Bad Vibes

“Look, I’m not saying you have to believe in it or anything, just let her come and do her thing.” Roberta shook her head and smiled, her eyes alight with a profound sincerity not even hundreds of miles and a laggy internet connection could dampen. Amanda crossed her arms and sighed. She couldn’t exactly pin down when her best friend of nearly twenty years got into this crap, but she suspected it had something to do with her current husband, who once claimed that a Himalayan salt lamp cured his plantar warts. “I mean it’s not like she’ll make things worse,” Roberta continued. “You really have nothing to lose. I swear when she did our house” –she gestured wildly and the image froze, her arms fanned out above her like a length of wafting sea-grass– “everything just felt so much lighter! Like all the bad energy had been swept clean, and” –she inhaled dramatically and exhaled somehow even more dramatically– “and I could breathe again.” Amanda couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to see her friend so happy even if she didn’t buy into what she was selling. She swiveled in her chair a full 180 degrees, taking in the sight of her new home office and the few remaining boxes she had yet to unpack. In spite of herself, she could feel her resistance wearing down. “And you don’t know what kind of bad vibes the previous owners left behind, Amanda. Seriously, that stuff sticks.” 

Amanda rolled her eyes. 

“Well the last thing I want is ‘bad vibes’...” she said, finally caving in like she knew she ultimately would. Simply put, placating her friend took less energy than fighting the idea. 

“I’ll do it.” 

The video call froze again as Roberta erupted into happy clapping, the image a blurred humanoid smear as a disembodied “Yayyy!” rang out over it. 

“You’ll thank me, I promise!” Roberta sang as the video call restored its connection revealing a massive grin.

“Uh-huh, yeah I’m sure,” chided Amanda, and she slumped back into her chair already regretting what she had gotten herself into. 

Amanda watched as the taxi pulled into her driveway, preparing to plaster the friendliest, most “open minded” expression she could muster onto her face for the next couple of hours. In the week following her call with Roberta she’d learned that the woman who’d just arrived at her house was named Freya Featherstone, and that she specialized in “Spiritual and Energetic Renovations”. She’d also learned that Roberta had so lovingly paid extra for something called the “Whole House Rejuvenation Package” which, when seeing the cost of this treatment on Featherstone’s website, nearly made her vomit. But the woman was here now and Amanda had no choice but to go along for the ride.

The taxi door slowly opened and nothing could have prepared Amanda for what spilled out of the backseat. A single leg, paper-white and elegant, followed by what must have been multiple yards of sheer lilac fabric crept out like a vine, followed by another leg, and to her great surprise, a small flurry of white butterflies, escaping through the open door as the woman continued to unfurl. Amanda gasped as the woman stood and turned her head, revealing a waist length sheet of honey colored hair that billowed down and around an intensely wide-eyed and cartoonishly innocent face. An image of her childhood coloring book, A Fantasy of Fairies, flashed into Amanda’s mind. “Oh god Roberta, why?” Amanda muttered, as Freya Featherstone shouldered a large satchel, no doubt filled with all kinds of arcane tools of her trade, and padded barefoot down the path to the front door.

Amanda locked in her smile, prepared to begrudgingly yet willingly allow this entity into her home, when Freya suddenly came to a stop mere feet from the door and closed her eyes. Amanda stared at her, unsure if she should open it. She could see Freya’s mouth moving, and for a full minute she watched as this strange woman performed what she could only guess was some kind of prayer. Another thirty seconds passed and Freya still showed no signs of actually preparing to enter the house. Amanda continued to stare, tapping her foot impatiently and already ranking this as one of the oddest experiences of her life. But it was also one she was keen to end, so whether Freya was finished with…whatever she was doing or not, Amanda pulled open the door. 

“Amanda.”

“Oh, my god.”

“You are Amanda, yes? Roberta’s friend?”

“Uh yes. Hi, uh, come on in. Freya, is it?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, I may be mispronouncing it. Freeya? Fr-”

“Still your mind, Amanda. I have since shed that name.”

Amanda blinked.

“Oh. So…what should I call you?”

Freya’s mouth grew into a wide, radiant smile.

“Chalice.” 

“Chalice?” Amanda’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes. May I ask your home’s permission to enter?”

Amanda’s eyebrows rose even further. 

“Oh, uh, sure. Go ahead.” Chalice closed her eyes again, and Amanda instantly worried how long it would take this time. After only a few seconds however, Chalice’s eyes shot open and seemed to abruptly lose her balance. 

