Curse

The goblet arrived on a Tuesday, by Thursday they were certain there was something very wrong with it. The condition of the piece was exactly as the agent had described; mint. The problem wasn’t in the goblets physical appearance, it was the goblet itself, it was different. Even Mistress seemed unsure of her new acquisition. She would look at it with a slight purse to her lips but she wouldn’t touch it, even when her fingers would absent-mindedly caress the other inhabitants of the Victorian mantle, they never strayed close to it. Could she sense the same difference in it that they could? Whether she could or not wasn’t clear but she hadn’t named it yet and the rest of them had been named within minutes.

Its essence was all wrong. It was dark and somehow sinister; it was something none of the others had ever come across. The average antiques essence was uplifting and loving which was to be expected considering the origin of the essence was the adoring former owners themselves. Upon their passing the essence of the owner was imbued into their favourite item and that love and adoration lingered in them still. The dark essence in the goblet didn’t feel like anything formerly human; it felt like…evil.

This was sensed most strongly by Swig who had the misfortune of being the goblets closest neighbour. Swig was a Victorian hip flask with an intricately carved silver base and lid and a facetted glass body. Circa 1858 the flask had been passed down through the Cutler family line until Mistress had procured it from a car boot sale in Stevenage. Previously charged with delivery of Dutch courage to soldiers in many wars and then to warding off the cold on frosty morning hunts, Swig now spent his days basking in Mistress’s love. Next to Swig was China; China was an antique plate bearing a hand painted scene of Loch Lomond. The plate had been stolen from the Duke of Durham sixty years earlier and had been so loved by its liberator that he had been clutching the plate to his chest as he’d taken his last breath.

The carriage clock encased in ebonized wood and known as Tick Tock came next. Tick Tock had been won by its owner after an extremely bitter and acrimonious divorce settlement. All the good fortune that had been bestowed on the owner since that victory she’d attributed to the delightful little clock. And then, finally, there was an inkwell Mistress had named Inky. Inky contained no essence; they suspected it was a knock off. Mistress didn’t have anyone else in her life so she gave them all her love and they loved her right back.

It was early evening the first time they sensed a startling change in the goblet. Mistress was rushing about the flat excitedly, already on her fourth change of outfit, when the dark essence they were growing accustomed to turned malevolent. The others grew fearful when they realised the malevolence was directed towards Mistress, trying to allure her to it. The essence meant to harm her.

Panic erupted along the mantle as they helplessly watched the goblet work its dark magic. Either the goblets sinister allure wasn’t strong enough or Mistress’s ministrations to making up her face proved too distracting but to their relief the allure went ignored. Their fear for Mistress abated when, after a final inspection in the full length mirror and a muttered prayer, she left the flat. The malevolence turned on them and if silver, glass and china could’ve trembled they would’ve. They tried to project the love that always made Mistress sing to neutralise it but the dark essence was too powerful. They were hopelessly outgunned.

When Mistress returned her excitement had been replaced with misery. Her shoulders were bowed and tears had created blacks tracks of mascara down her plain face. This saddened them; they didn’t like Mistress to be unhappy. After banging about in the kitchen Mistress came out with one of her Waterford crystal glasses filled nearly to the brim with white wine. This saddened them as well, whenever Mistress drank from her Waterford she was always very cross with herself in the morning.

She sat on the couch facing the fireplace and looked at her antiquities, the things she loved most in the world, as she took big mouthfuls from her expensive glass. They tried to cheer her with their love but her attention was locked on the goblet. The essence within it stirred, once again intent on alluring her to it. The same helpless panic raced along the mantle.

Eventually she stood on slightly unsteady legs and neared the fireplace. They projected love even harder, trying desperately to distract her from the evil before her. All efforts stalled and disquiet filled the others as Mistress poured the pale gold liquid into the goblet. She was going to drink from the goblet! They didn’t know what would happen if she did, just that it would be very, very bad.

In a perfect example of the love they harboured for Mistress, China forced his essence around and around the plate until it wobbled out of its holder and fell to the ground at her feet.

In an instant Mistress forgot the goblet as she fell to her knees in tears and gathered the three pieces of China into her hands. She wailed and clutched them to her chest as though she had lost a loved one. More black tracks stained her face but she was safe.

Swig marvelled at the sacrifice China had made to save Mistress.

The full extent of his sacrifice became clear the next morning when Mistress placed a well glued together China back into his holder. They could detect no essence in the plate, China was gone.

It was almost a week before the thing in the goblet tried again to lure Mistress into its trap.

Once again Mistress had left the flat in a state of anticipation and returned dejected. This time though the Waterford Crystal stayed in its cabinet and Mistress poured the white wine directly into the goblet. Panic gripped Swig as her fingers curled around the ornate base of the goblet and the thing within almost vibrated with malice.

The goblet neared Mistress’s lips and Swig knew he had to save her. He loved her too much to let whatever evil was in that goblet harm her. As Tick Tock pleaded for the goblet to stop Swig forced his essence as quickly as he could to the top of the flask. He toppled and then fell forward. His front hit the mantle and his lid popped out and hit the ground. The rest of the flask teetered then followed. Before Swig hit the ground, Mistress dropped the goblet, its contents splashing her legs as she leapt forward and grasped the flask mid fall. Her foot came down on Swigs lid and she lost her balance. She fell, her head cracking against the oak coffee table as she went, until she landed flat on her back.

Swig fell from her hand to settle next to her hip and the empty goblet rolled into the wall.

Swig was triumphant. He had saved Mistress.

Tick Tock was strangely un-jubilant from her post above them.

There was quite a lot of blood oozing from beneath Mistress’s head. It flowed along the hard wood floor and pooled around Swig, coating the flask. He was going to need cleaning once Mistress woke.

If he’d had Tick Tock’s vantage point he may have registered her vacant eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. But he didn’t so all he knew was that soon she would awaken. He had saved her.

***

Swig stood on a shelf in an antique shop but he wasn’t alone anymore. He could feel another presence within the silver and glass walls of the hip flask. Instinctually he knew this new comer entering the flask had been made possible by Mistress’s blood but it wasn’t Mistress he sensed. Her presence would’ve been light and airy possibly even smelling of Lillie’s. This presence was black and oily and it closed around his essence like a warm hand. Swig recognised it as the presence that had inhabited the goblet but he no longer feared it. 

It had power. It was intoxicating. It promised him release.

Swig embraced the darkness and bided his time. Soon someone would drink from him and then he would be released. Soon.

Around him the other essences cowered in fear.

By Dayv Metcalfe