Our mother told us we had to be particularly careful of the words we used on moonless nights, as whatever we said had a high possibility of becoming a curse.
Well wishes were forbidden, because they were the easiest to twist. Angry outbursts could be worse, depending on the venom with which they were spoke. But even the simplest ideas or statements had the chance of being turned back against you.
Those nights she’d rap the walls to call us down for dinner. We’d nod or shrug as we ate. All her precautions didn’t matter in the end, I guess.