed an irrational phobia for statues, screaming and crying at the crucifix. Unable to continue working for the church she took to wandering. She died a lonely old bag lady, hobbling from town to town along Ireland’s East coast, begging for money along the way. Rumour had it that she carried a small black doll stuffed with hair from Mona’s hairbrush which, in her hurry to escape, she'd left behind at the convent. Her entire life was consumed by the desire to seek vengeance on Mona Malone. That day came on the 24th December 1964 when Sister Kelly was found frozen to death on the doorstep of a butcher‘s shop."
"Well I’ll be blown," exclaimed Mona, her voice shaky with nerves. "I remember that day vividly. I was rinsing out my tights in the bathroom sink when there was an almighty crashing sound from all around the house. Every single mirror in the house, big or small, had fallen off the wall and smashed into thousands of pieces.
"How can she reverse the curse?" asked Margie looking at her watch, fully aware of Balthazar Button's extortionate charges.
Balthazar sucked in through his teeth as if this was going to be an expensive job. "You have to understand that this is a tormented soul we’re dealing with."
"I understand," said Mona. "But so am I, to be sure!"
Soon after, Margie and Mona were looking at a small doll made from straw and wearing a black habit, all sewn up with red thread. She
Only Margie remained loyal to her beloved friend, Mona and every afternoon at 3.30pm sharp, she would pop round with a cake and tea in a teapot.
One afternoon, Margie found Mona in a terrible state. "The worst thing of all happened," she wept. "My treasured ring – the ring that my mother gave me on her death bed – slipped off my finger this morning and I have no idea where it is. I will never find it!" And with that she collapsed in a great sobbing heap.
"I have an idea," said Margie stroking the cheek of her sparrow-like friend.
A short time later they found themselves sitting side by side on a bus, both hunched over a newspaper. Circled on the classifieds page was an advert for Balthazar Button, a Modern Day Sorcerer (complete with references). Rumour had it that he was one of the most powerful and savage sorcerers known to man.
"Levitation, mind-reading, invisibility, visions, telepathy, demon slaying, hexes, spell-casting - you name it - he‘s done it," explained Margie to her gloomy friend.
They eventually arrived at a non-descript council house with net curtains and faded plastic flowers in a vase on the window sill.
"Are you sure this is it?" asked Mona as they made their way up the garden path.
"That's what it says here," replied Margie clutching the newspaper nervously.
The door opened and there, before them, stood a very ordinary man with long grey hair and a thick moustache which seemed to hide almost all of his mouth. His face was tanned and lined, as though he had spent his entire life in the garden and his eyes were deep set and piercing. "Follow me," he said, shuffling into the living room in what appeared to be a bathrobe and ladies slippers.
"Your mother is here," he told Mona and then went on to provide a description of a small, frail old woman that smelled of marzipan.
Mona Malone nodded her head vigorously.
"She says for me to tell you that there is a curse on you. It is the curse of a nun whom you aggrieved."
"Sister Kelly!" said Mona, her eyes as wide as saucers.
"She was so angry with you for running away from the children’s home that she went mad. From the day you left the convent, the Sister’s life had been blighted by pain and bad luck. First she developed an irrational phobia for statues, screaming and crying at the crucifix. Unable to continue working for the church she took to wandering. She died a lonely old bag lady, hobbling from town to town along Ireland’s East coast, begging for money along the way. Rumour had it that she carried a small black doll stuffed with hair from Mona’s hairbrush which, in her hurry to escape, she'd left behind at the convent. Her entire life was consumed by the desire to seek vengeance on Mona Malone. That day came on the 24th December 1964 when Sister Kelly was found frozen to death on the doorstep of a butcher‘s shop."
"Well I’ll be blown," exclaimed Mona, her voice shaky with nerves. "I remember that day vividly. I was rinsing out my tights in the bathroom sink when there was an almighty crashing sound from all around the house. Every single mirror in the house, big or small, had fallen off the wall and smashed into thousands of pieces.
"How can she reverse the curse?" asked Margie looking at her watch, fully aware of Balthazar Button's extortionate charges.
Balthazar sucked in through his teeth as if this was going to be an expensive job. "You have to understand that this is a tormented soul we’re dealing with."
"I understand," said Mona. "But so am I, to be sure!"
Soon after, Margie and Mona were looking at a small doll made from straw and wearing a black habit, all sewn up with red thread. She
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