The Witch

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  Stephen scratched his head.

  “I don’t believe that a witch stole Robin’s nerves, but …”

  “Hmmm?”

  “But if she had, would that make Robin’s tummy upset?”

  “Nah, I think her father’s bad cooking could, though.”

  Stephen sat on the oak floor and rested his head against his father’s leg.

  “How come we never see Uncle Will anymore?”

  “Because he’s no longer married to your Aunt Rosemary.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ask your Aunt Rosemary.”

  “But she’s gone to pick up Robin from her daddy. Aunt Rosemary didn’t even get to go to the zoo with us.”

  “Hey, what did you think of that baby gorilla?”

  “Couldn’t even see him ‘cause his mom kept him so close to her.”

  “That’s how moms are.”

  “Do you think his mom will go away from him someday?”

  “More likely he’ll leave his mom. Maybe even go off to another zoo to begin a brand new life. Some of us do it sooner than others.”

  “But I’m too small to leave home.”

  “Yes. Someday, though, you’ll break my heart and leave to have a family of your own.”

  Stephen shook his head.

  “I know how sad it would make you. I wouldn’t hurt you the way Mommy hurt us.”

  “I keep trying to explain, Stephen, that she didn’t do it on purpose. She had problems.”

  “Then why didn’t she come to us? We would have helped her. You always say I should come to you and you’ll make things right.”

  “I may not always be able to make things right, but I will be there to give you support.” Jacob ran his fingers through the boy’s tawny hair.

  “I would have helped Mom. She always did stuff for me. There must have been something I could have done for her.”

  Cathy’s shadow fell upon the room, her chilled spirit almost numb from the coldness of death’s hand. Her ravaged soul ached for peace, but she fought the quiet that beckoned to her beyond the world she once knew.

  “Help me, Stephen. You can still help me. I can’t rest until you’ve avenged me. Your small hands and lips carry the magic to bring the fiends to life.”

  She spread her arms to enfold her little boy, but Jacob scooped up his son to wrap him in a bearish hug. Her fingernails scratched at air, her stagnant breath poisoned the air around her, and her little boy appeared to flinch away from her.

  “Tell you what, Stephen, if you go upstairs and get ready for bed, I’ll tell you some more about Brandy and the witch.”

  “Don’t forget the new lady that’s sharing Brandy’s cage.”

  Chapter

  16

  “We must escape from here,” said the lady standing next to Brandy in the cage.

  “Fine. You come up with a plan and I’ll be most happy in assisting you to escape. I’ll even escape with you.”

  The lady frowned at Brandy.

  “You expect me to rescue us?”

  “Why not? Obviously I haven’t been successful at getting away from the witch. Maybe you’ll have a better plan.”

  “Witch! Witch!” screamed the lady.

  The witch, who had been sorting her garbage, stopped and toddled over to the cage.

  “We’re terribly thirsty and hungry. You must feed us.”

  “Nonsense. You ate up all my jams, bread, and tea just fifteen minutes ago when you were in my sitting room.”

  The lady turned toward Brandy.

  “Tell her you’re hungry,” demanded the lady.

  “That might not be a good idea,” said Brandy.

  “When did you last eat?”

  “This morning.”

  “Well, it is easily the middle of the afternoon now. You must be hungry. What did you have for breakfast?”

  “Frogs’ legs and bats’ feet.”

  The jam and bread in the lady’s stomach sloshed around dangerously.

  “Eew!” shouted Stephen. “What did Brandy have to drink for breakfast?”

  “Drink?”

  Stephen nodded his head violently.

  “I believe it was a puree of snot.”

  Stephen let out a scream of disgust.

  “Luckily the lady didn’t ask what Brandy had had to drink because she surely would have lost her lunch.”

  Stephen giggled.

  “The witch can’t treat you that cruelly,” the lady said to Brandy.

  “Cruel!” shouted the witch. “They were the freshest frogs’ legs and bats’ feet I had in the house. You’ll get nothing of the kind, young lady.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t eat it if you served it to me,” the lady indignantly said.

