Don't Open That!

I arrived at work early in my cosey winter coat in uptown New York. I have been working for Mr. Hutchinson’s Mystery and Magic Emporium for five years now, and I specialize in Earth magic and growing things, hence why inside the emporium I am in charge of the magical plants department, handling plants with magical abilities and medicinal herbs. I also specialize not only in healing tonics but in poisons. People order my tonics and tinctures for a multitude of reasons. And my customers like me because I allow them to remain completely anonymous. Mr. Hutchinson calls me “twig” even though my name is Peter. I would’ve guessed that he would’ve called me “Peter Pan” as a nickname considering my red hair and green eyes. I guess that’s what drew me to the place. The lack of judgment and ignorance of discriminatory remarks and name-calling.

I walked up the steps in my best shoes and as I approached the door on the top step, I bumped something with my foot. I looked down at it, about to pick it up and open it when the door to the emporium flew open. Mr. Hutchison with his wild grey hair and his magical jewel spectacles on his face looked frazzled and a bit stressed.

“Don’t open that!” he exclaimed. Shocked by his loudness I fumbled and nearly dropped the package. He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

“Mr. Hutchison I nearly dropped my coffee! What in the name of…”

“Give me that!” Mr. Hutchison snatched the package, taking it over to the counter. He gingerly set it down.

“Good gracious such a fuss over a package! What is the meaning of this?” I asked, frazzled now myself, and upset that my calm morning had suddenly turned very stressful. “Isn’t it protocol that I bring in packages and open them?!? I thought that was part of my job description…”

“Sh!” Mr. Hutchison said, turning back to the package to stare at it. Offended by the hushing, I put my coffee down, took my jacket off, hung it up, picked up my coffee again, and gave a huff.

“Hmph!” I said, turning my nose up at him as I walked toward my desk and sat down.

Mr. Hutchison shined a light over the package, staring at the return address and then gingerly cutting the tape.

“I see the sproutling’s have grown an inch! Thank goodness for me for without me they wouldn’t have sprouted at all!” I said in a petty tone. Mr. Hutchison turned and put his hand up.

“My apologies Twig for the panic. I simply wanted to spare you from the curse on this package.”

Shocked at what I heard; I got up.

“A curse? By whom?” I asked, going to look over his shoulder. He put a hand up to tell me to keep my distance.

“It’s dangerous too.” he said, opening the package. Inside was a cardboard box, and inside the cardboard box came a coiling smoke seething out. It didn’t go past Mr. Hutchison’s magical barrier he had placed around it with his own abilities. “This curse is meant to cause severe illness, the kind that cannot be cured by any herb or medicine. It’s a good thing I caught it in time before you were infected with it…”

“How did you know it was there?”

“I was tipped off by a spirit, a ghost walking by, one who alerted me you would arrive at the doorstep and be exposed to the package.”

“Must’ve been my grandma…” I said, knowing she was one of my spiritual guardians.

“Think again. A homeless man who died of hyperthermia in the ‘50’s.” Mr. Hutchison corrected me. I was surprised by that.

“I’ll have to thank him.”

“No need. It is the way of the spirit world to watch over the living.” Mr. Hutchison said.

The curse was pushed back inside the cardboard box, and Mr. Hutchison worked on dispelling and destroying it. I studied what he was doing from over his shoulder and saw the contents of the cardboard box. Besides the curse, inside the cardboard box, there was a wooden puzzle box, one that required great skill to crack.

“A puzzle?”

“Probably a secondary curse if the first one wasn’t successful. I wouldn’t try it, boy.” Mr. Hutchison said. I loved puzzles, which made it all the more disturbing that I was almost the one who opened it.

“Who would want to curse us that badly?” I asked him.

“The better question is…” he turned to look at me, continuing to hold the barrier. “Who would want to curse you that badly.”

I was taken aback.

“The package was for me?” I asked. He carefully pulled the paper that had been wrapped around the package and turned it over to show that indeed my name was on it. Peter Gladys.

“Well, that’s certainly my name…. but I don’t know of anyone who would want to hurt me…”

“But they certainly know that they do definitely want to harm you…” Mr. Hutchison said. “I’d start watching your back if I were you. I doubt this will be the first time this individual tries to put a curse on you. And… I’d start backtracking your recent orders. What orders have you filled lately?”

I returned to my desk and opened the book I kept of past orders. I ran my finger down the list. In the past month, I had created and delivered four or five different poisons, all to completely different people.

“Five poisons this month,” I said aloud.

“Did you list who ordered them?” asked Hutchison.

“Yes.”

“Could any of those individuals be the ones who tried to curse you.”

“I don’t think so… why would they curse someone who delivered the poison? I simply made it they’re the ones who used it.”

“Hmph…” Mr. Hutchinson grunted, continued to try, and dispel the curse. “This is nasty. And it’ll take time. Whoever tried to curse you, they’re angry. Very angry.”