Goodbye, Graham!

CW: Contains themes and/or references to death.

“You said this had a 100% guarantee! You said he’d come back, and yet he didn’t!” the client yelled in front of me, her eyes glassed over, though I couldn’t tell if it was from disappointment or rage.

“Actually, I said it was a 100% guarantee that I’d do the spell, not that it would actually work,” I replied, my tone deadpan. “Should’ve read the fine print.”

“But… but that’s misleading!” I could hear her voice almost cracking at this point. “You put that on the site, knowing you’d make people think it would totally work no matter what, only to put the truth in miniscule text way under it!” She began to grit her teeth, and now I knew she was actually more irritated than upset.

“Well, that should teach you to always check before buying something,” I shrug. “No refunds, ‘cause I already did it and used up some of my ingredients for it.”

“I am so telling Mom,” she groaned, finally defeated enough to turn away and leave. “But don’t think this is the last you’ll be hearing about this.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Mom will just tell you you should’ve not been an idiot,” I called after her. “And make sure to close the door.”

Begrudgingly, the bedroom door slammed shut, leaving me alone again. I sighed, chuckling a bit. Well, it was her fault for not checking in the first place. But that’s part of what made Mollie a fantastic sister– she was easy to dupe. As cruel as it sounds, times are tough. A livable wage in this economy, when not even McDonald’s will answer your application? Laughable.

I hopped onto my laptop, looking for nothing in particular as I thought more about Mollie. I loved her, but not only did I need the money… it was for her own good. Graham was lowkey a disgusting pig anyway. I didn’t even like him before they started dating. It didn’t even make sense– Mollie was smart, unassuming, with dreams of running a cat sanctuary, and Graham was… a frat bro.

A frat bro who prioritized lacrosse practice, Sunday night football, and drinking at the frat house over her. Who stood her up at prom back in high school to tailgate in the Walmart parking lot. Who unironically thought Imagine Dragons counted as heavy metal.

I hated that dipshit. I had to start leaving the house whenever he came over. I had to take matters into my own hands.

What Mollie didn’t know was that technically the spell actually did work– it just wasn’t the one she thought it was. Or, honestly, the one I thought it was.

When I opened Instagram, my homepage was flooded with everyone talking about the accident. Posts reshared from the local news stations, reporting on the twelve-car pileup where, miraculously, all but one person survived– Graham Royston.

I was a bit taken aback. I hadn't intended to kill him... just cause extensive bodily harm. But the deed was done, and I had to stick to it now.

Everyone from high school was talking about it. Graham, despite being possibly the most stereotypical and immense douchebag to ever grace the halls of any secondary school, was naturally immensely popular as well. Even most of the kids he had bullied back in the day had added “LLG” (Long Live Graham, if you are unaware of the terminology) to their bios. I found that absolutely baffling.

The more I reflected on Graham's life, the more I decided I didn't feel guilty. He deserved it. I mean, he was a bully. He was mean to my sister.

Then came the scream from Mollie’s room. I knew the fallout was coming, and I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. But I was prepared for this, and it was for her own good. I mean, the idiot literally stole half her clothes and gave them to another girl before proceeding to break up with her over text. And yet she still wanted him back.

The stomping of her footsteps found their way to my door again.

“MARLAAAA!!!!” The growl in her voice proved she meant business, but I wasn’t threatened, more… mildly amused but also slightly concerned for her wellbeing.

I decided to play clueless for the time being, quickly closing out of the Instagram tab. “Woah, everything okay, Mollie?”

The door swung open with immense power, and I was sort of surprised she had it in her. “WHAT HAPPENED TO GRAHAM??!”

I furrowed my brow, continuing my act. “Uhhhh… What are you talking about? I told you, I wasn’t totally sure the spell would work–”

“HE’S DEAD, MARLA. HE’S GONE.” The devastation in her voice was palpable. “WHAT IN THE FUCKING WORLD COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE DONE?!”

My eyes widened, hoping I was acting sufficiently innocent. “Oh my god, are you serious? I’m so sorry…” I quickly stood up and rushed to her side, wrapping her into a hug. “What happened…?”

“Car… accident…” was the only thing she could choke out before crumbling into tears. I continued holding her, patting her back like a good older sister.

