“But it’s just seven words?”
Carl sips his overpriced latte and leans back in his chair. We’re sitting in the corner at his favorite Starbucks. We always meet here. His beard is flecked with the foamy milk from his drink.
Jesus, Carol. What did you see in this uncouth simpleton?
“That’s right. Well, that’s what the YouTube video said. It’s probably one of those things. What are they called? Urban legends? Myths?”
Either is right. But I bet you don’t know that.
“Yikes. That’s kind of scary. I mean, I want to know them, but then again, I don’t. You know what I mean?”
If I had a dollar for every time he said that, I’d be a wealthy man.
“I know, right? I mean, it’s like a roadside accident. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help yourself. Right?”
Tragedy or death. I never look. Those are private moments. They’re not meant to be shared with the world. But I’d bet every dime I have that Carl looks. Oh, you better believe he looks.
“And then what happens?”
He’s taken the bait. Now reel him in. Slowly.
It’s a coarse gesture, but I drag my index finger across my throat. Then I lean back and sip my coffee.
“I’m kidding. It’s supposed to be a painless, drop dead kind of thing.”
“But like right away? That can’t be, can it?”
Be careful.
I wipe the moisture from my lips with one of the frilly holiday napkins. I exaggerate the motion, hoping Carl will take the hint and wipe his mouth.
He sips his latte and doesn’t follow my lead. His napkin lays pristine and neat on the table between us.
“No. According to the video. And again, I’ve not been able to find the dang thing since I first watched it last week. But you got to admit, it is a fascinating idea, right?”
Almost as fascinating as it is nonexistent. I made the whole thing up.
The words are real, though.
I wait until he’s looking at me again before I continue.
I swear to God. If he apologizes for Carol one more time, I’m going back to plan A.
I knew about them having sex. Just hours before she and I spoke our vows. I wrote it off as her one last fling. True, he was my best friend, but I felt like she wanted one last taste of freedom before committing to me. Honestly, if they would’ve asked me, I would’ve said, “Sure, honey. Whatever you need.”
I am such a simp.
But then it was clear it wasn’t just lust between them.
It was the other L-word.
“The man on the video said you die seven days after hearing the seven words.”
His eyes go wide.
Don’t you dare say her name again, Carl!
“Like precisely seven days. I mean, seven times twenty-four hours later, they drop dead?”
I nod wisely, as though we were two men in the know. Pals. Friends. Confidants.
As if.
The man I spent three months with hiking on the Pacific Coast Trail, the man who stole my wife from me, takes another drink. Once again, he fails to comply with the most basic standards of public decency. Carl sinks into thought. I force myself not to fixate on the foam on his facial hair.
He wants to know.
So, I tell him.
“You want to hear something crazy?”
He nods once like a child sitting at his first campfire, listening to his buddy tell him a harmless ghost story.
“They’re not uncommon words. In fact, I’ve used them during our talk today…”
“But you said that they didn’t have to be said together. That they just had to be said in order…”
He’s scared. Good.
“Relax, Carl. It’s me. Bruce. Your old buddy.”
Who stole the love of my life.
I hurry on before he can open his stupid mouth again.
Of course, Carol has already moved on to Kenny and she’s with someone else now, I think. A guy from The Philippines.
“I’ve only said six of the words.”
He replays our conversation in his head.
You got this, Carl.
“But…were they in the right order?”
The seven words don’t have to appear together. They just have to be heard in order.
I grin like I’m playing a practical joke on him. Like he’ll laugh in just a minute.
The key to creating a good urban myth, creating interest, is this: Take your damn time. Give the victim…umm, I mean the subject, just a little bit at a time.
But I don’t care about myths. This is an experiment with subliminal suggestions. This is the mother of all NLP techniques.
“‘This will kill you!’ That’s what you said when we first sat down,” Carl shrieks. He’s scared. But in a ‘hey, aren’t we having fun’ way.
When I first sat down, I was beaming. I had a secret. And I wanted to share with my most bestest, most backstabbing buddy in the big, bad world. So naturally, I began with an enticing anchor.
You want to hear something crazy?
I’d lowered my voice so much that he had to lean forward to hear me.
You’re going to love this one. The one will kill you.
“Only one of those four words is in the incantation.”
“Kill?”
“No. Try again?”
“You?”
“Bingo.”
Wrong. The key word is ‘will.’
Carl smiles. He got the answer right. He matters.
Only for a bit longer, my friend.
“Whew. So…I’m okay then? I mean, you didn’t just kill me, did you?”
I drop my jaw as though the idea had never occurred to me, but I can tell you the precise day and time the idea came to me.
“What?”
I shake my head as though the mere idea of killing my good buddy Carl has upset me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m fucking with you, Carl.”
He laughs. Nervous now. There’s an element of uncertainty in his voice.
“I only used six of the words. They were in order, but without the seventh word, the incantation, alleged incantation, I should say, doesn’t work.”
“Oh, I want to know, and I don’t want to know.”
Like I would give him such a powerful weapon. That’s a laugh.
“Relax. I won’t tell them to you.”
He sighs. His world is right again. Bruce is still his best friend in the world.
“Oops! I almost forgot. I have a dental cleaning today. I got to scoot, Carl. Have a great day. Are we still on for pickleball Saturday?”
I put my coat on while he busies himself with not wiping away any of the dried crusty milk from his beard.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I pick up my empty cup and napkin. I stand to go.
Mentally I review the pronunciation one last time. It’s a tricky word and everything rides on me getting it just right.
“Doih. I almost forgot.”
I turn back to Carl, bend down, and get right in his personal space. I’m so close I could kiss him.
Time to do this thing.
I bring my mouth to his ear and say the seventh word.
I don’t know the word’s meaning. It’s Latin, I think.
“I forgot. I got to cancel on Saturday. Cynthia and I are going to a wine-tasting thing that Sheila is hosting. Maybe next weekend?”
I look at Carl; his eyes fill with understanding.
Does he know?
I hope he knows.
I lied about two things. The spell doesn’t take a week to work. It takes an hour.
And it’s not an ‘Oh damn, I appear to be dying and now I’m dead,’ thing. If I got the magick right, it’s much more of a bang than a whimper. If I got the magick right.
Stories by Shawn 