“Oh my…” she said, her voice laced with wonder and discovery, like that of a child who just upturned a log exposing all the wriggling treasures underneath. “An instant yes. A yearning. This house is desperate.”

“Is it now? Well I uh, take it that’s not good,” replied Amanda casually, trying to keep her ever-rising eyebrows in check. “I suppose we should get started then.” Chalice took a soft, gently wafting step forward, and Amanda shut the door behind her. 

“Yes,” Chalice breathed. She craned her neck and peered all around, eyes wide. At what exactly, Amanda didn’t know. “Yes, there is much work to be done here.”

Wonderful, thought Amanda, and thank God I’m not the one paying for it.

Amanda watched in bemused silence as Chalice emptied her satchel onto the kitchen table, which now looked as though a tornado had ripped through a New Age store and spat out all of its contents here for her to deal with. Every item withdrawn from the bag had each been its own challenge designed to test Amanda’s ability to suppress her own laughter, as each proved more absurd than the last. The crystal clusters she had been prepared for; Roberta had long been touting their alleged benefits and had even sent her some as gifts before Amanda politely requested that she stop. It was the jade singing bowls, the assorted candles, and the various pendulums that first threw her, and then the mysterious pouches of unknown substances that emitted concerningly pungent aromas even as they remained closed. Then came the bundles of what appeared to be yard waste, some shaped to resemble the human form in a way that made her want to immediately toss them in a fire. Or perhaps it was that Chalice had taken to humming and occasionally gasping as she withdrew the contents, acting surprised as if she herself weren’t the one that packed the bag. The appearance of tiny finger cymbals and a small wooden flute adorned with crudely painted flowers nearly broke her facade, as she wondered if a musical performance was part of the basic package or came extra. Chalice’s humming tapered to an end as her eyes slowly roved over her assortment of tools one last time, eventually coming to a rest as she looked into Amanda’s eyes and smiled.

“I like to start in the kitchen. To me, it is the heart of the home.” Chalice lifted one of the rolled-up bundles of leaves, held it to her nose and inhaled for a very, very long time, until her eyes fluttered with an ecstasy that was, quite frankly, uncomfortable for Amanda to watch. “This, Amanda, is sage mixed with a special homemade herbal blend designed to expel negativity,” breathed Chalice. Before Amanda could respond Chalice had a lighter in hand, no doubt procured from some secret pocket in her billowy gown, and set the bundle of sage on fire. 

“Right okay,” Amanda said, stepping back and coughing a little as the pungent smoke started to fill the air. Chalice began moving around the kitchen, waving the burning sage lazily through the air. Moments later Chalice jumped, emitting a little ooh! as if accidentally stepping on a tack. 

“Could you please pass me the rose quartz?” Chalice asked, her eyes focused on a particular tile on the floor.

“Sure.” Amanda turned toward the table and frowned, instantly lost as to which among the smattering of crystals was the one she was after. “Which one of these is rose quartz?”

“The one that’s radiating peace and love,” replied Chalice, looking up briefly. 

Obviously…thought Amanda. She grabbed one at random and walked it over, only to have Chalice burst out laughing as she approached. 

“Oh Amanda, you have truly blessed my heart-song with your humor. That is the Pink Tourmaline!” Amanda shrugged and returned the crystal to the table.

“Well is it this one?”

“No.”

“This one?”

“Nope.”

Amanda hovered her hand over another crystal, already growing very tired of this game. 

“Is it this one, then?”

“Is it radiating peace and love?” Chalice beamed across the room at her.

I’m going to kill Roberta, thought Amanda. “Sure.”

“Then yes!” 

Amanda indignantly passed the crystal to Chalice, who then immediately placed it onto the tile she’d been staring at. “You have a leak here,” she explained. “Have you ever been overcome with despair while standing in the kitchen?” 

Amanda shrugged. 

“Only when trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. Or if there’s a lot of dishes to do.” She watched hesitantly as thick smoke continued to pour from the burning bundle. “And is this, uh, a normal amount of smoke?”

“Hmm? Well, the sage is responding to the amount of negative energy in the air. As I said, this house needs a lot of work.” Chalice wafted the smoke higher and higher, all the way up to the ceiling where–

BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP!

–The smoke alarm was. 

