Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by A. W. Jantha

  “What is this, sisters?” Winifred asked, eyeing a short figure in a plush turtle body. It waved and scuttled off. In fact, creatures wove past the sisters from all directions, ducking and dodging and giggling as they crisscrossed the road. They were unlike any of the creatures Winifred had seen during her three hundred years in Hell—but then again, her own circle of reference had been somewhat limited and rather monstrous. Simple ghouls and goblins served as waitstaff in Lord Satan’s palace, and the Sandersons had never received an invitation. Instead, they’d whiled away their hours with the likes of chupacabras and bunyips and terror beasts, and a towering black-caped man who never showed his face.

  “What are those?” asked Mary, clutching Winifred’s sleeve. She jumped at the sight of a small white figure with a smooth round head and the letters NASA tattooed over its heart. “What’s that?”

  “Um—” said Winifred. She tried to get a better look at the faces of the quick-moving fiends. “Hobgoblins,” she said decisively.

  A miniature angel glided over and curtsied, gold wings bobbing. “Bless you,” she said sweetly.

  The sisters shrieked and shrank back as she dashed away.

  “Enough,” Winifred said, catching her breath.

  Mary trembled as she looked around. “Oh, sisters,” she fussed, “I’m very confused. I smell children, but I don’t see children.” She gave a plaintive cry. “I’ve lost my powers!”

  “Enough, enough,” Winifred repeated, slapping her gently on each side of her face.

  “Sorry,” Mary said with a sniffle.

  “We are witches,” Winifred insisted. “We are evil. What would Mother say if she could see us like this?”

  The three witches lifted their brooms toward the eastern sky and said, in unison, “Mother.”

  A sharp, high laugh broke through the night.

  The witches turned and saw an old man clad in red, white hair settled in wisps about his ears.

  “Master!” they cried. One by one, the sisters deposited their brooms at his gate, propping the handles against the slats of a pristine white fence, and hurried over, bowing and scraping at his doorstep.

  “What kind of costumes are these?” the man asked.

  The witches bowed deeply, arms extended. Even in Hell, they’d only seen Lord Satan from afar, when he passed through on a black chariot to survey his domain.

  “It’s the Sanderson sisters, right?” he asked.

  The sisters simpered and clapped.

  “At your service,” Winifred said.

  “Haven’t seen you for centuries,” said Satan, which made Winifred blush because she hadn’t thought he would remember their first and heretofore only meeting, when she’d pledged herself to the sisterhood of red witches and received her spell book. “Why don’t you come in?” he asked, waving them through the door.

  They assembled in the main room of the house, which was surprisingly homey and cluttered.

  “I want you to meet the little woman,” Satan told the Sandersons.

  “He has a little woman?” Winifred whispered to Mary.

  “Sounds tasty,” she replied.

  The man leaned over a plush chair to speak to a woman whose face was hidden by a table lantern.

  “Petunia face.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “We have company.”

  “I don’t care who—” She sat up and the Sandersons gasped at the colorful twists wrapped through her curls.

  “Sisters,” Mary whispered, “Satan has married Medusa. See the snakes in her hair?”

  The woman snarled at the sisters, who stepped back, fearful of waking her snakes.

  “My three favorite witches,” said Satan.

  “Aren’t you broads a little old to be trick-or-treating?” asked Medusa.

  “We’ll be younger in the morning,” Winifred told her.

  The woman snorted. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Me too.” She left her drink on a nearby table and retreated up the staircase.

  Mary walked over to experiment with the box the woman had been observing. It seemed to transport the watcher to another world, and she sat down on the comfortable chair before it to get a better look. In the box, a small dog scuttled across polished wood floors, and Mary laughed and shouted, ducking and turning her own body to help it avoid obstacles.

  Winifred wandered into another room and let out a delighted sound when she found Satan’s torture devices—wooden mallets and knives arranged along a metal strip for ease of access. There were two circles of fire, as well: one boiling a pot of water and another that seemed to be cooking sugared mud.

  Winifred returned to the main part of the house just as Satan’s wife came back down the stairs. They both laid eyes on Sarah, who was dancing slowly with the Devil.

