The God of Mischief

Marcus, a man disillusioned with life, saw a briefcase in the deserted waiting room of a train station. That morning the astrology column in his newspaper had read: ‘Expect the god of mischief to bless you with a surprise.’

He took the briefcase home. Inside was £100k in used banknotes.

A week later Marcus, resident now in a luxury sea front hotel, held the banknotes close to his skin. They felt good. He liked their touch. He kissed each one and thanked the god of mischief.

One evening, along the ocean path, he saw a woman quietly sobbing. She said that her father had died from a rare disease. A good man, he’d raised a lot of money for charity. But a terrible thing had happened. She’d left the money in a railway waiting room and it had disappeared.

Afflicted by guilt, Marcus took a wad of cash from his money belt and offered it to her. ‘Please’ he said ‘it’s the least I can do.’

Before she accepted, the woman slipped on a pair of gloves. Marcus asked why. ‘The disease came from the banknotes - microbial contamination. My father, you see, counted it with his own hands. Whoever touches that money will die a long, lingering death. Now I always protect myself and wear these gloves. You can never be too careful. I suggest you do the same.’

She got up to leave. ‘You’ve been very generous’ she said. ‘Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

Marcus said: ‘Wait! Who are you ?’

‘Forgive me’ she said. ‘I neglected to introduce myself. I’m a journalist. I also write horoscopes for a popular astrology column in the national press. Here - you must look me up.’

She gave him her card. The god of mischief smiled and walked away.