The Salsa Curse

As a pet sitter, I've received some strange requests, but this was the strangest ever. A client, who I'll call Jean, had a number of annoying coworkers and needed help cursing them. Yes, cursing them! Since it's not everyday I'm asked to assist in the creation of misery and mayhem, I naturally said I would. You need to understand I do not believe in the reality of curses. A curse only works if the unfortunate target is aware of the curse and believes they're doomed. I explained that to "Jean," but she only laughed her peculiar laugh, and shared her pop-eyed unhinged look, as I stood in her perfectly normal kitchen wondering if I should run or not. Fascinated by the bizarreness of it all, I chose not to run. The curse, neatly printed out and sitting on her countertop, was found on that fount of all knowledge, the internet. Jean had all the ingredients ready minus the vinegar. Not having the cash to buy vinegar, she opted to use salsa instead. The salsa, she reasoned, contained vinegar and would work just as well. I called it the Salsa Curse. Next to the curse was a short stack of drawings portraying the problematic coworkers. She drew them herself and revealed a lively artistic talent. Each drawing included many tiny details and the name of the intended victim in nice sharp pencil. Considering the amount of time Jean took drawing the pictures, I started to sweat and thought about running again. Curiosity, and the realization this was a good story, kept me standing in her kitchen. My job was to hold the printed curse so Jean's hands were free to summon the supernatural.

      

My friends told me I should have run very far, far, away.

Jean started the curse. She lit a match, destroying one paperdoll at a time, while reciting the curse and occasionally stirring the boiling water to receive the burning dolls. The dolls crackled, curled, then swirled in the spinning salsa. "Oh!" she cried, "There goes Susan's left breast!" Susan, Fred, Tony, and the others all went up in flames and drowned in the name of retribution. I didn't feel so good myself. 

  

Later on I asked Jean if the curse worked. She smiled and said her boss fell off his bike and scaped his face. I replied he must have hit a rock. She repeated it was the curse, curse, CURSE! Now when something goes wrong, I think of Jean and her curse. We had a falling out, and I no longer sit for her. You don't suppose? NOOOOOOOO!