  “Master,” she said softly.

  With that, the woman of the house made the lights brighter and stormed down the stairs. “Okay, that’s it,” she snapped. “Party’s over.”

  Sarah broke away from her dance, and Mary sat up quickly.

  “Get out of my house,” said the woman.

  “Pudding face,” her husband pleaded, approaching her.

  “Shove it, Satan,” she snapped.

  “Oh,” said Sarah seriously. “Thou should not speak to Master in such a manner.”

  “They call me Master,” the man said, pleased.

  “Wait till you see what I’m gonna call you,” said his wife. She threw some brightly colored bags at the sisters. “Take your Clark Bars and get outta my house.”

  Winifred stalked forward, putting herself between her sisters and the pale, tired-looking woman. “Make us,” she said.

  “Honeybunch,” said the old man.

  “Ralph,” the woman said sharply, “sic ’em.” A small furry demon leaped up and chased the sisters from the house.

  The demon stopped at the doorstep and trotted back inside. The sisters ran the rest of the way to the road, where they paused to catch their breaths.

  “My broom!” Sarah cried, realizing it had gone missing.

  “My broom!” echoed Mary.

  “My broom,” Winifred huffed. “Purloined. Curses.”

  They started down the road on foot. “Sisters, look,” said Mary, holding up a candy bar she’d taken from the house. “ ’Tis the chocolate-covered finger of a man named Clark.” She bit into it. “Mmmm—ew—” She spat it out. “It’s candy,” she said, aghast. “Why would the master give us candy?”

  “Because he is not our master,” said Winifred sharply.

  “He isn’t?”

  “And these are not hobgoblins,” Winifred added. She tore the mask from a passing creature, revealing the startled face of a small blond boy. “See?” she said, gesturing.

  “Cool it, man!” cried the boy.

  Mary touched his arm. “A child,” she said hungrily.

  The boy hit her with a bulging fabric sack. “Weirdos!” he shouted as he ran away.

  “Weirdos?” repeated Sarah.

  “Sisters,” said Winifred, “All Hallows’ Eve has become a night of frolic. Where children wear costumes and run amok.”

  “Amok,” chorused Sarah. “Amok, amok, amok, amok, a—”

  Winifred elbowed her in the stomach and Sarah doubled over, clutching her abdomen.

  “Oh, Winnie,” pleaded Mary. “Just one child.”

  “We haven’t the time, Sister,” said Winifred. “We must find my book. Then thou may have as many children as thou desires.”

  Mary hummed. “Boiled and toasted and sautéed and roasted and—”

  “Yes, yes,” Winifred interrupted, knitting her fingers together eagerly. “But first, the book.”

  At last, Max and the girls homed in on Salem’s Town Hall, a two-story red-brick building with the sound of a live band spilling out and down the street. The windows of the second floor were washed with purple light from the party happening inside, and a banner above the double doors read salem’s 16th annual town hall pumpkin ball.


  “Oh, great,” Max said, leading the group across the street. “How are we ever gonna find Mom and Dad in this place?”

  “I’ll wait outside,” said Binx, jumping into the low branches of a nearby tree. “If anything happens, shout for me.”

  Max eyed the noisy building. “How will you hear us?” he asked.

  “I won’t,” said Binx. “But it might help you feel better.”

  Dani held out her arms and Binx relented, leaping into them. Max jogged up the steps to open the door for Allison and Dani.

  “I should be eating Peanut M&Ms right now,” Dani muttered as she stalked past.

  “Actually,” said Max, “you should be in bed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to find Mom,” she called to Max before disappearing between a policewoman and a jellyfish.

  Town Hall’s second floor was a huge ballroom, and it was packed with half the adults in Salem. On the raised stage, a skeleton in a top hat sang Sinatra’s “Witchcraft.” The band members were dressed as skeletons, too, and they really blasted the brass. Max wondered, fleetingly, whether their drummer would give him lessons.

  The whole audience was dressed up, and they seemed to have gone all out. Max spotted a sequined Viking, a knight in a full suit of silver armor, and a timely Bill Clinton.

