One of the things I learned best from my mother was spite. She taught me how to be cruel, how to pack a punch, and how to strike back when I finally got brave enough. I was shown plenty of evil growing up, so it’s no surprise I learned how to dish it out too. Never toward my parents — that would’ve been a death sentence — but later in life, I found ways to use that skill to my advantage.
Al had hurt me badly. He took the last sliver of dignity I had and stomped on it. He had two homes, and I was evicted from both. I got the kids — the only thing I truly wanted — but I was furious. And for the first time since we met, I plotted revenge.
The opportunity practically delivered itself.
Al was convinced I was a witch. Truly, deeply convinced. I had a cherished Bible from my grandmother, written in French, and because I could read it, he decided it was my grimoire. He’d seen my college thesis on the Salem Witch Trials — another nail in my imaginary coffin. Every now and then, during one of his tirades, I’d joke, “Careful, I’ll hex you,” and he never took it as a joke. During our divorce hearing, he even told the judge I was a witch. The judge thought it was just an insult. I knew better.
After the separation, the kids and I were living in a shelter while he moved into our lake house. I was angry at how unfair it all was, and that’s when the plan formed.
One day, when I knew he wouldn’t be home, I went to the lake house. He never locked the door — a gift from the universe. I came armed with a container of salt, six black roses, and a handful of rocks I’d painted with strange symbols.
Laughing to myself, I poured a large salt circle in the hallway. Then I snapped the heads off the roses, leaving the stems inside the circle. I scattered the painted rocks around and dropped the rose petals in a trail leading to the front door. It was theatrical, ridiculous, and absolutely perfect. I laughed the entire drive home.
It took a few weeks before I heard the results. His mother told me he had moved back to Massachusetts. She said he walked into the house, saw what he thought was a vandal’s ritual, and immediately left. He refused to set foot inside again. He asked his family to pack his belongings and mail them to him. The house eventually went into foreclosure.
He believed it had been hexed.
Revenge was sweet that day.
I have more moments of petty revenge — but I’m not exactly proud of them.
Still standing, still proud of my creativity,
K.
