The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Everyone is helping. Asena and Julie usually stop by to assist with serving. They really get into it. While people are eating, Asena pretends she’s been possessed by an evil spirit (at least I think she’s pretending), and Julie accuses me of casting a spell on her that makes her melt. Very entertaining. Her melting was so convincing the first time, I feared I had inadvertently cast a spell. I hadn’t. That was a rather unpleasant flashback to the phoenix disaster. Never again.

  My parents would faint if they knew how much I’ve been cooking. Dad’s been trying to interest me in kitchen witchery ever since I was old enough to stir a cauldron. No more Mean Cuisine meals for this girl! Julie and I usually split the leftovers. It’s nice to know someone appreciates good food. My patrons mostly gag and make faces at it. I’m not sure why you’d pay to be disgusted and not eat, but it’s a popular pastime here.

  NOTE: It’s probably safe to check in with Mom and Dad now that things aren’t so bleak. Should I mention that there might be a problem with my Adept ceremony? It might just worry them unnecessarily. Then again, they tend to react badly when big news hits without warning. Yikes. That is going to be a tricky letter.

  Sam organized a nice setup for cooking. He had the camp cookhouse inspected for food preparation and then parked it behind the House of Horrors. I can cook throughout the day and still randomly pop back into my joint via one of the many trap doors to terrify my patrons.

  He also spends a considerable amount of time cooking with me. I never thought I’d meet someone worse at following recipes than I am. I have to keep a sharp eye on him at all times. Incautious handling or adlibbing has unexpected consequences with many of my dishes. He got curious about my matured puffballs and poked one before I could warn him. We spent a looong time cleaning up the spores, and he still complains that the curtains smell like old socks. He makes me laugh. I have to admit, I did the same thing the first time Dad and I gathered the delicate fungi late in their season. Even though we are from different planes, and Sam is a wizard, we are a lot alike.

  Asena designed a new ghost costume for Kamal. Now he wanders freely through the House of Horrors doling out scares while ensuring the wizard contraptions are in good working order (he’s picked up some wizard skills from Sam). He is a fantastic ghost and is a natural at sneaking up on people. Also, the spiders love him. There’s always a horde crawling on him which enhances the costume’s effect. Another feat he excels at is keeping Monkey and Herman in check. He’s the only one they’ll listen to, so having him in the H of H is fantastic.

  In fact, Kamal has been such a big help that I made him my Assistant Manager. Sam had the title engraved on a badge for him to wear, which he proudly does every day. So now, I have a ghost wandering my halls with a shiny new badge. I don’t mind. I’m sure there are Assistant Manager ghosts out there who enjoy the representation. I have come to think of him as my Apprentice (even though he’s a druid with questionable wizard skills).

  Fiona, our dwarven strong woman, has also gotten into the horror mood. The Spider Siblings taught her to ride their horses, so now she dresses up in a dark cloak that Sam altered to make her appear headless and rides through camp every evening. Her favourite part is tossing a fake severed head at people. Sam, with his wizardly ways, creates bone-rattling cracks of thunder when she appears and has some kind of contraption that makes fog. Our patrons love it.

  Last night, the Spider Siblings painted a skeleton on Ebony and the reaction was even more positive. They convinced Kamal to get in on the game, too. He wore his ghost costume and rode Snowball around. It was fun watching everyone try to run away from the headless horseman, only to run into a ghost rider. They had no idea where to go.

  Sam is all a tizzy because a group of T V executives (whatever those are) stopped by. They asked us to extend our stay for a few days so they could use Karneval Života as a shooting location for a popular T V show. My alarm must have been obvious because Sam clapped a hand over my mouth and happily agreed to their demands before I could say anything. His mood and their intentions didn’t add up until he explained there would be no actual shooting of anything or anyone.