  “Are you sure your parents can fix this?” Allison shouted over the music. “What if they don’t believe us?”

  “What choice do we have?” said Max.

  Two strong hands grabbed Max by the shoulders, and he shouted, spinning around. “Oh,” he said, relieved, “Dad.”

  “It’s not Dad,” said his father in a forced Romanian accent. “It’s Dadula.”

  Max winced at the terrible joke.

  “Oh, my goodness,” his dad said, taking Allison by the hand, “who must this charming young blood donor be?”

  “Dad!” Max snapped. “Something terrible happened.”

  “Dani?” his dad asked immediately, letting go of Allison. “What’s wrong? What—”

  “No,” said Max, “Dani’s fine.”

  His dad’s face grew stern. “Good,” he said, then turned to Allison and excused himself. He put his arm around Max’s shoulders and pulled him off to the side. “What is it?”

  “It’s—it’s complicated, okay? Promise you’ll believe me.”

  “You know I can’t do that in advance. Shoot, Max. Look, whatever it is, just tell me.”

  Onstage, the skeleton did a complicated dance turn and leaned into his microphone: “ ’Cause it’s witchcraft, that crazy witchcraft.”

  Across the room, Dani sidestepped a costume that made the wearer look like Aladdin seated on a flying carpet. She peered into the mouth of an alligator. “Mom?” she asked hopefully. The reptile shook its head and waddled off.

  She turned and nearly crashed into a blond woman in a red bustier, the cups of which were built out into two spiraled cones.

  “Mom?” Dani asked, aghast. She nearly dropped Binx. “What are you supposed to be?”

  Her mother looked flustered. “Madonna,” she said, and gestured to her costume. “Well, you know,” she continued, suddenly self-conscious. “Obviously. Don’t you think?”

  Dani sighed. “Come here,” she said, holding Binx out toward her mother in hopes that he would speak.

  “What?” asked her mom, crouching to hear her daughter better.

  Dani pointed to Binx’s head with one hand. “This cat, okay?” she said. “He can talk. My brother’s a virgin. He lit the Black Flame Candle. The witches are back from the dead, and they’re after us.” She took a breath. “We need help.”

  Her mom paused and then placed a worried hand on Dani’s cheek. “How much candy have you had, honey?”

  The words came tumbling out of Dani as she realized that her parents might actually not believe her: “Mom, I haven’t OD’d. I haven’t even had a piece. They’re real witches, they can fly, and they’re gonna eat all the kids in Salem. They’re real.”

  “All right,” her mother said warily. “Let’s...just...find your father.”

  The jazzy skeleton wrapped up his crooning. “Thank you, ghouls and ghoul-ettes!” he said to the crowd, grinning as the applause swelled and died down again. The band immediately began an up-tempo cover of Jay Hawkins’s “I Put a Spell on You.”

  The Dennison family convened, with Allison looking on from the sidelines.

  “Guys,” Mr. Dennison said impatiently, “I love you, but enough is enough. Just calm down.”

  Max fumed. “But they’re gonna come—”

  “Don’t you see how crazy this sounds?” insisted his dad.

  Dani caught sight of something across the room. “Max!” she shouted. “Max! They’re here!”

  Max turned away from his dad. His eyes rippled over the crowd. When he spotted the three witches—Winifred apparently chewing out Mary and Sarah sucking face with a mummy—Max took off. He ignored his parents’ pleas for him to come back and instead scrambled onto the stage. He wrestled the microphone from the skeleton.

  “Cut the music!” he shouted.

  “Hey, man, I’m in the middle of a song,” complained the singer.

  “It’s an emergency,” Max told him, still speaking into the mic. “Only for a minute.” He turned to face the crowd. “Will everybody listen up, please? Your kids are in danger.”

  The crowd gasped, and startled adults pressed closer to the stage.

  “Three hundred years ago,” said Max, “the Sanderson sisters bewitched people, and now they’ve returned from their grave.”

  The roomful of people laughed.

