Indian shamans and nesting demons

The cubicle was covered in newspaper clippings, old flowers, sticky taped drawings and just a whole load of other crap (of course it reeked on incense as well) I wasn't 100% sure what the deal was, but I asked a lady who had just finished up in there and she said it was 100 bucks to have your palm read by this Indian shaman. Of course I realised it would more than likely be scam but an interesting experience nevertheless.

So I go in there and sit down. He takes my name and date of birth. He also asks me what time I was born. "I don't really remember as I was quite young when it happened." I answer. Firstly, he types all of this into a computer. Really? Since when do these spiritual healers operate from Windows? He then grabbed my thumbs and started mouthing off. "COULDN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD!"  Then in mid reading he says "have you done my yoga?" I answer no and next thing I know I'm lying on the floor and he's clicking his fingers, rubbing my legs, touching my 'heart', mumbling prayers and calling me "my daughter". Counting back from ten and mumbling in between I assumed he was trying to hypnotise me and had a moment of panic when I thought he might be trying to cast some kind of a spell on me. He also kept telling me to be "more loooooosssse", obviously doesn't know me at all.

After the 'yoga' (which wasn't really yoga at all) he insists I buy my birth stone from him - topaz -  (which isn't even my birth stone) and then continued to insist I come to his yoga classes in Camps Bay. Camps Bay? So this shaman uses Windows and lives in Camps Bay? Sure never met this kind of upgraded spiritual healer before. So after all this spiritual foreplay he says:

Shaman: That will be R200.
Me: R200?! I thought it was R100?
Shaman: No. It's 100 for the palm reading and 100 for the yoga.

Not a fuck bru. I told him I was only going to pay him R100 only, as that was the going rate and it wasn't made clear that the yoga was extra.

Shaman: No, it's fine my daughter. I trust you. You can bring it to me tomorrow or the next day.
Me: Uhm, no mister you're not getting me. I'm not paying it at all.
Shaman: Nooo it's fine.
Me: Uhm. No ( I start to walk out the room)
Shaman: The balance is 100 then (I hear after I have left the cubicle)

I wondered if it was a bad idea to mess with a shaman by not giving him his money as I have no idea what he was doing to me on the floor, but took my chances and didn't go to his fancy Windows computer infested Camps Bay house.

Anyway, so that being said I go home and tell everyone about my awesome scam of a time at the expo and eventually turn in to bed. I wake up to a scratching above my head. shick shick shick shick. I sit up right in bed and turn on the light a little freaked out. shick shick shick shick. My throat tightens up the way it always does when I get a lil' scared. The scratching continues above me through the ceiling and occasionally thumps. This goes on for hours and my mind starts to reel with fear at what this scratching could be. That fuckin' shaman! He's released something on me because I didn't pay. I started envisioning a demon like woman crouching down on the floor (effectively the ceiling above me) scratching the ground with long black nails waiting to attack. I was genuinely convinced that this is what was happening. Kind of like a 'Drag me to Hell' kind of thing. Piss off the gypsy and she will release demons on your ass.

"You shamed me!"

The time went 3am and I carefully picked up my phone.

Mark: Heelooooo (in a sleepy groggy voice)
Me whispering: I'm so sorry to call you so late my friend but I'm freaking out. There is this weird scratching noise coming from the ceiling and I don't know what it is.
Mark: A mouse?
Me: NO! It's something else. I saw this shaman today and didn't pay him and what if he has released something on me.
Mark: I'm sure it's a mouse
Me: Listen! (hold up the phone to the ceiling)
Mark: No, I can't hear it

Eventually the scratching stopped and I finally fell sleep. Turns out it was just birds nesting. Oh, how foolish I felt. Moral of the story. Never trust a shaman and birds nesting sounds an awful lot like a demon lady.