  The shooting process they spoke of involves capturing different values of light and converting them to numbers so people can view an event later, even if they weren’t there at the time. He went into great detail. There’s a chance his explanation would have made sense to Magda. I, however, was thoroughly lost. I think the end result (a T V show) is something akin to the dramas we watch in crystal balls, except people are pretending to do things and talk to each other. I don’t get the appeal if it’s fake. It must be lucrative because the T V executives are paying a large sum to use our lot for the day, and on top of that, everyone is being paid as “extras.” Sam sounded happy, so I guess it’s also a good thing? I’ll find out soon enough.

  In between tear down, traveling, set-up, running the House of Horrors, and cooking, I’ve been trying to help Herman find a form he’s happy with. The panda wasn’t working for him. Or me. He ate a crazy amount of this hard to get plant. A plant that also made him gassy. Not pleasant when sleeping in a tent.

  Whenever I gather enough energy to try another transmutation, we do. Thanks to some recent spectacular storms, I was able to charge my crystals between full moons. It’s a more involved process and not as efficient as it was in my plane, but it works.

  First, Herman wanted to be a squirrel. That was a short-lived desire. He kept getting fleas and chipped a tooth on a nut.

  Then he wanted to be a sloth because he decided they weren’t cute. Unfortunately, everyone else thought they were (poor guy is plagued with cuteness). Plus, he kept getting vertigo from hanging upside down.

  Which brings me to his current form. To celebrate being by the sea, he decided to try a coastal creature. I borrowed a tome from the library and he settled on a coconut crab. For once, I approve of his selection. Coconut crabs are creepy and threatening. Very appropriate for a familiar.

  I’m happy to report that he’s more content in this form than he was in any of the others. He enjoys clicking his claws and scuttling after patrons. He also takes daily jaunts down to the beach to chase random strangers. He burrows into the sand and leaps out to scare anyone who wanders by.

  Sam hasn’t said anything, but I can tell he’s relieved the panda is gone. He’s been more accepting of Herman’s recent forms, though he did mention the sloth was borderline (they are native to this landmass, just much farther south). The rest of my co-workers seamlessly accept Herman no matter what animal he shows up as. We couldn’t have landed a job with a better group.

  Bob is in and out of camp. Sometimes he doesn’t even travel with us but he always shows up at the next location. I miss him when he’s gone. I’ve grown used to having him around. He’s a great sounding board for ideas. Much less lippy than Herman. Actually, he’s less lippy than anyone because he never talks. I wonder what he thinks of our Outerplane excursion? He seems to enjoy haunting people in the H of H. I’m sure he wouldn’t bother if it wasn’t fulfilling. Lately, he’s been experimenting with new facial expressions and has developed some very dramatic looks.

  Well, I must get back to menu planning. I like to change things up every few nights to keep my patrons guessing. There’s been a few repeat customers, and the last thing I want is to be predictably terrifying. I’m thinking of adding a sea themed dish now that we’re on the coast. Dad used to bake up a mean eradian eel. I believe he stuffed it with a pudding made from pureed jellyfish innards, black fungus, and . . . something else. My lips would tingle for ages after. I wonder if I can make something similar?

  ADDENDUM: I have decided to keep elementals around me at all times to speed up my castings. Every morning I call a representative from each domain and ask them to stay near. They don’t seem to mind. I would never consider hoarding elementals like this at home, but there aren’t many practicing witches here. In fact, I have yet to meet any, other than Asena, and she doesn’t even identify as a witch. Outer
plane elemental demand is low and they do so enjoy lending their energies to spells. I feel bad for the little guys, aimlessly wandering, searching for magickal outlets. Granted there aren’t many elementals about, but still, it’s sad for those that are.

  Tydias, Lotus Moon 9, 209

  DEAR MOM AND Dad,

  How are you? I bet your herb garden is doing well. Magda said your area has been getting lots of rain, so I imagine your acadium roots are bursting with juices. I used puffballs in a recipe recently and remembered how much fun Dad and I had collecting them when I was a kid. I miss you guys.

  First of all, let me apologize because I know it’s been a long while since I’ve written. I started a new job and things are very busy. Research and experiments take up what little spare time I have. You’ll understand why shortly.

