Fenton had only been back on these shores for less than a week, he had tried his best to keep his head down and earn some bucks, thing’s started well he was beginning to get a feel for this new life he chose, but everywhere he went recently destruction would surely follow.

“Jesus Christ Fenton” he heard a man shout as he took his daily stroll around the block. It seemed like common practice these days.

After such a terrible few days of disaster and bloodshed he began to feel more and more that he was actually cursed, everyone he looked at, spoke to, or passed in the street had wound up dead, coincidence, maybe, cursed? Probably.

“I’m really down on my luck” he says to the paperboy slinging the latest news into his palms, he read the headlines and sighed, he just couldn’t push this feeling of being cursed, he just needed a sign, something, anything, to just let him know none of this had anything to do with him.

The kid replied “Ah Mr Fenton, I’m sure you’re not cursed. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time”

Fenton shrugs “I dunno kid, seems awfully fishy. The other evening when I went to the outhouse to grab some mince from the freezer the lights began to flicker, I tripped and smacked my head leaving me on the floor for a good few minutes. I can’t even go a day without something going wrong”

The kid didn’t care, why would he? He delivered the news, made his money and went off to the next customer. What Fenton needed was some expert help, but where would you even start when looking for someone who dabbles in Curses, he didn’t want to ask around too much in case people thought he was going mad, he was in a right pickle. 

He took a seat on a nearby bench and continued to flick through the paper.