Black Cat, Broken mirror, Elvira, house hunting, ladders, Life as Fun, Mistress of the Dark, Superstition
We are walking along with our guide. He’s taking us around the block and up to the loft we want to rent. There are three of us; a fourth may join later…
“I’m not afraid of black cats,” he says, just as one crosses our path, from right to left. As we pass next to a step ladder, he walks under, espousing his disbelief. We three are cringing.
Stopped at the corner, he takes out a mirror as we stop to look down the street. We think he is looking at himself, but he is secretly admiring Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, from afar. After all, she is only across the street, at the entrance to her converted studio. He drops the mirror. We see that it was rather not made of polished metal and lies in pieces at his feet. “Seven years,” he says, “it’ll never happen.”
We go up the rickety service elevator. the kind you have to close up yourself. It shakes and still we cringe, but even more. For with us is a crazy man. A man who denies all superstition.
We arrive at the apartment. Curiously, the number on the door is 13. He laughs it off as he opens the door. We enter a rather spacious split level room. There are many features, but our eyes are drawn upward, to the baby grand piano suspended from a boom.
Our guide is talking and laughing. “Personally,” he says, “I never take any of this superstition stuff seriously. I mean, who’d really believe–“
We heard the crash and saw the hole in the floor where he’d just been standing. He was right, after all that stuff that should’ve happened but didn’t, what could possibly go wrong on Friday the thirteenth?
I wrote this in less than thirteen minutes while lying in bed on my back with the iPad propped up on my lap. That was today, Friday the 13th. I was, at the moment of inspiration, thinking how silly the radio talk show host was in describing her superstitions. The result is today’s post.
Incidentally, my mother has many of these same beliefs. Don’t ask her, cause she’ll start talking about the meanings of itchy noses and dropped forks.
Oh yeah, I wrote it at thirteen hundred hours.
Pingback: Friday Thirteenth | Aymie Barton
What fantastic fun! Thanks for guiding me to this post. I’m glad I read it, and thanks for sharing. 13 is actually my lucky number. I don’t really have any superstitions, but I find them highly entertaining 🙂 Having said that, I don’t think I’d want to be the one standing next to ‘him!’
Many thanks! 🙂
Reblogged this on Juan Eismann's Place and commented:
I am reposting this cause it is yet again Friday the Thirteenth. Of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that I was reposting this little gem becuase I am busy. Au contraire, I am but mostly lazy in everything I do. Even contemplation of doing something can be rather enervating…