So, evil eye is tentatively marked as a success. The implications of this are interesting, at the very least. There’s been all sorts of debate on the nature of magic throughout history, and many people debating what does or does not qualify as such. If anything, the preliminary reading’s I have done on the subject have muddled the waters further, rather than clarifying things for me. In the minds of the preeminent scholars who inhabit the “crazy” side of the internet, magic can encompass everything from brewing sketchy potions that would probably make someone sick more than cure them, telling the future using playing cards that have a history of all but a few hundred years old, and feeling so-called energies in crystals.

Considering what I know I shouldn’t be too quick to deride what they say, but it almost seems like a joke. Or maybe I’m just finally realizing the absurdity of my whole life, a quarter century of and some change of insanity culminating in a series of events that I would have laughed at as corny if I had read it in one of the fantasy novels I loved growing up.

A lot of the magic mentioned online involves invoking or calling on the powers of beings beyond regular humanity. This, I know is a method that works, considering my first direct use of magic was done in this manner. While the spell I used called on fairies, other examples of this would include the ever popular demonic summoning that’s a staple of pulp fiction. This source, of course, just seems too extreme for me. And the optics of it are horrible. I’m not a bad person or anything. And bargaining with demons is a sure-fire way to meet a bad end. The cost tends to be not the “$7 venti mocha” I used previously, but at the level of souls for large scale wishes.

I’m just not up for that. The polar opposite on the morality scale, angelic magic, is much the same, making deal divine beings. It’s just too large-scale for me. Good and Evil, with the capital G and E, just strikes me as flashy and attention grabbing. Don’t get me wrong, there are several grimoires at work that touch on the topic. Some are even, helpfully, in English, and a modern enough version of it that I can read. But trying to use the lost writings of John Dee for shits and giggles would be a big to-do that’d likely catch the attention of my higher-ups at my job. Which is a big no-no for me.

I wonder what we consider ESP would fall under the umbrella term of “magic?” The presence of that extra sensitivity to the supernatural is what landed me my current job in the first place, and from what I had gathered from past experiences it’s a skill that the government had, and currently is, seeking to add to its ranks. Still, part of me seems opposed to the concept of counting ESP, that familiar and almost normal sense of intuition and déja vu, as being the same as the arcane rituals used with angels and demons.

But then, how does something like the Evil Eye fit into this? I’m assuming it was successful. But there was no borrowing power from beings for this to work. It was just pure intention on my part, directed towards an individual.

I suppose I could easily just look up the answers tonight as work, but I can’t help but think about it right now, with the experience still fresh in my mind. There’s absolutely no way I can concentrate on class right now, with everything on my mind. I’m sorry, Mr. Raphael, but your mastery of perspective isn’t enough to pull my thoughts away from magic.

Soon enough class ends, and I pack away my school supplies in a daze. I exit the build, and as I begin my journey across campus to my car I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Shit, I think, whipping around. My biggest fear is the girl I failed with using my evil eye on calling me out on my attempt at cursing her. It’d be one more rumor she could add to her repertoire, and unlike the others this rumor would actually have truth behind it.

I felt a slight sense of relief, but one that rapidly turned to confusion. What does this girl want with me?

She was a bit shorter than me, about 5’4”. She was wearing black jeans, a Iron Maiden band shirt, and a olive drab jacket. Going for the all-black look, her hair had been dyed black, though obviously it had been a while as blonde roots were showing through. I almost expected her eyes to be black too, but instead they were a dark blue. Maybe she should get color contacts to match the rest of her outfit?

“It was you,” she says, confirming something to herself.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I recognized her, to be fair. I normally set in the middle of the lecture hall; I like the content enough to want to get closer to the professor but sitting in the front row just makes me uncomfortable. But she was one of the ones who always sits in the back. I could sympathize with that. But in her own way she made somewhat of an impression by doing so. It didn’t stick out as odd behavior, she had just somehow lodged into my memory. Never enough to directly talk with her like this though.

“You’re the hair thief.”

“What?”

“The other week, you stole one. From that girl’s seat.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I tried brushing her off. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to have been seen. On second thought, I really half-assed the whole thing, so it’s not that surprising.

“If you say so, Amy.”

“How do you know my name?” I know I’ve never talked with her before.

“I asked the professor just now. After asking him about medieval belief in the evil eye.”

“The evil eye? What’s that?” Fuck.

“ Never mind that. Be more careful next time, hair thief.”

And with that, she turned away, walking down the path deeper into campus.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Trying to put the incident out of mind, I got lunch at the pub I had made a habit of going to after starting working at the archive. The burgers there are honestly addicting, and there’s really nothing more to be said about the beer selection. Afterwards, I went for a walk down Main street before going into an antique store to kill time.

I began to head over to the books, when I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. There was a weird, hazy, darkness on the other side of the store, by a display of Depression glass. Confused, I squinted, sure I was seeing things. The longer I looked at it, the darker it grew, until an ominous feeling started to emanate from it that I could feel from across the store. A pair of staff members were nearby, and while one continued working, the other began to shiver, their face taking on a nervous look.

