"You do understand that the curse must be cast with the purest of thought?" asked the witch.
Mary Morse turned around, candle flames nearly flickering at her temples.
"Yes, I know, the purest of thought." Mary did have the intention of casting the curse properly, but when she thought of her lying, cheating husband her memory of him turned to flames of fury and there was no way she could ever cast the curse without sinister thoughts invading her mind. The witch could sense that Mary was going to dip into the darkside, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had warned Mary that the curse could reverse threefold on her and that was all she could say to her.
On the table were strands of her husband's hair and his lover's -- a young starlet who was waiting tables at Jerry's Deli, when she wasn't in the bed of Mary and her husband. Mary, of course, conveniently gone from the house when the two lovers were making use of the bed. That's what set off Mary's rage -- the strands of hair and what she had to endure in order to get them in order to cast the curse. You see, all this was written in Mary's diary. And Mary made it no secret about the time when she picked the hairs from the bed. The sheets still warm from the lovers' heat. Mary could almost see the body imprints in the bedsheets. It pained yet angered her. Just a half hour ago, Mary waited down the street, in the darkness, waiting for her husband's lover to leave the house so she could sneak into the house before her husband removed any clues of his indiscretion. So there Mary stood, in the darkness, perhaps submerged in her own darkside as she watched the little starlet darting like a mouse across the street to her Toyota. A few minutes later, Mary entered her house and walked up the stairs. She could hear her husband in the shower. If Mary was a woman of a different temperment she might have attacked her husband in the shower, letting the blood of her crime drain into the sewage of hell. But Mary was more the calculating sort.
