The Grimoire of Ursula Parris

Dust motes drift lazily in the feeble light of the basement. Sue sneezes violently and glares at a bottle of air freshener. The lavender scent does little to cover the musty smell of the damp air.

When Sue and Ed bought the house fifteen years ago, they thought it would have been renovated by now. They even picked out the kitchen, shaker cabinets with wooden countertops and a terracotta backsplash. Then the miracle happened and Sue got pregnant. The kitchen money went to diapers and daycare, then braces and hockey equipment and now…

The front door slams. That would be the little miracle coming home from high school. Sue looks up. Thump, thump, thump, each angry step is accompanied by a wave of fresh dust. Tom’s bedroom door should slam shut in three, two… bam, there it is. A chunk of plaster falls from the wall, kicking up more dust motes.

Sighing, Sue collapses into a rickety old chair. This is not how she pictured her life. As the dust clears, she peers into the wall where the bones of the house are now laid bare.

Wait, what’s that?

Sue tentatively reaches her hand into the gloomy insides of the wall, touching something smooth and warm. It's a leather-bound black book, its pages soft and brown with age. She delicately peels back the cover. The first page has an inscription in slanted handwriting.

The Grimoire of Ursula Parris.

The walls start to vibrate with the beats from Tom’s music upstairs, but down here, it feels like the beating heart of the house. Before she consciously decides anything, Sue finds herself curled up in the old chair with the little black book, turning the first page.

Jan 12 1958

I summoned a djinn today. He’s a grumpy sort. Apparently most djinns are imprisoned in oil lamps, but Bob was stuck in a lavender perfume bottle for 2429 years, and he’s not impressed. He got all huffy when I informed him that according to my coven leader, lavender is calming. Maybe it doesn’t work on djinn. I promised to get him a better bottle if he gave me a money spell. I need $20,000 to buy a house, so I don’t have to marry Frank.

Bob’s Money Spell

During a full moon, light a single white candle and put a cinnamon stick in a shallow bowl of water.

Spin the cinnamon stick in the water.

While staring at the spinning stick, visualise the money.

Recite these words.

“Deben, drachma,

I summon riches

The mighty dollar

Make it rain, bitches.”

I don’t understand all of the spell, but Bob assures me it will work. He says the spells come from the past and the future because he experiences all time simultaneously. When I asked him why he’s so grumpy about a couple of thousand years in a bottle, he refused to talk to me for an hour. Later he told me some gobbledygook about how in the next century people’s phones will book appointments and play movies - in colour - so I think he might be telling porkies.

Jan 14 1958

Bob was not thrilled with the olive oil bottle I got him. He wants a green one, not a clear one. Apparently, he’s shy. I obtained a cinnamon stick today. Will try the spell on the full moon in three days.

Jan 18 1958

I did the spell and nothing happened. Bob won’t come out of the bottle. Frank says I have to give him an answer by Friday. He promises to be a good husband, but he smells like eggs that have been in the sun too long. Bob says the new olive oil bottle is too plain and refuses to help until I find a suitable replacement. I told him if I had more money I could afford a fancy bottle.

Jan 20 1958

It worked! I was on my way to meet Frank at the restaurant and I stubbed my toe on a suitcase full of cash. Bye bye rotten egg Frank. I’ve got my eye on a quaint little house on Waterside Street.

—

Sue gently closes the book. This must be a practical joke. Yet, it seems so real. The pages even smell old, sweet and earthy like chocolate and coffee. The driveway grumbles with the arrival of Ed’s car. By the time the door creaks open, Sue has hidden the book back in the wall and placed a wicker basket over the hole.

“I’m home,” calls Ed.

Sue brushes the dust off her clothes. As she opens the basement door, the dull beat of Tom’s music is filled out with sharp, angry words, a fitting backdrop for her feelings about the drab kitchen. Various containers litter the countertops, as if vomited from overfilled cabinets.

“Welcome home,” she says as Ed leans in to kiss her on the cheek. He does that every day. It was cute at first, but now it feels like an obligatory ritual. Sue shoves down the familiar resentment and forces a smile.

—

The full moon shines into the basement, painting a rectangle onto a small table holding and candle and a bowl of water. Sue feels slightly silly as she spins the cinnamon stick in the water. She stares at it. In her head, she pictures a crisp white check with her name, Susan Grampian, printed on it along with $20,000 in the little box, enough to do the kitchen, at least.

She whispers:

“Deben, drachma,

I summon riches

The mighty dollar

Make it rain, bitches.”

Nothing.

She says it again louder.

And again, this time she screams it as loud as she can.

Still nothing. Sue rolls her eyes and chuckles to herself as she blows out the candle and carries her implements up the creaky stairs. It was worth a shot.