  “I wouldn’t antagonize her,” warned Brandy. “She serves much worse meals when she is out of sorts.”

  “Like what?” asked Stephen.

  Jacob sighed.

  “It’s much too gross to repeat, Stephen. You might never be able to eat again. Especially not that chili you like so much.”

  “The chili?” Stephen frowned. “What’s in the chili?”

  “Let me just say that eating steak, potatoes, and vegetables are the safest foods. It is obvious what they are. A nice fried or poached egg would not be served by this witch because it wouldn’t be interesting enough. She can’t mix vegetables with frogs’ legs and bats’ wing—”

  “Bats’ feet,” corrected Stephen.

  “Because the vegetables would wilt and the legs and feet would be glaringly obvious.”

  “What about green vegetables? Wouldn’t they match the frogs’ legs?”

  “Naw. Totally different shades of green.”

  “But you cook the meals at home, and you’re not a witch.”

  “That’s right, and I would never serve disgusting foods, even though sometimes you think I do.”

  “Witches might be cooking at the chili place and putting in snot and all kinds of icky things. Maybe even nerves and ground bones.”

  Jacob himself started to be put off by eating out. He figured he may have taken this too far. He wanted Stephen to eat healthier meals, but he enjoyed the occasional luxury of going out.

  “There are people who inspect restaurants, and they wouldn’t permit a witch to cook in the kitchens.”

  Stephen wrinkled his nose.

  “Maybe I don’t like eating chili anymore.”

  “Once in a while it’s okay. Sometimes we have to be brave and adventurous.”

  “I’d rather take my chances on the jungle gym.”

  “Then who will I eat with when I want chili?”

  “Dad, remember how Mom made you stop smoking, and you finally told her that you were glad she did, even though you were cranky for a while?”

  “No, Stephen, you’re not going to ask me to stop eating chili.”

  “Well, at least don’t eat witch’s chili. Maybe we can make chili at home. That’s what we can do tomorrow, make chili.”

  “The last time we cooked together all we made was a mess, and we ended up going out to the chili place. Remember?”

  “Mom said people have to practice over and over again before they can do anything well. She made me …” Stephen paused.

  “She made you what, Stephen?”

  “Help her in the basement.”

  “You mean cleaning the basement?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, avoiding answering the question directly. He remembered the box covered with uglies and the candle wax that when dripped on each ugly brought them to life.

  “I guess I should go down and clean up the basement myself. No one has been down there in ages. Maybe we could sweep out the basement tomorrow.”

  “No, Dad. Mom wouldn’t want that.”

  “You’re right. Tomorrow we should go outdoors and enjoy the day. Maybe even live dangerously and have chili again.”

  Stephen shrugged.

  “Oh, Stephen, I didn’t mean to turn you off chili completely. I just wanted t
o suggest that you eat more of the meals I make and not pick at your plate so much.” Jacob used his fingers to quickly squeeze the tip of Stephen’s nose. “And if you want to try making chili sometime, that’s fine with me. We’ll make a big pot and invite Grandma over. How ‘bout that?”

  “I don’t think she’ll clean up after us, Dad.”

  “If she wanted to, I wouldn’t stop her.”

  Stephen laughed.

  Chapter

  17

  The demons in the basement tried hard to stretch their limbs, but they could only reach so far, and then the box pulled them back. One demon moped in a far corner, depressed by how slow-witted the child appeared to be. The mother may have been wrong to pass her powers on to the child. The demon felt the coldness of death and knew the mother had returned. Her shadow passed close to the box, and the demon could feel her eyes rest upon him.

  What a shame she had not produced better stock, the demon thought.

  “He is strong. He will free all of you, but he needs time. Time to understand my death. Time to recapture the dizzy feel for magic. Time to cut himself off from those who grip him tightly in the base world in which he exists.”