Let me get one thing straight: I felt guilty, but only because Mollie was sad, not because of Graham dying. The pain was temporary, but I’d rather wipe that dickhead out now instead of having Mollie pine over him for another three years and then some. He deserved it.

“I know, I know…” I whispered soothingly. “It’s gonna be alright, Mol… everything will be just fine.”

***

Graham’s funeral was the following Thursday. I pretended to be feeling nauseous while Mollie and Mom went. Most people from high school went. I just watched through documentation on social media. I made a little game for myself: every time I saw someone online imply Graham was kind, or intelligent, or in heaven, I’d take a sip of my tea. A sober drinking game. I was finished with the cup within ten minutes.

After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore and I set my phone to the side. Sure, I guess someone dying is sad, but not when it’s… him. I opened my laptop to check my email, and I noticed I had a new message on my Etsy site.

Excited to have a sale, I opened the message to find someone had purchased a spell to get their ex back (by far my most popular service.) The customer– Isa from Long Island– wanted her (ex)boyfriend, Tony, back. Usually I’d just do the usual enchanting and spellwork and all of that, but something felt… different about this one. So, I decided to do a little research on Tony. Never underestimate the power of a girl on a mission. From looking up Isa’s email, I managed to find everything– AKA, all her socials and Tony’s, too.

And it was clear Isa was yearning for Tony. She had left an implication that this boy was a serial cheater, and yet she had left all of her posts with him up on TikTok and Instagram. Sweet, heartfelt, long-worded captions, adorned with love songs playing over photos of the two of them kissing and embracing and holding hands. I was appalled– she was gorgeous, with natural, sun kissed skin and keratin-glossy hair, not to mention clearly a kind soul, and he was… also in the photos, I guess.

I immediately started crafting my reply. Hey girl, I totally feel you. Breakups are, like, pain from Satan herself. I’ll get started ASAP! –Marla

I even added a lipstick kiss emoji for good measure. I knew what she paid for, but this required the Graham treatment. I’d give her not what she wanted, but what she needed.

Just as I finished the hex, I heard the door click closed, and Mollie and Mom were back home. I peeked out of my bedroom to say hi, and I could see Mollie had been crying heavily– her eyes were about as pink as her bedroom walls, and her face had a soft flush to it.

I smiled sympathetically and spoke up, drawing their eyes to me. “Hey, how was it…?” I walked out of the doorway, heading out into the hall, where the hot sunlight over the state of Arizona poured onto the yellow walls.

“I mean, about as good as a funeral could be, I suppose,” Mom replied, her gaze weary and tired, probably from the uncertainty of how to comfort Mollie, who simply stared at me from the side.

“I take it you’re feeling better,” Mom spoke up again, to which I nodded.

“Yeah, I slept a bit more and I was feeling better,” I shrugged, knowing damn well it was a lie. “Who was at the funeral?”

“Well, we saw Mrs. Hudson,” Mom answered, and I nodded, thinking back to when I was in her history class back in junior year– with Graham, naturally. “We also saw Claudia…” (who was one of Mollie’s friends from high school Spanish club) “...and Jonah…” (another boy Mollie used to have a crush on) “...and Eduardo, among others.” (Eduardo was, conversely, my high school boyfriend, but before that, he was the guy who used to shove sand from the playground down my pants in the second grade and I hated him.)

“He asked how you were,” Mollie finally spoke up, though her already timid voice seemed so weak from the amount of weeping she’d probably done at the wake.

“Should’ve told him I was disappointed he fucking went,” I muttered before I was able to stop myself. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t… mean that,” I stuttered a bit, looking for the right words to form a hasty apology, though I very much did mean what I had said.

Mollie’s face dropped, and Mom just grimaced before sighing with exhaustion. “It’s alright, Marla,” she assured. “We all know how you felt about Graham.”

“I mean, he was probably only there because of Antonio,” Mollie added, alluding to Eduardo’s older brother’s friendship with Graham, which made me feel guilty that she felt the need to try and reassure me. But, internally, I rolled my eyes– not at Mollie, but at the fact that he still went. It would be way more punk rock to skip the funeral of the guy who terrorized you.

“I was just joking,” I sighed, going to hug Mollie again. “It’s not that serious. Well, the part about him going isn’t serious. Graham dying is, and all that. I wish I could do something.”

She just shook her head, walking off into her bedroom before closing the door.

