Evil eye

Autumn had bitten into the calendar like a bark worm into old furniture. A cold wind raged, lifting clouds of leaves. The bluish-gray sky could depress even the most optimistic. Light summer clothes were a thing of the past. The time of heavy coats and short days had arrived. Adam was hurrying home, and as usual, he pushed his way along one of the city's main streets. He was cold and in a foul mood. He didn't like taking work home. He was irritated by the people milling haphazardly up and down the street. He walked briskly, his head down. The wind was biting mercilessly. Finally, he crawled out of the throng of people and found himself on a less-trafficked street leading to his apartment building. It was there that an old woman accosted him. At first, he didn't hear what she was saying, but he stopped and looked at her. The woman was asking him for a small donation for her and her grandchildren. She was confiding in him her plight. He bridled and muttered something unpleasant. Then the woman glared at him strangely. He glanced at her hunched, frail figure. Her head was wrapped in a flowery scarf. Seemingly harmless and weak, her gaze chilled him. There was so much hatred in it, it seemed to hurl thunderbolts. He stood surprised, staring at her. He was about to say something, but to avoid an argument, he waved her off and headed toward his building. "There are still such strange old women wandering around the city," he thought, biting back the curse. Fleeing the cold, he ran into the hallway of his building.

"Please wait," he shouted to the young woman standing in the elevator.

As soon as he entered, the doors closed, and they began to ascend. He pressed the button for the twelfth floor and glanced at the dog his neighbor was holding on a leash. A large Doberman was watching him warily, wrinkling his muzzle menacingly, revealing his large white fangs. Adam instinctively took a step away from him. The cramped elevator space didn't allow for more. He glanced at his neighbor and silently prayed, "If only she wouldn't try to talk." The dog began to growl louder and louder. Not wanting to irritate the animal, he found a spot, a piece of scratched wall. He stared at it intently. Finally, a quiet bell announced they had reached their destination. He glanced at the display: eighth floor, not him. He was glad the dog would finally be out. And just as his neighbor was getting ready to leave, the dog lunged at him. It could have ended fatally if not for the leather muzzle on his face. The woman began to struggle with her furious pet. She tugged on the leash, trying to lead the dog out into the hallway. Adam covered himself with his hands and pressed himself against the wall. He felt its strong paws and claws. The loud bark echoed off the hallway walls and spread throughout the stairwell.

"I'm so sorry, sir," the shocked woman began, once she had managed to pull the dog away. "He never behaved like this, as if the devil had gotten into him."

She was genuinely moved. He didn't answer. He was too shaken himself. The elevator began to rise. He was greeted with relief by the bell ringing, and the doors slid open, releasing him on the twelfth floor. With quick, impatient steps, he walked to his apartment. When he closed the door to his studio apartment behind him, securing the chain to the wall, he exhaled. He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet. He rubbed his numb hands to improve circulation. He was just about to enter the room when he heard a crack behind him. He turned around, startled, and noticed his jacket lying on the floor.

"What the f——" he didn't finish when he found a broken hook next to it.

He hung it on another and headed back to the room. All along, he had been prepared for the jacket to fall off again. He took two steps and turned around, waiting. Everything was fine. It was still hanging where he'd left it. He breathed a sigh of relief. The day seemed to be getting worse. The radiators were cold. He felt an unpleasant shiver. The silence was starting to overwhelm him, so he turned on the television. He made himself a cup of hot tea and sat in an armchair, reaching for the remote. It was getting darker outside. He wrapped himself in a blanket and, sitting comfortably in the large armchair, fell into a pleasant lethargy. He felt the warmth of the tea warming him from the inside. It felt blissful, and after a moment, he fell asleep.

A pigeon flew onto the balcony. It perched on the railing and began to stare at him. Adam noticed the visitor out of the corner of his eye. Ignoring the bird, he went back to watching TV. However, the bird still sat there, staring at him. As he headed for the kitchen, he felt the intrusive guest's gaze on him. He began circling the room, and the pigeon continued to watch him, not even blinking. The boy felt increasingly irritated by his presence. He made a few gestures to scare the bird, but it only cocked its small head to the side, as if uncomprehending. He was in no hurry to open the balcony door. He was so damned cold. But he had no choice but to scare the voyeur away. He opened the balcony door and immediately felt a cold wind rush into his apartment. He felt a chilly breeze on his face. He made a sudden gesture and shouted loudly at the pigeon. However, it only tilted its head back slightly, as if irritated by the human's behavior. He looked into its eyes.