  Please don’t freak out. This is going to be a bit of a shock. Perhaps you should sit down. Seriously . . . sit.

  The new job I mentioned is in the Outerplane. I’m running a House of Horrors attraction for Karneval Života and planning / hosting a twice-nightly Witch’s Feast.

  I know, I know, I couldn’t have gotten a job any farther away from home. And before you ask . . . no, I did not do this on purpose. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I had to use the non-union job bank to find employment and there were a few details missing from the job posting.

  At first, I was skeptical about staying, but I have since come to enjoy the work and my co-workers. It may sound strange, but I think I’ve finally found a place and job where I fit. It isn’t just fun, it’s challenging, and I believe it’s a good career move. How many witches can say they made it on the Outerplane? None I know of. It is an unusual opportunity and I intend to make the most of it. There might be a slight hitch with regard to my Adept rites, but I have a union representative working on it, so please don’t worry.

  Dad, you would be proud of me. I’m cooking every sun and using all the family recipes you taught me. It’s been hard to find equivalent ingredients, but I’m managing. I’m getting lots of practice since I’ve had to do the same for many of my spell components. If you come across any interesting recipes, please send them along (air elementals appear to be the quickest and most reliable way of delivering interplanar messages . . . though try to find a weak one because the regular ones make quite a mess here). Sadly, some of our recipes aren’t workable on the Outerplane, either because there are no similar ingredients or there is a risk the dish may poison my clientele. That’s frowned upon . . . even if you have the antidote.

  There are many strange laws. I stumble across new ones every sun. It’s difficult to be appropriately witchy, but I’m doing my best. Sam, my boss, said I can threaten to do things like poison or hex people, I just can’t actually do it. Silly, I know, but I’m trying to fit in, at least a little.

  Outerplane spellcraft is extremely complicated and elementals are a scarce resource. I feel like a child, struggling to grasp basic concepts and maintain even a weak connection to the elements. Every sun, I get better, but it is slow and grinding work. I never truly appreciated how good we have it at home. I miss the comforting feel of power flowing around me, through me. It’s not something I will ever take for granted again.

  I’m not sure when I’ll be able to visit. The carnival is entering its high season, which means we are constantly traveling or working. And my funds are running low. Not desperately. I’m fine, really. I just can’t afford the planar transit for a while. Not that I’m eager to suffer through that nightmare again, and I recommend that you also avoid it. I promise, I’m doing okay. I don’t need you to rush to my rescue.

  Again, I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long, and please don’t worry about me. I’ll try to do better at keeping you informed.

  May the Goddess light your paths,

  Hester Digitalis Wishbone

  Wendias, Lotus Moon 10, 209

  TODAY I WAS reminded that not all people suck. With the constant press of humanity at the carnival, it’s easy to lose sight of that (especially for those of us who lean toward the hermit end of the social spectrum). Occasionally, someone special comes along and makes every irritating situation and irrationally grumpy customer you’ve had to resist cursing worthwhile.

  An elderly gentleman carrying a single white lily caught my eye while I dragged the midway this evening. He was alone, which was intriguing as it is not the norm. There was a sadness wrapped about him like a heavy winter cloak. He wore it well, so I knew it was a seasoned grief.

  He shuffled slowly through the crowd with a wilful determination seen only in the very old. Out of curiosity, I followed and we ended up at the Ferris Wheel. Gilroy nodded to him in a familiar way, ushered him to the front of the line, and helped him into the next available carriage. The man placed his lily on the empty seat beside him, and there he silently sat for the next few hours while other passengers came and went. Gilroy always skipped his carriage.

  Between my feasts, I went back to see if he was still there (he was) and asked Gilroy about him. His name was Mr. Baker and he’d been coming to the carnival for longer than Gilroy had been with the troupe (which I found out was just over fifteen years). Sam’s mother had a standing order that he be allowed in free of charge and treated with the utmost respect—a wish that would be honoured for as long as the carnival and Mr. Baker were around.

