Part II: The Cursed Bong
Art By Rebekah Jenks
Read Part I, The Cursed Stoner, in Cantrip's Hallowzine
It was only about twenty minutes since I popped Gran’s special hard candy in my mouth and I could already feel its effects taking over. I guess that’s what happens when you let an old school biker broad make you cannabis candies; they’re abnormally potent.
Dragonfly Ave/Unsplash
I learned more about my best friend’s grandma in the last half hour than either he or I had ever known about her before. Sure, she practically raised me as we were growing up, and she told us countless stories about her youth and her first crush, but she never mentioned the time that she baked infused brownies for an entire chapter of 1% bikers before! I was already enthralled with the ghost stories she would tell Jared and me every Halloween when we were little boys, but something about the way she had this all-knowing laugh earlier really has me excited for tonight's stories. Plus, this is the first year that she knew I knew she was high, and I knew she knew I was high, so the high just hit different.
“I assume that means you’re ready for the ghost stories, now?” I heard her cackle from across the room. I snapped my head toward Gran with widened eyes and leaned back into the couch to feel safer as the infusion of terpenes danced their way through my body. She continued to giggle as she carried an enormous silver tray with bat-shaped handles. It was covered in spooky themed snacks and about a dozen rolled joints and blunts and placed it on the table in front of me. I tried to remember how I got to the couch from the kitchen and suddenly burst into laughter when I remembered her grandson storming out of the house declaring his costume was the bong reaper.
“Oh yeah, I’m ready.”
Grav/Unsplash
“It was a chilly southern October night, and the only thing stickier than the old farmer’s weed was the shituation he got himself in with the Sorceress. The deal was that she would bless his grow with her divine energy, and in return he would only use the plants to help heal the needy. That deal worked for decades to come, until eventually, the farmer was infected by greed and began negotiating the Sorceress’s seeds for a different kind of green. He began telling his most needy patrons that he was dry, and then he would host a party full of lustful women to smoke from his prized glass bong. When the Sorceress found out that her beloved plant was not being used to heal as the farmer promised, she filled with vengeance and began crafting her most terrifying curse.”
DING DONG!
“Geezus Fawking Christ!” I blurted out. I was so hyper-focused on every word that Gran was saying that I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the doorbell.
“Oh dear, don’t get jumpy now, I haven’t even gotten to the scary part yet! That’s probably just one of the neighbors looking for a plug.”
What did I just hear? Did Gran just say she was the plug? How does she even know that word, and doesn’t she live in a retirement community? I'm still processing everything she told me tonight though, and her super-infused candies just made it exponentially more difficult to process information. She swung the door open and led a giant fluffy sloth into the kitchen.
“I thought you already picked up tonight? Did you already smoke the entire ounce?” Her voice was not the least bit judgmental, it was more full of pride than anything.
“NO! I brought it to the party and then ran to the smoke shop to get more zigzags and apparently some guy had a huge party foul and dumped most of it in the carpet while I was gone! They’re trying to comb out what they can, but it was on the nasty frat house carpet so I’m not smoking any of that shit now! I just came to get enough for me to go home and smoke.”
That sultry voice was too familiar and I couldn’t help but start laughing at the irony of Jared’s crush showing up to his grandma’s house to buy weed when he just ditched us to go buy weed at the dispensary. He didn’t even know how cool his grandma really was, and he especially had no clue that his crush was in the living room getting high and listening to his gran’s ghost stories!
“Come sit next to me! Gran just smoked like six blunts to herself and is telling me the story of The Cursed Bong!” I couldn’t help but want Cassondra to stay for story time. It was just getting good, and I really wanted to pet her sloth costume, so I scooted over and patted the seat next to me and everyone settled in.
Gran Continued.
“The Sorceress watched the farmer’s every move for the next month and tracked all of his habits. At the month’s end she decided to get her revenge by placing a curse on his beloved bong. All who smoked from that bong would be cursed, too. First, their lighters would flicker until their thumbs cracked. Then, the weed would incinerate before they could inhale the smoke into their lungs. The curse got worse if they managed to actually smoke from that bong. Legend says that your mind fills with paranoid thoughts until you confess all your sins, and you can’t smoke from any other source until you break the curse!”
Gran leaned back into her rocking chair, took a long intimate drag from the last joint on the tray and smirked at Cassondra, who was now stoned and staring intently at the brain Jell-O mold on the table.
“Oh mannnnn, can you imagine how terrifying that’d be?” Cassondra asked without blinking.
“We can ask my grandson when he gets home!” Gran cackled, sending chills down my spine.
“What?”
“There are things about Gran you’ll never know,” she said all knowingly.