The haze slowly began to take on a humanoid shape, while I began to feel the same warmth as before slowly leaching out of my body towards it. After a few more moments, the figures arm lashed out, knocking over the display of glass. The tremendous crash grabbed the attention of all in the store, shocked at the antique display that randomly decided to break itself.

“S-sorry…” I let out a feeble apology. One person gave me a confused glance, then thankfully looked away. Bolting out the door, I made my way back to the bar and ordered another beer.

And that was my first experience with the dark “things” I believe to be ghosts.

Somewhat shaken from the previous events, I ended up heading into work earlier than usual. The docket of tasks waiting for me was light, as usual, but I paid them a bit more mind than I would have before my experiences with magic. There was nothing too startling, all things considered. An Airforce had requested, coincidentally enough, a summary of one of John Dee’s “lost works,” this one musing on the manner in which the angels he had conversed with had traveled to our dimension and what manner of realm Heaven might be. The focus they wanted specifically was on the methods of travel. Odd, but I guess none of my business behind what I need to know to write it.

There were a few other requests, like a base in Florida wanting information on voodoo rituals, or rather, how to counter them. I wonder who they pissed off to need info like that? Once my work was up, I was finally able to check up on the grimoires for more info. Runic magic seems rather interesting.

While it seems like it could be useful, it really does have a lot of ground-work in order for it to be used correctly. Plus many of the spells seem to require blood sacrifices. Really kind of off-putting. Actually, how did something like this even work it’s way into US hands? Curious, I take a look at the cover sheet, and the words Operation Paperclip stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe I’ll just put this one back…

This fae magic really does seem like a more reliable form of magic. I’m still not sure if it’s the route I should be pursuing as my primary focus, but there does seem to be a certain convenience in having a 3rd party deal with the gritty details. As I skimmed over a volume on lay lines and fairy forts, my thoughts wandered back to the event at the antique shop.

Just like when I had used magic previously, there was that sensation of a warmth leaving my body. What’s up with that? The previously times I was only partially aware of it, since I was focusing on a spell or curse, but I definitely felt it this time, in conjunction with the thing gaining enough strength to cause what I can only assume was hundreds of dollars of property damage. I can only guess the weird feeling was linked with the supernatural events occurring. Wait. Wouldn’t that make it mana?

Of all things, to think I’d find a clear analogue with video game mechanics. I’m still mixed on the lack of a stats screen but I guess even with magic, the world just doesn’t work that way.

After a long day at work, I finally made it home. I personally was relatively proud of it. As much as I had been committed to trying to live the NEET life before being forced into the worlds of education and employment, having a house to call my own is nice. I was able to afford it with a VA home loan, and it gives me enough space to have my own sewing room and a vault for my antique collection. It even has a back porch, a patio for grilling, and a fire pit which ended up being more practical than I had though it’d be. And the most important part is, now that I’m not living with my parents, I can get a pet.

“Pspspsps,” I call out.

Recently, a stray cat has taken up residence near my patio, and I’m determined to make her my pet. A cat, with glossy black fur and beautiful blue eyes. I already bought food and a liter box for the cat, and a collar with a bell. She had been shy, at first, but I slowly won her over with, of all things, a little salami. And today’s going to be the day I turn her into an inside cat! Enough crap happened today to make me want to relax, and I need to squeeze some toe beans.

The cat immediately comes out, as if she had been waiting for me. It seems she’s already gotten used to my schedule, and is eager to spend time with me. As she sits in my lap on the patio, I bring out the collar.

“I got this for you! What do you say to becoming an indoor cat?”

“Meow”

“Ooh, that’s totally a yes!” I place the collar on her. “Now, what should I name you.”

I think for a while, trying to think of a good name. Whiskers and Fuzzball are too common, so those are out. My mind, going back to the reading I had done today, considers Dee and Hans for a while, but both of those are absolutely horrible. An absolute stretch considers naming her after a historical figure. But Smedley Butler would be the worst of them all. This is a girl cat, after all.

“I know!” I exclaimed, finally settling on the perfect name. “Chesty Puller. It’s a great name. The Marine’s Marine, earned the Navy Cross four times. Anyone would be proud to be named after him!”

“Mrowrl” The cat didn’t seem too happy, but I’m sure it’ll grow on her.

“Time to show you your new home.” I announce, carrying the cat inside.

After closing the door, I plop down on the couch, cat in hand. I pet her for a bit, before playing with her little paws. Absolutely adorable. This is what I need in life, to forget all the annoying stuff that happened today.

“Such a cute cat. Now that I think of it, a black cat is practically a stereotypical familiar for a witch. You wouldn’t want to be my familiar, would you?”

It’s just a passing fancy, but the cat begins purring as I say this. Though that’s probably because I started scratching her behind the ears. I've started going down a path further into the occult, but at I have this fuzzball at home to make it all worth it.