  “Time is not our friend,” said the lone demon. “We need action now. We need a taste of his blood to give us strength. A taste of his flesh to gain in wisdom. Instead we are dusty and slow. We are in the human’s world but not free to experience the terror they have of us.”

  “He is too young,” shouted out a malformed bird of prey who had pushed his way closer to the lone demon. “He is not sincere. He merely played at learning. He copied you, Mother, only by rote but didn’t feel the exhilaration and sweetness of the evil we carried with us.” “Don’t speak of my son. Speak of your new conjuror.” “He can’t conjure one of us. He may be able to free us, but he’ll never bring another of our kind into his world. He carries too much fear with him. Too much goodness. His magic would only destroy us.”

  “He is the only one left to follow me. He misses me and will do what needs to be done to bring me back.”

  “A mamma’s boy who is manipulated by the dead. A stunning promise for us,” screeched an older dwarf on the farther corner of the box.

  “It is because you don’t believe in him that he doesn’t come to your aid. You must call to him softly. Let your pleas sound like invitations, not empty sounds that drive him away. Hurling angry invectives will ensure failure,” the mother said.

  “She is right,” hissed a snake that had wrapped itself around the dwarf. “Pretty words and empty promises will turn the child’s head. We all know how that works.”

  “Especially you,” said the dwarf, freeing both his arms from the snake’s tightening hug.

  The snake hardened his grip on the dwarf, forcing a guttural sound from him.

  “Don’t argue among yourselves, for it will only bring a final defeat,” the mother cried.

  The snake let go of the dwarf and fell at his feet. The dwarf lifted a foot to stomp the snake, but he felt the cold hand of his mistress flick his shoulders. He gently rested his foot against the wood of the box.

  “I was a warrior dwarf once. I killed thousands.”

  “Not you alone, I’m sure,” muttered the snake.

  “Wrong you are. I swept across battlefields.”

  “Hardly imagine you able to sweep across a playground.”

  “I was not this size. At one time I inhabited the body of a fleshly dwarf. A stupid fool who fell easily to my possession of his soul. A filmy, thin soul who collapsed almost instantaneously to my will.”

  “And did you join the battles of his people?” The snake coiled into a circle, its head swaying in the air.

  “Before I took over he had never been in battle. He had lurked back in caves and woods, always promising to care for the womenfolk and children. Every day his fellow warrior dwarfs spat upon him. Meekly he would cower and turn away. But I changed it all.”

  “Did you suddenly send his body wildly into battle?” “Worse. I killed every dwarf that crossed my path with foul words or derogatory names. Finally he gained respect.”

  “Not he,” Cathy whispered.

  “You!” “Yes, yes, I bloodied flesh and stole lives still blooming.”

  “How many battles have you fought?” Cathy’s cold breath made the air shiver with her words.

  “Countless,” the dwarf shouted. Pride filled his eyes, and his chest swelled out so that a tear broke the seam of his shirt. “This ax I carry is merely a slight symbol of the weapons I wielded. I never feared death.”

  “Why should you?” commented the snake. “You are a spirit. You lose one body and seek out another.”

  “But you know how difficult it is to gain access to this world,” Cathy said, hoping to massage the dwarf’s ego. “Master dwarf overcame many obstacles to win a tangible life.”

  “And look at me now,” groaned the dwarf. “A mere clay figure, tiny and not perfectly formed.” He held up his hands to show all twelve of his digits.

  “Mistress did the best that she could,” the snake fawned. “Look at me; I was molded into shape by the hands of a child, but I’ve never complained.” The snake shook the tip of its tail in the air. “I would have so loved having a rattler, but I’m not complaining.”

  “I watch you playing your tail in the air,” said the dwarf. “You dream every day of having a rattler. A silent complaint like your silent tail.” The dwarf laughed.

  The snake wrapped itself around the dwarf’s ankle.

  “I often wonder how you’ll be able to wield that ax with so many fingers. Isn’t it awkward?”

  The tiny dwarf’s hands tightened around the ax.