"What's wrong with that damn pigeon?" Adam snapped, already furious.

"Watch your tongue, you boor," the pigeon retorted.

At the sound of those words, spoken in an otherwise quite low, pleasant baritone, he almost jumped. His head ached from all this. "This can't be true," he repeated to himself. He was so surprised that his jaw almost dropped to the floor. He stared at the bird, and it didn't give him the space either. But Adam was beginning to see something familiar in it. Those eyes, he'd seen them somewhere before. And suddenly it dawned on him. The street, the swirling leaves, the old woman. The scarf on her head, yes, he remembered. It was the old woman who had accosted him a few hours ago. By then, the bird's head had completely changed, and he could see the strange woman's face again. She was staring at him with hatred.

Adam woke up drenched in sweat. With relief, he realized it was only a dream. "That nasty old hag, she won't leave me alone even in my sleep," he thought. He realized that these strange events, the angry dog, the broken hook—all of this had happened since he'd insulted the woman and she'd glared back at him. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eight o'clock in the evening. "I haven't slept long," he thought, and immediately jumped in his chair when something crashed violently against the glass of the balcony door. He ran to it and saw a dead sparrow lying on the balcony. It had smashed against his door. He was slowly getting fed up with it all. He felt increasingly distraught. He was afraid to take even a step for fear everything would start falling apart. He needed to talk to someone about this. He reached for the phone and dialed.

"Hi, Irek, this is Adam.

" "Hey, man, good to hear you calling," the voice on the other end rejoiced.

"Listen, could you—" he stopped when he heard an unfriendly sound in the receiver, "beep beep beep—nooooo!" He slammed the phone down in fury.

He felt trapped in his own home. He couldn't even ring the bell. His hands were starting to shake with nervousness. He went to the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. He savored the cool drink for a moment, then decided to lie down. He wanted to avoid any surprises. He curled up in bed, wrapping himself in a blanket. The room had long since gone dark. He didn't even notice when it happened. He wanted to turn on the light, but a strange thought suddenly struck him; he was afraid he might get electrocuted. He couldn't fall asleep, so he was left to toss and turn. He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" he shouted, full of anxiety.

"Irek, open up."

Satisfied, he headed for the door. He felt a warm feeling for his friend, thanking Providence that Irek had even bothered to go out in such foul weather. He let him in. His friend immediately flattened himself and hung his jacket in the closet.

- Something broke us up - he started, but seeing his friend staring at the wardrobe, he said - dude, what's wrong with you?

"Nothing, I'm just looking," he avoided answering. In reality, he was wondering if the hook would break this time. Nothing happened, so he looked at Irek with a smile.

"Thanks for coming.

" "No problem, but tell me, what are all those cats doing outside your door?

" "Cats?

" "Man, you're in a real siege outside your door.

" Adam moved to the door and pressed his eye to the peephole. He felt his skin crawl at the sight of the cats gathered outside his door. All black, about six of them. Some were fidgeting restlessly, others were sitting. But they were all staring at his door. He turned his back to them.

"You've gone a bit pale, they're just cats," he smiled, "though I admit it's a bit strange.

" "Would you like a beer?

" "Siur."

Adam smiled at that word. Irek had been slipping in Polonized English words for a while now. It was a silly game, but he felt a bit more confident. His friend's presence gave him some encouragement. He took the can from the fridge and handed it to the guest.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Something like that, for no reason.

" "May I?" he asked, reaching for the light switch.

"Mhm," Adam nodded uncertainly.

With a little apprehension, he watched the man turn on the light. He was ready for some mysterious shock or something at any moment. But nothing of the sort happened. The apartment lit up.

Irek sat down in the armchair and began fiddling with the remote. Adam smiled again at the sight. He'd never noticed how similar they were. Not physically, of course. But their behavior, the remote, etc. It amused him, and, somewhat reassured, he sat down next to him. On Channel 2, they were broadcasting some public debate. Something like that, a group of politicians discussing the future.

"Leave it," Adam said hastily, as his friend changed the channel.

"Ignore them, if you want to hear some stupid bullshit, just call my girlfriend." They burst out laughing and clinked their cans.

"Hey, maybe we should call for a pizza?" Irek jumped up. "The game's about to start.

" "Why not, damn it, why not?" Adam warmed to the idea.

Stupid as it was, these past few hours, the old woman, and the mysterious events, he'd forgotten about little things like pizza by phone. All the little perks of the city. "It's so normal," he repeated to himself, "as ordinary as life. Life is normal, boring, and nothing happens that can't be easily explained." He consoled himself.