  “Hey, I’m serious,” Max insisted. “It’s not a joke. I know this sounds dumb, but they’re here tonight. They’re right over there,” he added, pointing to where the sisters stood, each of them looking nervous.

  A spotlight scanned the crowd and stopped on the three Sandersons, and everyone gasped again, stepping away from them.

  Winifred recovered the fastest. “Thank you, Max,” she said, tapping her long fingernails against her chin, “for that marvelous introduction.”

  The crowd laughed, and this time a smattering of applause also washed through the room.

  “I put a spell on you,” she said dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. The keyboardist took this as a cue and began to play a fizzy, sparkling tune. “And now you’re mine,” said Winifred with a mischievous smile.

  Max heard Dani shout above the appreciative murmurs: “Don’t listen to them!” She was right, he knew. What if the witches decided to actually put a spell on everyone? He leaped off the stage to help his sister as their parents dragged her toward the exit. Allison trailed helplessly behind them, trying to reason with Max’s mom without being disrespectful.

  “You can’t stop the things I do,” said Winifred, then broke into a trill: “I ain’t lyin’.” She pirouetted to scattered giggling. “It’s been three hundred years, right down to the day. Now the witch is back, and there’s hell to pay. I put a spell on you,” she repeated, working the crowd and making her way to the stage, then breaking into full-throated song: “And now—you’re miiiine!”

  The snare drum rolled and the brass flared. “Hello, Salem!” she called, smirking at the children’s attempt to warn the parents. “My name’s Winifred! What’s yours?” She sashayed to the edge of the stage. “I put a spell on you, and now you’re gone!”

  “Gone, gone, gone!” sang her sisters, taking over the two mics reserved for backup singers. “So long!”

  “My whammy fell on you,” crooned Winifred, “and it was strong.”

  “So strong,” sang Sarah and Mary, “so strong, so strong!”

  “Your wretched little lives have all been cursed,” sang Winifred, grinning when the audience cheered. “ ’Cause of all the witches working, I’m the worst! I put a spell on you—and now you’re mine.”

  Max and Dani’s parents deposited the kids near the front door.

  “Take your sister home,�
�� said Max’s dad. “It’s too late for pranks.” He took his wife by the hand and led her back into the crowd.

  Max, Allison, and Dani didn’t head downstairs right away. Instead, they watched in horror as the whole ballroom danced to the witches’ song.

  Someone bumped into Max and he turned, ducking when he saw Billy Butcherson stumbling toward them through the delighted crowd. Dani screamed and grabbed Allison, dragging her in the other direction.

  “If you don’t believe, you better get superstitious,” sang Winifred, having the time of her life. “Ask my sisters—”

  “Oooh, she’s vicious!” they chorused.

  “I put a spell on you!” belted Winifred. “I put a spell on you!”

  Mary and Sarah joined her, and the three of them began to dance toward the crowd. “Ah say ento pi alpha mabi upendi,” they chanted.

  “Ah say ento pi alpha mabi upendi!” repeated the crowd.

  Max suddenly felt lightheaded, and the air seemed to fill with the smells of fresh-baked cookies and brownies.

  “It’s a spell!” Max shouted, pressing his palms to his ears. “Don’t listen!”

  Dani and Allison followed his example, but the adults within earshot ignored him.

  “In comma coriyama—” sang the witches onstage.

  “In comma coriyama!” the adults crowed back.

  “Hey—”

  “Hey!”

  “Hi—”

  “Hi!”

  “Say bye-byyyyyye!” Winifred belted out, waving dramatically at the crowd, then added, with a smirk: “Bye-bye!”

  The crowd roared and whistled as the lights cut to a crimson wash.

  As the band struck up the next song, Winifred could be heard cackling as she sealed the curse: “Dance, dance, dance until you die!” Sarah pranced off the stage after her, swinging her skirts.

  “Good work, Winnie,” said Mary, catching up to them.

  “Of course it was,” said Winifred. From behind the velvet stage curtains, she watched the result of her dirty work. “Now these silly parents will be occupied without a thought for their darling children at home in their darling beds. We will have a feast tonight, sisters! But first, we must find my book.”