The Fortune Teller

The Fortune Teller

“Come on Ash, it will be fun!” Steve’s voice bubbled with excitement as he pulled her toward the tent flap.

“It’s stupid,” Ashley said, half-heartedly trying to break free of his grasp. “These psychics are all fakes. Think about it - why do they always have to ask your name?”

With a snort, Steve dragged her into the entrance.

The room was dim. Several candles cast eerie shadows on the walls. An incense stick emitted a smoky perfume. The center of attraction was a crystal ball, its surface gleaming like liquid silver.

“Please, sit … Steve, Ashley,” a raspy voice said from the shadows.

They both jumped but edged over to the waiting chairs.

She probably overheard us arguing outside. Ashley thought.

“No, I didn’t,” the old woman cackled, almost causing Ashley to pee her pants.

“Now, I know that you, Ashley, don’t believe. Just remember that, not unlike politicians, 99 percent of psychics give the rest a bad name,” the crone said, laughing. “Sorry, just a little psychic humor there.”

She continued. “What you need to understand is that I already know what questions you have. But …” she paused staring at them both as if taking their measure.

“You also have to understand that I have the answers you seek.” This last came out almost as an urgent whisper.

Steve and Ashley leaned forward in anticipation. They were hooked.

“I will tell you what lies ahead in the misty future … and I will do this for a consideration of only one-hundred dollars.”

Reality suddenly returned to the young couple. “A hundred dollars?” Steve blurted out. “That seems a bit expensive!”

A smile returned to the weathered face and without hesitation, she said, “Well, what did you expect… I am a prophet center!”

Day 4 entry for "Invalid Item" 
Prompt: Image 1
Word Count: 321