**A Memorable Birthday Dinner**
Last night, Emily and I returned from the restaurant where we celebrated my birthday. It was a lovely eveningfamily, colleagues, all gathered under one roof. Many faces were new to Emily, but if Id invited them, she trusted they belonged there. Shes never been one to argue, preferring peace over petty disagreements.
*”Emily, have you got the keys? Can you grab them?”* She rummaged through her handbag, then winced, yanking her hand back as the bag tumbled to the ground.
*”Whyd you shout?”*
*”Something stung me.”*
*”With all the rubbish you keep in there, Im not surprised.”*
She didnt argue, just fished out the keys carefully. By morning, shed forgotten the incidentuntil she woke to a throbbing, swollen finger. Digging through her bag, she pulled out a rusty needle buried at the bottom.
*”What on earth?”* She tossed it and bandaged the wound, shrugging it off. But by lunch, fever gripped her. She rang me, voice weak. *”James, I dont feel right. That needleI think its infected me.”*
*”You need a doctor. It could be tetanus.”*
*”Dont fuss. I cleaned it.”*
Yet she worsened. By evening, she barely made it home before collapsing on the sofa. In a fitful sleep, she dreamed of her late grandmother, Agnesa woman shed barely known but recognized instantly. Agnes led her through a field, pointing out herbs for a cleansing brew. *”Someone wishes you harm,”* she whispered. *”Fight, or youll run out of time.”*
Emily woke drenched in sweat. Minutes had passed, but it felt like hours. When I came home, I barely recognized herpale, hollow-eyed. *”Look at yourself!”* I demanded.
She told me of the dream. *”Gran said hospitals wont help.”*
We argued fiercelyme calling her mad, her resisting until she stumbled. I nearly dragged her out, but she refused. I left in a rage.
By midnight, guilt brought me back. *”Take me to Grans village,”* she pleaded. In the morning, she looked deathly but insisted. We drove to the countryside, where she collapsed in a field, certain it was the one from her dream. She found the herbs, and back home, I brewed the infusion. With each sip, colour returned to her cheeksthough later, black urine shocked us. *”The poisons leaving,”* she murmured.
That night, Agnes returned in her dreams. *”The curse came through that needle. Someone close to James did this. Put an enchanted needle in his bagwhoever pricks themselves is your enemy.”*
Emily obeyed. Days later, I mentioned Sandra, a colleague whod jabbed herself on a needle in my bag. *”She glared like Id betrayed her.”*
The puzzle clicked. Sandrawhod attended the birthday dinnerhad slipped the cursed needle into Emilys bag. Agnes guided Emily to retaliate magically, and soon, Sandra fell gravely ill, doctors baffled.
Last weekend, we visited Agness grave. Emily tidied the plot, arranging flowers in a vase. *”Im sorry I never came,”* she whispered. A breeze brushed her shouldersan embrace from the unseen.
**Lesson:** Some wounds arent flesh-deep. And sometimes, the dead fight harder for us than the living.