—

“We’d like to offer you the overseas position. There is quite a bit of travel involved, but the salary is generous,” says Peter, head of marketing.

“I’m - I’m honoured,” says Sue.

Her mind drifts to the spell she did in the basement on Monday. This is different though, she’s worked hard for a promotion.

“Oh, yes, and did I mention the signing bonus? I’m sure you won’t mind, but I had some paperwork done in advance, as you know the situation is time sensitive.”

Peter pushes a plain white envelope across the desk. She stares at it.

“Well, go on, it won’t bite,” laughs Peter.

Sue’s fingers tremble as she opens the envelope.

Susan Grampian, is printed neatly under name.

But it was the figure in the amount box that gripped her.

$20,000.

—

The front door opens smoothly as Sue steps in and calls, “I’m home.”

No one answers.

That’s right, Ed is looking at colleges with Tom this weekend. She sets her purse on the wooden countertop and sits at the breakfast bar. The truth is, she is hardly ever home. The job is great, but these days she mainly sleeps in airplanes and hotel rooms.

Sue thinks about the little black book and her heart beats a little faster. She does the money spell now and then, but she hasn’t opened the grimoire since she got the first cheque.

Her eyes are drawn to the basement door. The basement was renovated shortly after the kitchen, but Sue had a secret safe fitted. The little black book is nestled inside, still warm to the touch. Even after three years locked in a cold steel box the pages still smell of coffee and chocolate.

Sue takes a deep breath and opens the book.

Nov 19 1958

My new house is nifty, but my neighbours are not very friendly. I have to admit, I’m a bit lonely. Bob isn’t the best company. He stayed in his olive oil for the longest time, but he started talking to me again after I got him an expensive hand-blown Venetian glass bottle. He says the universe is more malleable than humans believe and with enough will, you can change your reality and even the people around you. He gave me this Influence Spell. I think it will come in handy.

Bob’s Influence Spell

Steep five mint leaves and three cloves in hot water.

Breathe in the steam deeply five times.

Visualise the thing you want to change about a person and take three sips of tea.

Recite, “As I will it, let it be done.”

Hold your wand in the air and shout, “I have the poooowwwer”

—

“I’m home,” calls Sue.

“Welcome home,” says Ed.

His voice is pleasant enough, but he doesn’t kiss her on the cheek anymore. He doesn’t do much any more unless she spells him.

After she spelled Peter to give her more time off work, she discovered Ed and Tom had gotten closer while she was away. So, she started spelling them too. At first, it was just little things. She stopped Tom from playing loud music and nudged Ed to use his gym membership more. She might have moulded him a bit here and there, bluer eyes, a more angular jaw. Then there were more significant changes. She spelled Tom to take engineering at university instead of music. And Ed, well, Ed does the laundry and compliments her new outfits and takes her on spontaneous sailing trips.

Now she can’t remember what he used to be like.

Every so often, she picks up the little black book. The spells all seem benevolent enough. She has everything she ever wanted. A cottage on a clear blue lake. Expensive jewellery. Admiration from her colleagues. A chiselled husband and a successful son. But it’s so… empty.

Even Ursula seems despondent. It’s like they are going through the journey together, only 70 years apart. The last entry Sue read in the grimoire was dated 1967, six years after her previous spell.

Ed’s blank stare follows Sue incuriously as she crosses to the basement. She’s near the end of the book now. It’s time to finish it.

—

April 7 1977

The worse things got for me, the more satisfied Bob seemed to get. Yesterday he was practically jubilant. I could hear him singing in his stupid glass bottle. Meanwhile, I want for nothing. Husband number three is everything I could ever want in a man. That should be a good thing, right? But if I can get whatever I want without any effort, what is the point? It’s all so hollow.

I thought I could do something important, like stop war or hunger, but Bob says that as a mere human, I can only influence the people in my sphere, whatever that means. I tried sending money to charity, but the cheque always seems to get lost or sidetracked somehow.

I saw Frank the other day. He aged well. Doesn’t smell like eggs anymore either. I forgot how kind his eyes were. I forgot what it was like to be loved, for real.

That’s why I did it. I offered Bob his freedom for one last spell. I’m going to do it tonight, and it will be my last spell. Bob says if I destroy the book, the spell could be undone, so I’m going to hide it where no one will ever find it.

Bob’s Reverse Time Spell

During a new moon, burn six sage leaves. Breathe in the smoke and recite, “I am when I need to be. I am where I need to be”.

“I am when I need to be.”

“I am where I need to be.”

Sue breathes in the scent of sage and mould. She opens her eyes slowly. Dust motes float in the air. She smiles.

She is where she needs to be.