Author: Jessica Carlisle

Date: April 27, 2025

Running a metaphysical shop in a small town was never going to be easy. When I first opened my store, I was filled with hope—there was a community of people who appreciated the alternative, the spiritual, and the mystical. I thought my passion for crystals, tarot, and incense would draw in enough like-minded souls to keep my business afloat. But reality hit hard. The town was more conservative than I had anticipated, and my shop barely attracted enough attention to keep the lights on. Sales were slow, and no matter how many flyers I handed out or events I held, the foot traffic just wasn’t there.

I watched with envy as a few other similar shops in nearby towns found their footing, and not in the most typical ways. A couple of them had gained support and a steady stream of customers after a bit of controversy. It didn’t take much—just a few well-placed rumors or scandalous gossip—and suddenly, everyone wanted to see what the fuss was about. People love drama, don’t they?

I won’t lie, I started to think about it. Would controversy work for me? Could I somehow turn the town’s disapproval into a marketing opportunity? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a crazy, brilliant idea. What if I played the part of the “outcast” just a little bit more? What if I gave them a reason to come after me?

I know it sounds reckless, but I decided to write an anonymous letter to the local churches. In the letter, I claimed that my shop was involved in all kinds of dark practices—witchcraft, satanic rituals, you name it. The letter was vague, but deliberately provocative, designed to raise eyebrows and stir the pot. I sent it to every church in town, making sure to plant the seeds of doubt and fear.

I knew the backlash would come, but I wasn’t worried. I had my loyal customers, the ones who believed in what I was doing. They would stand up for me, I was sure of it. What I didn’t expect, though, was the level of chaos it would cause. Almost overnight, the town was in an uproar. The whispers started to spread, and people began to question everything they thought they knew about my shop.

At first, it was uncomfortable. People avoided me, and a few of my regulars stopped coming in altogether. But then something unexpected happened—my defenders began to speak up. They rallied on social media, creating posts in support of my shop, calling out the rumors for what they were. “This is a place of peace and healing,” they wrote. The more the local churches condemned my shop, the more my true supporters dug their heels in, vowing to continue supporting me no matter what.

It didn’t take long for the whole thing to blow up, and to my surprise, it was all in my favor. My Facebook page exploded with thousands of new likes, comments, and messages. People who had never heard of my store suddenly became interested. The controversy worked—too well, maybe. My next event, the one I had planned for months, turned into a massive success. People were lined up out the door, eager to see if the rumors were true, to find out what “witchcraft” actually meant, and to support a business that dared to stand up to the town’s conservative views.

My sales soared. People wanted to buy the crystals and incense, but they also wanted to be part of the movement, to feel like they were doing something rebellious by shopping at my store. It was like the controversy gave my store an identity—a purpose. And in some twisted way, it made me feel validated. All the negativity turned into a platform, and now I was thriving.

Looking back, I don’t know if I would call it a victory. The whole experience has left me with a strange, uneasy feeling. Yes, my business boomed, but at what cost? I manipulated the fears of the town for my own gain, and that’s something I’ll have to live with. I got the success I wanted, but sometimes, when I’m alone and the buzz dies down, I can’t help but wonder if it was all worth it.