“Shit! Hang on, I’ll get a ladder, can you open a window?” Amanda cried,-BEEEEEP-plugging her ears with her fingers and-BEEEEEP-scrambling for the storage closet. But Chalice continued to waft, and was in fact grabbing a few of her pouches and exiting the kitchen, making her way to the living room. “Chalice! Can you-BEEEEEP-for god’s sake open a window!” But Chalice was in a world entirely her own, apparently impervious to the-BEEEEEP-incessant beeping. Amanda huffed and climbed the ladder, silenced the alarm and swiftly opened all the windows in the kitchen. Then, filled with sudden smoke-alarm fueled adrenaline, stalked after Chalice.

Amanda cursed under her breath as she followed the trail of smoke up the stairs and into the hallway, where she found Chalice overturning one of her pouches, dumping what looked like fine sand onto the floor. She watched in horrified silence as the granules spilled onto the carpet as Chalice walked up and down the hall, spreading it around as if to make sure it got into every possible fiber, nook and cranny possible. 

“Okay, nope. No way,” started Amanda, feeling herself move well beyond the point of playing along for Roberta’s sake. Chalice looked up at her, radiating an innocence that Amanda no longer found even remotely amusing. 

“These are lavender and bergamot infused microcrystals,” said Chalice. “When spread throughout the hallways of a home they prevent anxiety from tracking from one room to another.” Chalice thought for a moment, nodded, and pulled out the second pouch, her dainty fingers working to untie the opening.

“I think just the one will work fine!” Amanda cried as she reached to confiscate the pouch. Prevent anxiety my ass, she thought, and a pit formed in her stomach as she remembered she had lost her vacuum during the move. 

Chalice merely smiled cheerily and turned away, following some arcane inner instinct as she floated into Amanda’s bedroom. Amanda hurried to follow her in, for a moment dreading that Chalice had a hidden third pouch of “microcrystals” and was dumping them into her bed, but suddenly halted as Chalice reemerged a second later. 

“Wait here.” Chalice said, and she briskly shuffled back down the stairs, her hair and gown undulating like a jellyfish. Amanda sighed and started after her, not trusting an unsupervised Chalice in her house for one more second. 

“You know Chalice, I think we’re good here actually,” she called out, heading toward the stairs. “I feel a change in the house, really!” 

Chalice appeared at the bottom of the staircase clutching a handful of those creepy stick-men. 

“But I’m not even halfway finished with the ‘Whole House Rejuvenation Package’ process,” said Chalice, her giant eyes beaming up at her. “There is still much to be cleansed. For example, the fifth step of this very staircase is harboring a dark spirit. And I am deeply concerned about the entropic build-up around the doorknob on the hallway closet. You see there are several cleansing rituals I have yet to complete.” 

Although she had no intention of allowing Chalice to complete any further rituals, and most certainly paid no mind to the mention of dark spirits haunting her stairs, a sick curiosity took hold of Amanda as she eyed the stick-men. For some reason she had to know. 

“What are those for?”

Chalice glanced down at the stick-men, smiled, and held one up. 

“These are for warding off any negative sexual energy that may threaten to unbalance you or your home,” she explained. “And to clear any blockages that may hinder fertility and growth.” She then gently shook the stick-man, as if to entice her further. Amanda frowned.

“Yeah no, pass. Hard pass.” Amanda stomped quickly down the stairs. “Thank you Chalice but we are done here, I will help you gather your things.” 

For the first time since her arrival Chalice frowned, ever so slightly. 

“But, the song-”

“No song.”

“It is a crucial part of every cleansing I do!”

I guess that answers my question about the performance being extra, thought Amanda. “I’m truly sorry, Chalice, but it’s not gonna happen.” She escorted Chalice back to the kitchen, where the smoke’s earthy odor still hung in the air, and helped her pack up her tools. 

“Wait wait, may I just do one last thing,” asked Chalice, brandishing a small leafy branch. Amanda eyed it suspiciously and wondered if she’d merely picked it up outside and brought it in with her. She sighed.

“Sure. But do it on the way out.”

Chalice nodded, shouldered her pack, and with branch in hand began gliding toward the front door, thwacking it against the walls as she went, leaving a trail of twigs and leafy detritus in her wake. “The veil is weak on these walls. Very thin. You should really do this once a week, better yet, twice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” muttered Amanda as she watched this last bit of chaos track through her living room and finally, mercifully, out the front door.

Amanda had been telling the truth when she told Chalice that the house had changed: it used to be clean. She slumped onto her couch with her head in her hands. After a minute she took out her phone, went to her messaging app and pulled up her conversation with Roberta.

Hey Roberta, she texted. You owe me a new fucking vacuum cleaner.