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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Lonely Visitor” Down in the Dirt v209 (7/23)  Order the paperback book: 
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Beating the Curse
Karen Court
It was Winston Mathieson’s thirty second birthday, and he was terrified. It was not like he really believed that his family was cursed, but a dramatic pattern in their family tree couldn’t be denied. When his great-grandfather, Stanley Mathieson, plundered ancient artifacts from a mummy’s tomb in Egypt, in 1927, his Egyptian guide translated the hieroglyphs boldly written on the sarcophagus. Stanley told his young son, Colin, that the warning read:
He who shall desecrate this grave will see his family wither at the stem and his line die out
Despite this three-thousand-year-old curse, Stanley Mathieson nevertheless freighted the looted antiquities to the United States and sold the haul for a tidy fortune. However, he did not live out the year. While enjoying a leisurely game of golf at the prestigious Pebble Beach Golf Links, Stanley’s club accidentally hit a tree at the end of a powerful swing. The ash shaft snapped close to the wooden head of the golf club, and the jagged end rocketed back at Stanley, slicing open his neck. He swiftly bled to death at just thirty-two years old.
Winston’s grandfather, Colin Mathieson, was devasted by the loss of his father, Stanley. He wrote about this traumatic period of his childhood in his journal and recorded what his father had told him about the stark warning they found in the crypt. The heartbroken child fancifully linked his father’s early death to the tomb robbery. He referred to the ill-fated case of archaeologist Howard Carter’s raiding party that had plundered Tutankhamun’s tomb five years earlier and the supposed curse that claimed them, one by one.
Strangely, Colin also died unexpectedly in bizarre circumstances at just thirty-two years old, leaving behind a nine-year-old son, Peter. Colin Mathieson was a marine engineer, and he owned a merchant ship. He plied his trade running between the Orient and Boston, selling spices. On his final, fateful journey there had been engine trouble and the sailors had fled from the engine room, fearing for their safety. Impatient with his inept crew, Colin charged down below deck and died instantly due to the accidental release of CO2 which had filled the engine room and sucked out all the oxygen.
Peter showed his own young son, Winston, his father’s journals and they pondered the fact that their forebears, Stanley and Colin had both died at the same age.
“I’m sure it’s just a weird coincidence, Winston,” his father had said, but the child detected the thinly disguised panic in his father’s eyes. And sure enough, to Winston’s horror, his father also met with an untimely death at just thirty-two years old.
Peter Mathieson was driving into the city for work one morning when to everybody’s amazement, a large sinkhole suddenly collapsed at a traffic intersection. A wide expanse of the road was swallowed and it took with it, Peter Winston’s car, with him inside. City engineers discovered that a broken water line had degraded the ground beneath the road overnight.
Winston was no slouch; he was able to recognize the pattern and he was fully convinced that the family line was cursed.
Now that Winston had reached the fateful age of thirty-two, his anxiety was almost all-consuming. He considered what his chances were of turning thirty-three. He had no children and no siblings, so if the curse was real and he died within the year, his family line was finished. Just as was warned, over three thousand years ago – your family shall wither at the stem.
Winston had thought about this a lot in the year leading up to his birthday, while the dread mounted. Now that date had arrived, he was still unsure how to protect himself from fulfilling the fateful prophecy. But he concocted the outlines of a plan, he decided to become a recluse. The strategy was simply to stay in his home for the next twelve months and live a simple, safe life, minimizing risks wherever he possibly could.
To keep safe, he only ran electricity to the house for two hours in the evening. He would switch it on at the fuse box at dusk then get busy cooking his dinner and something for tomorrow’s lunch while he ran the TV, catching up on the news and watching his favorite quiz shows or current events. He would run the washing machine as well, if needed, and take his shower after dinner when the hot water unit had had time to heat up. When the two hours were up, he switched the power off again, paranoid that the house would burn down in his sleep, or somehow, he would electrocute himself if he didn’t take such precautions.
To end his day, he would relax in the cool of the evening with a drink, sitting out on his darkened porch watching the neighborhood as it readied for bed. After all, along the quiet suburban streets there were always lights on wherever you looked, so even if his own home was in black-out, it never really got too dark to take in what was happening around him.
The year moved slowly on, in a boring and uneventful manner and Winston started to relax. After all, what was one year of withdrawal from society if it meant he could live to a ripe old age? Maybe he would even marry and have children. He just needed to survive to his next birthday to beat the curse. Simple.
Every few months, Winston walked cautiously down to the supermarket to stock up on supplies. He made bulk purchases and booked their delivery with the store, then walked carefully back home again, savoring the few brief moments outside the confines of his house. Although he also took advantage of online purchasing to stock up supplies, he judged that a rare foray out of his house every now and then would be safe if he was extremely careful and vigilant. After all, a person could go stir-crazy if he was perpetually confined to his own four walls.
It was a Friday morning on a bright spring day when Winston headed out. He was cautious at road crossings and watched the passing traffic closely. He was watchful to the point of paranoia. He found himself jumping at every unexpected sound, then laughing at himself for being so anxious.
This would be his last perilous trip down to the mall to get groceries and necessities because in less than three months, he would be thirty-three!
While he was at the rear of the store filling his shopping trolley, Winston heard a commotion toward the front of the supermarket. He was startled by raised voices and the sound of gunshot.
The store was being robbed!
He spotted two youths holding up the check-out operators and immediately realized that one of those handguns could contain a bullet with his name on it!
A blinding panic gripped him, and Winston looked for an escape route. Next thing he knew, three cops had stormed the store and a shoot-out ensued between them and the armed robbers. Bullets were flying everywhere. Cops were shouting at customers and staff to get down. One aisle over from Winston, a female shopper was wounded in the arm.
Almost paralysed with fear and a mounting sensation of dread, Winston stumbled over shoppers cringing on the floor as he searched for a way out. While hiding behind the counter in the meat department, he spied a safe retreat. Without risking standing up, he clambered over to the refrigerated cool room, reached up and pulled open the heavy door. He slid inside and slammed the door shut just as a volley of bullets strafed the meat department. As the door was closing, he heard several bullets zing along the cool room door and the meat department wall.
In his cool retreat, stillness and silence reigned. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he realized that he had evaded death by a split second. Winston’s gratitude for his lucky escape was monumental. He breathed a huge sigh of relief blended with a soaring feeling of triumph.
He whooped and did a fist pump. “Take that, you festering mummy bastard!” he crowed.
