'Every possible future' by Rosie Garland

The Oracle of Delphi is on the doorstep, eyes rolled up and babbling. The skin around her mouth is a mess of silvery scar tissue. The babble rises to a shriek, stretching her lips so wide the scabs break and bleed. Mothers shepherd their children past, scowling as though the noise is my fault. I hustle her indoors and she stops. There’s a particular quality to the silence that follows screaming.

I’m busy, I lie. On my way somewhere important.

I don’t need to tell the truth. She blinks. Takes a deep breath and I think she’s going to start howling again, but she pulls a book from her handbag and prods the cover.

This is yours, she wheezes. Every possible future.

It’s the last thing I want, but I mutter, OK, OK, figuring it’s the fastest way to get her out of the house. She curves her wounded lips into an unpleasant smile.

 The book is not free, she says, naming an outrageous price.

You’re joking, I reply, and shove the book back into her hand. She starts screeching again. But I don’t want it! I cry.

Screeching, screeching, screeching. Louder and louder until I say, I’ll pay. Just stop making that racket.

While I’m reeling, she marches me to the cash point and empties my account.  

Of course I read it. Of course I wish I hadn’t. I know exactly what’s going to happen. To everyone, everywhere. Every night I wake up wailing, blood soaking the pillow.