Part One: Introduction from the Customer's Perspective
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the dense, somewhat musty air of the small café in the town center. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting golden rays that pierced the suspended dust particles in the air. In a corner, a middle-aged man flipped through the pages of the local newspaper with trembling fingers. His eyes, reddened from lack of sleep, settled on an almost forgotten section: the classifieds.
The newspaper, thin and worn, was a reflection of the community: modest, simple, yet with that particular mix of local news, gossip, and, of course, the long list of service advertisements. There was everything: temporary jobs, rentals, repairs. Among them, one stood out—not because of its size, but because of its unusual promise:
"Madam Morgana, famous medium and clairvoyant. Solve your paranormal mysteries. Consult with spirits from the beyond."
The man read it once, twice. His eyes narrowed as a mix of curiosity and skepticism washed over him. He recalled the past few weeks: endless nights with footsteps echoing down the hallway, doors slamming shut, and the icy cold that seemed to crawl through his house like a living shadow. He had tried everything. Electricians who checked the wiring, plumbers who inspected the pipes, even the parish priest, who had blessed the house while murmuring prayers and sprinkling holy water in all directions. Nothing worked. The presences, the sensations, and the noises persisted.
"This isn't real, it can't be real," he told himself, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his hand. Still, the weight on his chest didn't disappear, that constant feeling of being watched, as if something was waiting for him in every dark corner. He looked at the ad again. The last thing he wanted was to turn to a medium, to a solution that seemed as absurd as it was desperate, but... what other option did he have?
"I don't believe in these things, but... what if there's something more? What if it's not just my imagination?" He felt the words echoing in his head, almost like an echo of his worst fears. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and headed to the payphone at the café counter. His hands were sweating as he pulled the coins from his pocket and dialed the number.
"Madam Morgana?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but the tremble in his hands betrayed his nervousness.
"Look, I already told you I don't make tables levitate," responded the voice on the other end, laden with impatience and a touch of sarcasm. "If you want that, better hire a magician for your party."
The man blinked, confused by the response. He cleared his throat, unsure.
"No... it's not about that. I've been having... phenomena in my house. I don't know what to do. I've tried everything."
The voice on the other end fell silent, and for a moment, only the distant echo of a train passing by the station could be heard. The man swallowed hard, waiting. When Morgana finally responded, her tone had changed; it was no longer just a sarcastic reply but a professional interest sliding into her voice.
"Alright, tell me more," she said, with a tone that seemed to calibrate every word from the client, looking for something that would tell her if it was worth her time or just another waste.
The man spoke quickly, as if fearing he might lose her attention. He described the nights when footsteps seemed to draw closer, the lights flickering for no reason, and above all, that oppressive feeling, as if something invisible was watching him from the shadows. Morgana remained silent as he spoke, her eyes narrowing, her mind processing every detail. Something in the way the client spoke captured her interest. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a mere superstition.
"Well," she finally responded, "ghosts also have the right to redecorate, right? But don't worry, I'll come to make an assessment... if they're not just old pipes, of course."
The client let out a tense laugh, a failed attempt to lighten the situation. But Morgana knew there was nothing funny about what he was describing.
Part Two: Transition to Morgana's Perspective
Morgana hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, observing the walls of her small apartment. Evening light filtered through the lace curtains, illuminating shelves filled with old books and crystal figurines that seemed to watch her with empty eyes. At 25 years old, she found herself in a situation she hadn't imagined when she decided to pursue this path. Despite her self-proclaimed "reputation" in the newspaper ad, things hadn't been easy.
The nights she waited for serious calls were the same ones she received absurd requests from people wanting to "levitate tables" or impress their friends at birthday parties. She wasn't a magician, nor a carnival attraction, but sometimes she felt the world didn't understand what it truly meant to be a medium. She knew forces existed that others couldn't see, and that was what kept her in the business, but every day without a real case, her frustration grew.
"Maybe I chose the wrong name," she thought, with a bitter smile. She had adopted "Morgana" as a shield, a name to distance herself from others, to protect herself from those who might judge her. But was it worth it if she barely managed to keep the lights on?
"Next time someone asks me if I do card tricks, I'm going to say yes... but only if they're prepared for the Ace of Spades to chase them around the house," she said to herself, letting out a sarcastic laugh.
However, the man's call had left her with a different feeling. Something in his tone of voice, in the details he had shared, made her think this wasn't like the others. She closed her eyes and focused on her instinct, that twinge telling her she needed to investigate further. What if this was her chance to prove her true gift?
Part Three: The Unexpected Call
Morgana stood up from her chair and began gathering her things. She took out a worn leather briefcase, where she kept her essential tools: amulets, crystals, and other artifacts that might prove useful. As she did so, her mind kept turning over the client's words. There was something in the way he described the phenomena that awakened her intuition. It wasn't just another case; there was something real behind it.
As she closed the briefcase, she paused in front of the living room mirror. Her reflection returned the gaze of someone tired but with a hint of renewed determination. Maybe this was her chance to show that her gift wasn't just a trick to make money, but a skill that could make a difference.
"Maybe it's just another superstition..." she murmured, feeling the excitement and anticipation mix inside her. "But something tells me this time, it could be real."
She turned off the lights and left her apartment, closing the door behind her with a click that echoed in the silence. The night air was fresh, charged with possibilities. With each step she took into the unknown, she felt that something in her life was about to change. And although she couldn't be certain, for the first time in a long while, she felt that this call could be the beginning of something bigger, something that would change the course of her destiny forever.