I take the money because I could do it and because the kind of people who sought me out generally could afford it. I always warned them, a salve to my own conscience, that if the person they sought to curse was innocent or undeserving of the curse that it would come back on the one who called it. Callous monsters that they were they all assumed that meant me; that I as the caster was the one who called the curse and they were just fine with me suffering or dying for them.

But I am not the caller, I am the conduit. I pass their call from one realm to another: a supernatural cellphone.

And when the person is innocent or at least undeserving of the curse it comes back to the one who called it. I have seen many people crawling at my feet with their powerless curses in their mouths as they call me a liar and a fraud, as they threaten and beg for me to lift the curse.

That is not my gift though. I explain this to them as the blood fills their lungs and breaks their bones and brings forth burn marks on their skin. I open the path for the curse to find it’s target and the curse always goes to the one most deserving of it’s suffering.

And somehow they still come to me, thinking themselves innocent and undeserving, never understanding that even if the curse finds the mark they meant it to they have made themselves the target of another’s curse.

Because why should I only get paid once when a simple phone call will bring more money to my door?

People do such ugly things when they’re grieving.