Olivia and her husband, James, returned home from a delightful birthday dinner at their favourite London bistro. The evening had been perfectpacked with family, friends, and even a few of Jamess colleagues Olivia had never met. She wasnt one to argue over guest lists; if James thought they should be there, shed smile and nod. Easier than stirring the pot.
“Olivia, your keys arent buried too deep in that abyss of a handbag, are they?” James teased as they reached their flat. Olivia rummaged through her bag, fingers brushing against lipsticks, receipts, and “Ouch!” She jerked her hand back, dropping the bag.
“Whats wrong?”
“Something pricked me!”
“With the state of that bag, Im surprised it wasnt a whole hedgehog,” James chuckled.
Olivia fished out the keys, brushing off the odd moment. Exhausted, she barely remembered it by morninguntil she woke with a throbbing, swollen finger. Then it came flooding back. She upended her bag, and there it was: a rusted sewing needle lurking at the bottom.
“How on earth?” Baffled, she tossed it in the bin, disinfected the cut, and headed to work. By lunchtime, she was burning up.
She called James. “I feel awfulfever, headache, like Ive been hit by a lorry. That rusty needle mustve given me an infection.”
“See a doctor, Liv. It could be serious.”
“Ill be fine. Its just a scratch.”
But she wasnt fine. By evening, she was swaying in a taxi, collapsing onto the sofa the second she got home. Then, she dreamed of her late grandmother, Margareta woman shed barely known. Frail and bent, yet strangely comforting, Granny Margaret led her through a field, pointing out herbs for a detox tea. “Someone wants you gone,” she whispered. “But you must fight. Times running out.”
Olivia woke drenched in sweat. Minutes had passed, but it felt like hours. James slammed in, gaping at her. “Blimey, look at yourself!” She staggered to the mirror. The vibrant woman from last night was gone; in her place, a ghost with dull hair and hollow eyes.
“Its Granny,” Olivia murmured. “She told me what to do.”
“Youre delirious. Were going to hospital.”
“No! She said doctors cant fix this.”
Their first proper row erupted. James called her mad; she refused to budge. He grabbed her armshe wrenched free, stumbled, and smacked her hip on the sideboard. Fuming, James stormed out. Olivia texted her boss: “Down with something nasty. Need a few days.”
James returned late, apologetic. All Olivia said was: “Take me to Grannys village tomorrow.”
At dawn, she looked like death warmed up. James begged, “Liv, stop this. Lets go to hospital. I cant lose you.” But they went. Olivia slept the entire ride, yet the moment they neared the village, she jolted awake. “There,” she said, pointing.
She collapsed onto the grass but found the herbs from her dream. Back home, James brewed the tea. Each sip brought reliefuntil she saw her black urine. It didnt scare her. “The poisons leaving,” she whispered.
That night, Granny Margaret returned. “That needle was cursed. My remedy will help, but its temporary. The culprits linked to James. Buy fresh needles, chant this spell, hide one in his bag. Whoevers behind this will prick themselvesthen well know.”
Olivia obeyed. Next evening, James looked baffled. “Mad day at work. Irene from accounting got pricked by a needle in my bag. Gave me a look that could curdle milk.”
“Irene? Was she at my party?”
“Yes, but Livits only you.”
That night, Granny confirmed Irenes plan: magic to steal James. Olivia reversed the curse. Days later, James mentioned Irene was hospitalised, baffling doctors.
The next weekend, Olivia visited Grannys grave for the first time since the funeral. She cleaned the headstone, arranging flowers in a jam jar. “Sorry I stayed away, Granny. You saved my life.” A breeze brushed her shoulderalmost like a hand. She turned. Nothing. Just peace.