  “Haven’t I met you before?” the dwarf asked.

  “How could you have? Were you in the Garden of Eden?”

  “A big claim for such a meager snake.” The dwarf sniffed the air. “You smell more of piles of manure than of any Garden of Eden.”

  “It does not matter where each of you originated. You are here now because I brought you back to be my revenge. Slowly my son will gain the confidence to pry each of you free from your prison.”

  “It is you,” barked out a dog with a man’s head, “who bound us to this wooden box. If you wanted revenge, why not have let us run free?”

  “Because I have targets that you might have missed in your chaotic rush for blood.”

  “Does that mean after we do your bidding we shall be free to continue the dark deeds for which we have such pride?” asked the dwarf.

  A silence fell heavily on the basement. Death’s coldness seeped between the cracks.

  “She refuses us an answer,” said the dwarf.

  “No, no. Death merely stole her back to its bosom.” The snake uncurled, leaving a bruised ring around the dwarf’s ankle.

  “She cheats us,” said the dwarf. “She robs us of liberty, of our powers, and of our proper shapes. Each of us has a malformation, and I believe it is on purpose to debase us.”

  “Not all snakes have rattlers,” muttered the snake.

  “But a snake of your caliber would definitely be able to rattle, instilling fear into the quarry before death. No, you give her too much power over you.”

  “You want us to rebel while still glued to this horrid bark of a tree?” The snake slipped its body across the smoothly polished wood.

  “I say we wait for a moment of weakness. But we must keep our eyes open and our senses acute.”

  Chapter

  18

  “Where is it?” shouted Stephen as Molly walked into the house.

  “My son has been waiting for this day, Molly. I hope you won’t disappoint us.”

  It had been a long time since Molly had seen Jacob smile. She smiled back and faltered a bit before she spoke.

  “I have it in the car. Stephen said he didn’t want you to see the costume until he put it on.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go, go, Dad.” Stephen pushed against his father’s hip, trying to steer Dad into the living
room.

  “What if I just close my eyes?”

  “No. You’ll peek, Dad.”

  “But I’ll cover my eyes like this.” Jacob covered his eyes with his fingers but spread the fingers so that there were obvious big gaps.

  “That’s not fair, Dad. You can see.”

  Jacob uncovered his eyes.

  “Okay, I have errands to run. You and Molly can scheme behind my back if you like. But don’t scare me too much when I come home.”

  Jacob lifted his son and kissed him goodbye. He blew a soft kiss in Molly’s direction.

  “You’re supposed to catch it,” said Stephen.

  Molly reached out a hand but knew there was nothing to be captured in the kiss.

  Molly followed Jacob out to retrieve the costume from her car. By the time she returned to the house, Jacob had driven away.

  She held the costume up in front of her, and Stephen clapped his hands in delight. He especially liked the pointy claws she had attached and the tail that looked so real.

  “I’ve brought fangs too,” she said holding up a wax image.

  Stephen grabbed the fangs and inserted them into his mouth and growled menacingly. Molly let out a very feminine shriek when Stephen grabbed for the costume.

  “Can I try it on now? Can I?”

  “Sure. We’ll go up to your room, and—”

  “No. I want to put it on myself and surprise you.”

  “I think you’ll be needing some help getting into the wolf suit.” She showed him the snaps and zippers, and he declared that he could dress himself. “Okay, I’ll wait here for you, but if you need any help, call.”

  Stephen rushed up the staircase.

  Molly waited a few seconds before walking down the hall to the basement door. Even if he had some difficulty getting into the suit, she knew he would keep trying. He hated asking for help.

  She turned the knob on the basement door which opened easily. Stepping onto the landing of the basement stairs, she began feeling around the side wall for a light switch. The bulb lit up immediately although the wattage couldn’t have been high, since it didn’t offer much light.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dimness quickly. The wooden stairs were painted white and the banister matched. Before descending the staircase she pushed the door open as wide as it would go.