They'd been sitting there for about half an hour, and nothing unusual had happened. He almost forgot about the cats by the door. "Maybe there's no point in telling him anything." He glanced at his friend, sitting by a can of beer, watching the game. "No, there's no point in talking about it," he decided. The doorbell snapped him out of his reverie.

"That's probably our pizza," Irek said excitedly.

"Okay, I'll pay." Adam stood up and, reaching for his wallet, headed for the door.

A young girl walked in.

"Why are you looking at me like that? "

"Nothing, I was just thinking...

" "What?" she asked.

"I thought girls didn't deliver pizza.

" "Well, you thought wrong, with double cheese," she handed him the carton, "you're entitled to thirty zlotys."

Adam reached into his wallet and was stunned. Seeing his expression, the girl became wary.

"Don't even think about it," she warned.

"But I had a hundred zlotys in my wallet," he said, shocked. The girl looked pointedly at the ceiling.

"And cats? Have you seen cats?" he blurted out nervously.

"Sir, three tens and I'm out, I don't know anything about any cats." She took the pizza carton from him, "just in case." She smiled coldly.

"Okay, there's no need to get upset." Irek reached into his pocket and walked over to them. "Here's the money."

The girl took it, checked everything, put it in her pocket, and left without a word.

"There was money here," he rummaged through his wallet with great passion.

"Relax, nothing happened," his friend reassured him.

"A hundred, there was a hundred here," he still wouldn't give up.

"Man, calm down, it's just money, next time you bet, it's just money," he repeated, concerned about his behavior.

"No shit! It's not just money, something strange is going on here," he blurted out in one breath.

"Wow, calm down," Irek took two steps back. "Do you want to be alone?

" "No, please, stay.

" "Okay, but calm down, what's going on with you?

" "Let's sit down, I'll tell you everything, it's been a really bad day."

They sat down at the table, and Adam began his story. He recounted everything minute by minute. Somewhere in the background, the sounds of the match could be heard, but neither of them were glancing at the TV. When he finished, he studied his friend's face. It was hard to read anything. He frowned slightly, as if still digesting his words, then finally spoke.

"Damn, man, what a channel," he said with a half-smile. He tapped his can against his, which was on the table, and took a sip.

"I feel like I'm starring in a bad movie," he calmed down. "I think he believes me," he thought.

They sat there, staring at the TV. Not a single word more was said. Both of them seemed to need time to process this strange story.

"Look, it's already one zero," Irek said without much interest. "Just a quick one," he apologized, seeing Adam's expression.

"Okay, I get it.

" "What?

" "The computer's working?

" "It's working.

" "Are you connected to the internet?

" "Yes.

" "Turn it on."

Without further questions, Adam headed to his desk and turned on the computer. Irek had brought a pizza with him, placing it next to the monitor. While waiting for it to boot up, he returned with a beer. The computer slowly loaded the system and was ready to use a moment later. "I just hope it doesn't happen like with the phone." Adam bit his lower lip as he waited for the connection. Nothing happened, and they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"It seems it's not that bad," Irek tried to be ironic, taking his place at the keyboard.

"What are you going to do?

" "Modern technology is the best for old witchcraft and superstition," he laughed, turning on the browser.

Adam left him to his own devices and went to the window. It was dark, and most of the lights in the apartment buildings across the street were on. He felt a chill. Instinctively, he reached for the radiator, still cold. He put his hands in his pockets. Silence filled the room, broken by the sounds of Irek's typing.

"Hey, listen to this," he shouted, "professional curses and evil spells," he read aloud.

He approached him and, glancing over his shoulder, read.

"We provide paid spells in the realm of evil powers. The company offers casting evil curses and negative spells, as well as bringing bad luck and misfortune to designated individuals. We employ only qualified mediums who send evil thoughts towards specific individuals.

" "Jesus," Irek said, munching on a slice of pizza, "you can't believe it.

" "There you have it, new technologies in the service of the devil," Adam laughed nervously.

"Wait, I have something, a ritual to ward off negative forces.

" "Sounds good," his grimacing face showed little faith.

"You'll need two candles, one gold, one silver, a cup of water, a bowl of salt, a cast-iron cauldron...

" "Enough, are you crazy? Where am I going to get all this?

" "A board, alcohol," Irek recited, still reeling.

"The only thing I have is alcohol," they laughed.

"Maybe pour some, since you don't have all the props anyway."

