His fingers clutched at my forearm and slid down to my wrist, where he pressed against my silver bracelet. I feigned resistance and lightly rugged away, but I was well aware that we would not leave the fair before I faced the psychic. My friend had an affinity for psychics, horoscopes and all the pseudo-magic, ancient symbols telling him to buy milk at the shop, predictions so common that the likelihood of them not being fulfilled was inconceivable. And so, I would amuse him with a visit to the five-pound psychic who rolled with the fair - with the condition that he paid of course.

My friend had already visited the occultist earlier in the day and claimed that this one in particular was immensely gifted. Naturally, he had said that last year too, and the year before that. I valued his opinion dearly, but when it came to mystic arts, skepticism took centre stage.

He dragged me through the purple-red drapes which covered the tent, the golden tassels stroking my face when I didn’t duck in time. There was a faux mysticism decorating the inside, no different to any other stall which offered a psychic reading, and yet to a child it would be mesmerising. A circular carpet of gold and purple was set at the centre of the room, however its visibility shrouded by mysterious smoke which was undoubtedly caused by a smoke machine tucked away somewhere. An explanation to the whirring in the air. A gilded wood table stood upon the carpet, a crystal - glass - ball even sat on it, held up by a metal chalice. Two chairs had also been set up, one towards the entrance, and the other in the opposite side, where a cloaked individual had already taken their spot.

The robe was long and dark, hiding each feature, no trace of an eye through the hood, and no whisper of a hand at the sleeve. ‘Welcome,’ the voice was strained, as if it was being put on. ‘Please sit, John. Your friend must wait outside. We wouldn’t want any mixing of readings, would we?’

I presumed that George had informed the psychic earlier of my visitation. But when I turned to him, he appeared a little frightened, and I had never known him as a particularly good actor. He mouthed ‘good luck’ to me and skulked out of the tent. Tentatively I placed a hand on the frame of the chair and carefully slid into the seat, as if I was expecting eating a reaction to ensue from my seating.

Neither of us spoke. I knew the nature of these carnival booths, and yet there was a difference to this one. Something more eerie. Perhaps it was the fully cloaked man sitting opposite me, or maybe the swallowing of my feet to the smoke, or perhaps the very design of the tent gave an air of claustrophobia to the room. Either way, my hand twisted at my bracelet, and my eyes remained fixed on the darkness of the hood. ‘I believe you have something for me,’ his throat sounded as if it were squeezing itself tightly.

I fiddled with the five-pound note in my hand. ‘I know how this works, if I give you this money, I’ll be more inclined to want to believe whatever you say.’

A moment passed, though his eyes were invisible they were very much piercing. ‘Very well, just this once we can proceed without the transaction,’ a dark smile gleamed through his words. ‘That’s a very nice bracelet you have.’

I seized at my wrist, as if I expected it to have been taken. It was thicker than most bracelets, silver in colour and upon the inside of it wrote five words “I love you - from Dad”.

The hood shifted and his head swayed from one angle to another. I paid close attention to press the bracelet to my thigh and cover whatever was left exposed with my palm. ‘There’s no use in hiding it,’ the air in the room grew thinner. ‘I already know what it says. And no, I didn’t see it on your way in.’

I would not submit to surprise. ‘You don’t have to think so hard. And I know you fear what your mother and sister think about you wearing it so much,’ he paused momentarily, and it sounded as if he were straining himself. ‘They do think it’s odd to keep such an oddity considering who your father is, but this is the only thing which reminds you of the good times. They may judge you, but they understand.’

Emotions slipped away from me and I threw myself up from the chair, knocking the wooden contraption to the floor. I stepped a foot backwards and loosely raided my hands upwards, as if I were expecting a physical altercation after his mental combat. ‘There’s no need for that,’ his voice changed, no longer was there a strain, but now a deep grovel.

The cloaked figure elegantly raised himself and presented his covered arm. He gently pulled back the fabric until his cracked nails were revealed, then the rough skin… and then a bracelet. Again, my hands leapt to my own wrist and studied my jewelry, while my eyes dragged themselves around the psychic’s. I wanted to ask their name, insist upon their identity; but my lips trembled so violently that words were an impossibility. Sensing what I wanted, the psychic reached for his hood and in a swift motion dropped it.

Staring back at me was a familiar. A mirror. Myself.