Micro-fiction: I could flatter you
A very grumpy fortune teller
Hi again, welcome to your weekly dose of horror, the weird and uncanny, and occasional writing tips and exercises. This week we’ve a tiny short story - approximately a three minute read.
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I could flatter you
The thick canvas of Claudia’s tent mutes the never-ending cacophony from the fairground rides, the whoosh of the fire-breathers, and the occasional trumpet of an elephant.
Teenagers chatter outside, the high-pitched voice familiar from a young woman she did a reading for earlier in the evening. “Oh my god! She knew so much about me! She knew the job I’m applying for, where I’m going to work, and I’m going to meet a guy in two years who I’ll be with for the rest of my life!”
A deeper voice replies, his words lost, but the scornful tone is obvious.
“You go in then! See what she tells you.”
Seconds later, the tent flaps slap open. The rush air smells of candy-floss and too much Axe body spray.
The teen is well-built, and moderately handsome. The sleeves of his tan jacket aren’t quite long enough, acne speckles his cheeks, and he’s wearing a sneer of bravado that’s thinner than a silk veil. It doesn’t take a psychic to see he’s just a little boy pretending to be a grown up.
“Sit, please.” Claudia gestures to a seat across from her.
His gaze runs over the patterned drapes, the threadbare red velvet padding on the empty chair, and the hanging lamps, their metal sides stamped with whorls and moons and stars, casting dappled light in all directions.
“Jeremy, sit,” Claudia says.
He jerks back, his hand on the tent flap, ready to leave.
Claudia waves at the chair again. “I heard the others say your name, outside. It’s not magic.” She didn’t hear them say his name, but he won’t sit down otherwise, and she wouldn’t get paid.
He sits, making the chair’s frame creak. “You gonna look into a crystal ball or somethin’?”
“Would you feel more comfortable if I did?”
He pouts, chewing on an answer, but nothing comes.
“Give me your hand,” she says, and he does as she asks. “Ah, the shape of your thumb. This part tells me you value logic. You don’t believe in fate, do you?”
“If you say so.” He’s clearly trying to give her nothing. She doesn’t need to read his palm, but the touch distracts clients while she unties the threads around them, reading spectral patterns in their unique fabric.
It’s a nice pattern. He’s a nice kid, or he could be.
In the tangles, there’s a rat’s nest. A knot that blights everything. Only one thread avoids it.
“Your father works in pest control. He keeps the house spotless. Your mother is a dietician. You find them both too controlling, but in different ways. Secretly, you love them deeply. You will never get over their deaths. Alcohol will at first numb the pain, then it will numb everything.” Claudia grips his hand. “Selfishness will dominate your life. There isn’t a good end.”
Jeremy rips his hand free. “What kind of bullshit scam you running?”
“I could tell you nice things. I could flatter you, keep you in here for another minute with no problem.”
“I wouldn’t stay, this is all boll—”
Claudia slams her hand onto the table. “I could make you stay! I could tell you the truth! You would stay! But then what kind of life would you have? Broken, smashed.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Just go! Out! Get out!” Claudia screams.
***
As Jeremy leaves, he glimpses the fortune teller slumping back into her seat, then the canvas falls down, hiding her from sight.
Dora bounces up to him. “What did she say?”
“All kinds of crap, like I’d be a sad alcoholic, then it got weird, something about me being broken. Didn’t even ask for my money. Just wanted me out.”
Metal creaks, deep and violently loud, like a tortured sea beast. There’s a whip crack from a cable the ferris wheel. It wobbles, and people scream. The fun-fair music continues to blast. Then there’s an explosion: the fire-breather’s paraffin has ignited. A trumpet. Thunder. The ground shakes. More screams. Something massive is coming.
The fortune teller’s tent bursts and flies forwards like a truck has driven through it, like it’s alive. It sways and shakes in fury. It moves again, charging into the dark fields around the fairground, and, only as it recedes, can Jeremy and Dora see the rear of the terrified elephant, still running and blinded by the canvas.
In the wreckage where the tent stood lies the trampled and lifeless body of Claudia. Alongside her are the fragments of the chair Jeremy would have been sitting in, if only he’d stayed a moment longer.
The end
I really hope Jeremy makes the most of his life.
These days we have are precious. We never know when they’re going to end.
Until next week, go be kind and spooky,
Mata
xxx
Poor Claudia! Accepting her fate, yet giving Jeremy the heads-up on his future.
If I had been told I'd be an alcoholic loser as a kid, I would've become a successful doctor out of spite. Where was Claudia when I needed her? lol