That was where their struggle with Adam's bad luck ended. They moved to the table, where a moment later a bottle of Bols appeared. By the time they'd finished it, it was one in the morning. Nothing unusual was happening, so they pushed the troublesome thoughts aside. Irek decided to spend the night there; it wasn't worth it to go home.

In the morning, they left together, then went their separate ways. Adam ran to the bus stop. When he arrived at work and entered the office, he felt himself returning to the real world. Life was bustling everywhere. People were bustling, typing away, shuffling papers. The whole ritual was doing him good. Despite his hangover, he decided to throw himself straight into work. "Maybe it's all just a coincidence," he wondered. "It's strange that someone like me, who doesn't believe in superstitions, could fall into extremes so easily." He smiled at the thought of almost building an altar with candles at home and undoing spells. "It had to be a coincidence, a coincidence; things like that only happen to those who believe in them, not to me." He confirmed his belief and sat down at his desk.

"What are you doing here? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago," he heard behind him.

When he turned, he saw his boss.

"Give me the papers, we're all waiting for them." He extended his hand.

Adam couldn't get a word out. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper inside. Suddenly, in an instant, he remembered yesterday's conversation with his boss. He was supposed to prepare an analysis, which was why he'd walked in so angry, and why he'd scolded the woman. He felt himself turning pale with fear. And any charm he had was wearing off. He'd failed. Instead of working at home, he was playing at fighting the old woman, the feeling of shame and humiliation washing over him like a cold shower. He didn't need to say anything. His face showed he wasn't prepared.

"You f——" his boss, a middle-aged man, neatly dressed, turned purple, but he bit back a curse. "You screwed up, buddy, seriously, at 3 p.m. here," he said furiously and walked away.

"I'm sorry," he couldn't think of anything more intelligent. Even the words stuck in his throat. Fortunately, it didn't matter; he was talking to the wall.

He got up and went to the smoking room, walking as if in a trance. He couldn't hear the sounds of the office anymore, the din, or even the greetings of his colleagues. He felt the blood pulsing in his temples. He couldn't shake it. He absentmindedly took out a cigarette and lit it. He slowly came back to himself. He began to curse in his mind, everything in the world. "But it's not bad luck, it's my fault, it's not bad luck," he clung to the thought like a drowning man. He tried to explain everything, to sort it out, but nothing came of it. "I don't believe in superstitions, I don't." He didn't even notice when he said it aloud.

"I don't believe!

" "Hush, man, no one here believes, but that's no reason to shout about it," said an unexpected guest who had just entered the smoking room.

"You don't believe either?" he blurted out like a machine gun, but he immediately bit his tongue and realized they weren't talking about the same thing. "What are you talking about?

" "About the company, man, don't worry, nobody's stupid," he winked and smiled knowingly.

He wanted to laugh. The misunderstanding, and the older man's understanding, made him laugh. It was laughter through tears. He stubbed out his cigarette, taking it out on him, and left. He felt like he was about to lose his mind. He felt like he was alone in the ocean, with no shore in sight. Worse still, the waves were getting bigger. He hadn't felt so helpless in a long time. He wanted to cry. He couldn't concentrate on his work. He sat at his desk for several hours, trying not to provoke fate. Even an hour before his visit to his boss, he remembered the address of a website that described a ritual to reverse the curse. He turned red with embarrassment whenever anyone approached him. He didn't want them to see what website he was visiting. He wrote down a list of things he needed.

When he left the building, his face was still flushed. Dealing with his boss had been a difficult ordeal. But he had been given a second chance. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Almost resigned to his fate, he headed home. On the way, he stopped at a store with his list. He left with a shopping bag filled with essentials. He felt a bit foolish, but saw no other option. "If I don't help, no one will know," he thought. On the way home, he was splashed by water from a puddle into which a car had driven at considerable speed. This confirmed his conviction that he needed to explore all possibilities.

He was already walking down a well-known neighborhood street when he noticed an old woman. She was standing almost in the same spot. He stopped. He hadn't expected to see her again. He approached her.

"Good morning, remember me?

" "Hello," the old woman sighed.

"Yesterday," he didn't know how to put it all into words, "we met here, I was rude.

" "And maybe, ladies, young people are so nervous these days," she mused.

"I wanted to apologize.

" "You're welcome," she smiled, revealing her toothless gums.

"Well then," he lowered his head, "I'll be going now." He took a few steps when she stopped him.

"That won't be necessary," she trotted toward him and took the bag from his hand.

He didn't protest. He walked away without his gadgets. He felt good. Land appeared on the ocean floor and the water was calm. The feeling of relief made him feel lighter. He walked home, followed by the old woman's gaze.