“She probably needs some time,” Mom told me, to which I nodded before heading back into my own room, opening my laptop again. And behold: a new message on Etsy from Isa.

Guess you don’t need to worry about doing the spell, the message read, complete with a little sad face and a link to a news article. It read that one Tony Cattaneo, of Long Island, was found after drowning in a local body of water. I was amazed by my own power. Across the country, and yet it still worked.

I immediately responded: I’m so sorry, girlie! I was literally just about to write back and say I had just finished casting it. I wish I could refund you, but it’s already been done. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know!

But really, I only felt bad because she felt bad. But, just like with Mollie, she would see it was for the best soon.

God, why is it so hard for gorgeous ladies to not pick the most garbage men?

***

A few weeks had passed after the Graham incident, but Mollie was beginning to feel progressively better– mostly from me doing everything in my power to make her forget about that crusty man. Reminding her of all the miserable dates, the sleeping around, the second phone he had to text other girls. And she was… surprisingly receptive.

One day, while out for lunch, Mollie sprang the big question on me.

“Marla…” she began, looking down a bit anxiously at her chicken salad wrap. “I was just wondering… well… did you really have nothing to do with Graham dying?” she finally spat out, suddenly looking up into my eyes. And, despite my pride in my work, somehow the air thickened and I grew nervous. It was like the volume of the busy establishment quieted down around us.

“Uh… who’s asking?” I kicked myself under the table, knowing my jig was up. Could I have said something dumber?

“Me.”

I looked to the side awkwardly, and suddenly my burger seemed less than appetizing. “Fine. You want the truth?”

“Well, why else would I be asking?”

“Fair enough,” I admit to her, studying her shimmery, golden hay curls in the natural light to ground myself. “So… yeah. I did. I hexed him. It worked exceptionally well.”

Silence follows. A man walks by the window outside talking on the phone. The waiter refills the water glasses at the table next to us. The lights flicker slightly.

Then, as if I had not basically just admitted to murder, Mollie opens her mouth, her tone genuine. “Thanks.”

***

To my amazement, I got home and found a brand new five star review on my Etsy page. Marla is amazing! She really gets the job done. Ladies, if you’re looking to book a truly excellent witch, look no further. The user claimed to be named Amanda, but my gut instinct told me it was really Mollie.

My shock was only amplified when I got another riveting review from Isa– I didn’t get just what I truly wanted, but what I needed.

My sales skyrocketed. I couldn’t tell if the girls booking me were being misled by the reviews or if they knew exactly what they were playing into. I went from hexing only the really evil ones to hexing all of them (because it continued to get me raving reviews and praise, and a LOT of money… it was probably justified.)

Do hexes count as murder? Were these girls technically accomplices? Would the fact that I technically had no hand in all these deaths hold up in court? They’d never know if I was nowhere near the scene of the crime, right?

I was getting international sales by now. From Ireland, Botswana, Fiji, Saudi Arabia, South Korea, Argentina, Lithuania, Mexico…

Please help me with my ex, Kyle.

Can you cast a spell on my old boyfriend, Ahmed?

Would you be able to help me with this boy Jokubas?

But the request I found the most intriguing was made for a guy named Alex. It hit my inbox around 3:00 AM. I was exhausted and about to go to bed after several hours of mindless scrolling, but I decided to do this one last task before I did. The description contained hardly any information, only the name of the male. My eyes were drooping, and I could hardly keep myself upright, so I didn’t really question it. I was trying to think of who I knew that was named Alex because it was escaping me. I tried to push it to the back of my mind as I set up my altar and performed the steps.

How would this target the right dude? Well, that’s why it’s called magic.

I waved off cleaning up after completing the hex, deciding I’d just do it in the morning when I woke up. I slumped over onto my bed and slept through what was left of the night extremely comfortably until there was an extremely loud knock on my door.

The banging made me practically jump up, completely and utterly disoriented as I spoke up.

“What?! What?! What’s wrong?!” I yelled to the door.

It was Mom on the other side. “I just got a call from your aunt… they found Alex stabbed to death in a ditch on the side of the road.”

And then it hit me, hours after the fact. That’s the Alex I knew– my cousin.

Shit, how am I going to get out of this? I thought to myself, kind-of-sort-of panicking internally.

Well, good thing witchcraft is easy to hide.