  Gilroy briefly left the controls to remove the seat in a carriage so a customer could manoeuvre her wheelchair in, and my eyes drifted back to our enigmatic guest. For a second I saw a young woman sitting beside him. She wore a lacy blue dress and gazed adoringly into his eyes. A gentle smile curved one side of her mouth, creating a dimple in her cheek, and her hand covered his where it rested on his knee. She laid her head on his stooped shoulder and then flickered back into the ether.

  When the ride started moving again, I caught glimpses of the spirit, always cuddled up to Mr. Baker’s side, always tender. Now and then, Mr. Baker pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped away a tear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so beautiful or heartbreaking. For such ties to last beyond the veil, for them to be strong enough to bridge the worlds, their love must have been epic.

  As the carnival wound down and the crowds dispersed, Mr. Baker waved to Gilroy and descended from the carriage. I walked discreetly behind him as he began the long trek back to the gates, wanting to talk to him, but unsure if I would be an unwelcome intrusion on his memories.

  Luckily for me, he encountered Maria and Sam. They stopped and had a friendly conversation which I quietly inserted myself into. Maria invited Mr. Baker to join our bonfire (which she never does with customers) but he graciously declined. Sam shook his hand and said that seeing old friends was always a pleasure. He encouraged him to stop by again before the carnival moved on and then he went to close the big top and prepare late-night snacks for the group.

  Mr. Baker was a soft-spoken man, but an underlying cord of iron ran through his words and his bearing was unmistakably military despite his hunched stance. I swear Maria narrowly avoided saluting when she left.

  I accompanied him to the gates. Before he exited, I asked who the woman was. At first, he was confused and thought I meant Maria. When I indicated I was referring to the spirit sitting beside him on the wheel, he grasped my arm. I was afraid he was unsteady, but his grip was firm and his gaze unwavering as he demanded I tell him exactly what I had seen. I recognized the look of a rational man desperate for confirmation of the irrational (for all the stories of ghosts and hauntings in the Outerplane, they are still considered myth).

  I described the spirit and his breath hitched. He really did waver then. I pulled an empty crate over for him to sit on and retrieved his hanky to wipe a tear from his wrinkled cheek.

  Once he caught his breath, he began to talk of Lily. She was his wife. They married as teens and had been through so much together, inseparable except for the wars overseas he felt honour bound to join. She died ten years ago and he missed her
every hour of every day since. He started coming to the carnival alone after Lily died to celebrate the happy memories they shared here and to feel close to her. He had no idea she was actually with him. The Ferris Wheel was her favourite. She used to giggle the whole time because of the butterflies in her tummy. That sounded more alarming than funny to me, but he explained they weren’t real butterflies; it was how she described the fluttery, excited feeling she got.

  The midway was closed, and he was shivering by the time he finally accepted my invitation to share a hot cup of tea at our bonfire. I think he didn’t want to intrude, but I assured him everyone would be happy for his company and even happier if he shared some of his stories. He laughed when I said he was blessed to have found a love so great and should pass his wisdom onto the rest of us poor souls. It was a wonderful sound and immediately buoyed my heart. Some people (usually witches) possess an innate ability to feel what others are feeling and can also share their emotional state with those around them. His talent was likely what drew me to him.

  We had a wonderful evening together. Sam drove Mr. Baker home, but not before convincing him to come for tea again tomorrow. Lily will be pleased. I saw her in the drifts of smoke, standing beside him, her hand on his shoulder as he related stories from their lives.

  It never occurred to me before, but this carnival is not just important to us. How many of our patrons have stories like his? A first or last kiss. Friendships made and broken. A child’s best day. All of them, a shared history that bonds those people to the carnival and thus to me. The web grows ever more intricate. Our lives, our deeds, our words ripple out even when we can’t see them.

  I shall cherish the loving memories Mr. Baker shared until my days are done and I too pass into Underworld. This was a good day.