The Deal

The Swallow Feather

The sun doesn't kiss the cliff's edge on its ascent the next morning. In fact, it doesn't seem to rise at all.

Taking its place, a heavy blanket of mist creeps in off the shore and hovers just above the ground, disguising the rest of the world.

The fog is so dense that it surrounds me –traps me- and shrouds my entire house in an ominous darkness during a time of day when it should be full of light.

It's almost as if the smog seeps in through the cracks in the doorways, passes through the windows, and creeps in through the chimney until reaching my room –soaking through my skin and settling deep into my bones.

Fog is considered to carry restless spirits of the dead within it, hidden from plain view, but able to walk amongst the living. Sailors must avoid setting out to sea in these conditions for fear of their soul being lost amongst the mist. While, clairvoyants senses may be heightened until the fog has cleared.

It's as if the fog fuels the dead, gives them the energy they need, the cover they require, to walk amongst the living once again.

I remember mornings like this when I was a child; the fog would come in from the sea overnight and by morning I could feel ma grand-père in every room of the house. I once had to stop my mum from sitting on him once

She did not react well to say the least.

Though now, she seems to also be taking advantage of the weather, her spirit hovering just above my head and filling my lungs with icy air, my skin prickling with goose-bumps.

Her aroma fills my entire room; Chanel No. 5 and cinnamon, a scent that used to permeate the entire house, but now only comes around when she does.

"Morning, mother." I whisper to her ghost, but the curtains only billow in response.

I stand by the window in the dark, gnawing on my lip in worry. I feel spirits around me regardless of the weather, but my Nan has always been wary of foggy days, the voices in her head louder than ever and the spirits all the more aggressive and demanding.

She is the only one in our family that has the ability to physically see spirits –apart from my mother's ghost who never shows herself to anyone- and being out in the fog, surrounded by spirits, only drains her energy, fills her with negative chakra.

I turn towards my closet, wanting to hole myself up with Nan for the day, but knowing that I have far too much on my plate to be negligent.

My clothes match my mood and the somber feel of the day; black the color of my mesh crop top, my sun hat, my booties, my leather jacket, and my favorite velvet clutch with a dagger as the closure.

All of course, my Nana's old hand-me-downs. All apart from the floor-length mesh skirt, colorfully embroidered with every planet, every star, and every black hole our galaxy has to offer.

That one, that one was my mother's own making.

I can feel her spirit stirring restlessly as I adorn all of my fingers in rings, though I am not sure whether her eccentricity stems from the fog that pulls my attention from her and towards other spirits or her clothes I now wear as my own.

It's not like she has any use for them now anyway.

My throat dries at the thought of leaving my house, my nerves high and my sixth sense overwhelming my body. I reach into my jar of crystals and pull out a jagged black stone, slipping two of the rocks into my bag just in case.

Tibetan Quartz is one of the most powerful stones of spiritual protection. It creates a layer of light around the body – only allowing positive energy inside one's aura. This crystal purifies and cleanses negative energy – good for spiritual growth and balancing chakras.