Michael D. Davis.

Like I’ve said before, my family is superstitious, but if you have as much bad luck as we do, you get that way. The number thirteen is taboo, no one ever walks under a ladder, and black cats are the root of all evil.

If I could sum this all up in one quick anecdote It would be one about my Ma. I forget when this was, but it was years ago, Ma and I were setting out to do a few things. We load up in the car, we head down the street, a black cat runs in front of our car, and we go back home. That is how seriously on some days we take this stuff.

I say ‘some days’ because there are days when you have to keep going no matter the black cat dashing out in front or the thirteen on the calendar. You just have to grin and bear it. I learned at a young age that every month that starts on a Sunday was going to have a Friday land on the thirteenth, and that’s never good. From truly disastrous days to simple annoyances, I don’t think I’ve ever had a simple, good Friday the Thirteenth.

Another thing about my family is we make up our own superstitions, it seems like. For me and my Ma, socks are a big one. Ma must always wear matching socks. Mismatched socks equal a bad day. Plus within those matched socks lies a right sock and a left sock, and if she gets a right sock on the left foot or a left sock on the right foot, well all hell breaks loose. I’m the opposite. Matched socks equal a bad day for me. I forget the last time I wore matching socks, but I know it wasn’t a good day. I have baskets full of socks and if I pull out two of the same I have to throw one back.

And believe me, when I say it, the socks are the tip of the iceberg. I could be here for days spelling out all the little bits of superstitious habits and thoughts. But I will leave you on this one. The day after Christmas I started to not feel well, I felt downright horrid. Friday, I mostly missed because I slept nearly the entire day through. On Saturday I was a little bit better. Sunday I had some color back in my face. And that’s when walking through the kitchen, I look out the window, and I see it. The root of all evil. A black cat sat on a box just outside the window licking its rancid paw and staring at me with those glowing hellfire eyes. It made sense. This is why I’ve been sick. That wretched creature is the reason why I’ve felt like hell lately. It just sat there staring, I think, at one point, even winked. That would be my luck.