“You should give me proof that I’m a witch.”
This wasn’t how it was meant to go. The three of them glanced around the dingy room. Evidence is hard to give on a topic you find blindingly obvious.
Mr. Elliot removed his hat and spun it in his hands before replacing it on his head. “I’ll start. You have a black cat.”
The other two nodded enthusiastically. Mr. Baker stood up and tapped on the funny-looking plant on the dresser. “And you have a plant inside your house.”
Helda looked skeptically at him. “So do you, young man.”
“Aha!” Mr. Brian, the town priest-in-training, knocked over Helda’s tea cup as he pointed dramatically at the old woman. “How would you know that if you weren’t a witch? You can see things!”
“Actually, she was over last weekend, helping Marie with Timmy,” said Mr. Baker, grimacing.
“Yes, she was! More proof!” Mr. Elliot said from his chair. “Witches try to steal away children! You need to watch who your wife lets into the house.”
Helda smiled inwardly. “All right, I suppose that was enough proof,” she said, standing up and pulling her shawl around her old bones. She might as well go along with it. “Do you want to see what you missed, you who are the . . . er . . . bane of my existence?”
The men puffed up at that. “Lead the way, hideous fiend,” commanded Mr. Elliot, prodding Helda with his cane.
Helda limped more than was necessary as she led them to her pantry. “This is where I keep the ground-up bones of children!” she proclaimed, as she tossed a handful of flour at them. They all cowered, disgusted at being sprinkled with the powder.
“You wretched woman!” said Mr. Baker.
“Ah, yes, townsfolk.” This was getting to be more fun than she’d had in a while. “Catching my evil ways is a service by you all.”
She led them on out into her yard. She did indeed have a black cat, and Agnes was lounging in the sun. The cat hadn’t even woken up until Mr. Elliot stepped up to the chair. “Evil incarnate!”
Agnes jumped off the chair and went to rub herself on Mr. Brian’s shins. He yelped, and hid behind Mr. Baker. “That’s the devil on earth!” he cried.
Helda just stood there watching the three men interact with her cat. This situation needed no editing. She turned to a pot next to the sunny chair. “This is wolfsbane! A whiff of it could kill you. I use it to hunt werewolves at the full moon.”
That scared them all even further, though the plant was only foxglove. Mr. Brian stepped back and nearly hit Agnes with his foot. The cat gave a yowl and shot inside.
Mr. Baker was smarter than he seemed. He’d been dusted most heavily by the flour and had been sniffing it suspiciously since they’d gotten outside. “That’s not bones from your pantry.”
“It’s not?” asked Mr. Elliot.
“No, it’s just baking flour.” Mr. Baker tasted his coat sleeve. “I use this all the time.”
Mr. Elliot spun to face Helda. “You witch!” he accused. Then he seemed to realize something. “Wait.”
“You’re not a witch.” Mr. Brian sounded just as angry about this as he had when he’d stormed into her house claiming the opposite. “That’s foxglove, not wolfsbane. One of the ladies puts it in the church bouquets every Sunday.”
Helda felt like banging the three of them on the head. People are hard to deal with sometimes, especially when they keep upturning their own game around your ears and still make you lose.
“So have you caught me, or not?” Helda sat down in the chair. Mr. Brian, Mr. Baker, and Mr. Elliot stood an arm’s length from her, not sure how to proceed.
“You’ve been warned. Stay far away from witchcraft,” said Mr. Brian. “Next time the church won’t be so light on you.”
Mr. Elliot leaned in, probably hoping he looked intimidating. Agnes obviously didn’t think so because she came back out of the house and rubbed her cheek against his leg. Mr. Elliot looked down, disgusted, and slammed his cane on the black cat’s back.
Helda was done with these people. Sticks and stones are one thing, but when they have the audacity to hit your cat, it’s time to act.
“Get away from my cat, Mr. Elliot,” said Helda. He stared down into her eyes — or it should have been down. In truth, Helda was eye-level with the man. She shouldn’t have been, even if she’d been standing. Mr. Baker looked down at the ground, eyes widening. He snatched Mr. Elliot’s cane and swept it along the ground at the feet of Helda’s chair. The stick passed under the chair, and Helda rose higher still.
Helda was hovering in her chair a good foot above the other three, as they squinted up at her and bid farewell. They were far more polite than they’d been for the rest of their visit.
The chair rose higher, over the garden fence, high enough that from her perch Helda could see the three men scurry home.
Then witch and chair settled back to the ground, and Agnes jumped up onto Helda’s lap. Helda sat in the sun, petting her cat, and wondered when the next full moon would come.
This wasn’t how it was meant to go. The three of them glanced around the dingy room. Evidence is hard to give on a topic you find blindingly obvious.
Mr. Elliot removed his hat and spun it in his hands before replacing it on his head. “I’ll start. You have a black cat.”
The other two nodded enthusiastically. Mr. Baker stood up and tapped on the funny-looking plant on the dresser. “And you have a plant inside your house.”
Helda looked skeptically at him. “So do you, young man.”
“Aha!” Mr. Brian, the town priest-in-training, knocked over Helda’s tea cup as he pointed dramatically at the old woman. “How would you know that if you weren’t a witch? You can see things!”
“Actually, she was over last weekend, helping Marie with Timmy,” said Mr. Baker, grimacing.
“Yes, she was! More proof!” Mr. Elliot said from his chair. “Witches try to steal away children! You need to watch who your wife lets into the house.”
Helda smiled inwardly. “All right, I suppose that was enough proof,” she said, standing up and pulling her shawl around her old bones. She might as well go along with it. “Do you want to see what you missed, you who are the . . . er . . . bane of my existence?”
The men puffed up at that. “Lead the way, hideous fiend,” commanded Mr. Elliot, prodding Helda with his cane.
Helda limped more than was necessary as she led them to her pantry. “This is where I keep the ground-up bones of children!” she proclaimed, as she tossed a handful of flour at them. They all cowered, disgusted at being sprinkled with the powder.
“You wretched woman!” said Mr. Baker.
“Ah, yes, townsfolk.” This was getting to be more fun than she’d had in a while. “Catching my evil ways is a service by you all.”
She led them on out into her yard. She did indeed have a black cat, and Agnes was lounging in the sun. The cat hadn’t even woken up until Mr. Elliot stepped up to the chair. “Evil incarnate!”
Agnes jumped off the chair and went to rub herself on Mr. Brian’s shins. He yelped, and hid behind Mr. Baker. “That’s the devil on earth!” he cried.
Helda just stood there watching the three men interact with her cat. This situation needed no editing. She turned to a pot next to the sunny chair. “This is wolfsbane! A whiff of it could kill you. I use it to hunt werewolves at the full moon.”
That scared them all even further, though the plant was only foxglove. Mr. Brian stepped back and nearly hit Agnes with his foot. The cat gave a yowl and shot inside.
Mr. Baker was smarter than he seemed. He’d been dusted most heavily by the flour and had been sniffing it suspiciously since they’d gotten outside. “That’s not bones from your pantry.”
“It’s not?” asked Mr. Elliot.
“No, it’s just baking flour.” Mr. Baker tasted his coat sleeve. “I use this all the time.”
Mr. Elliot spun to face Helda. “You witch!” he accused. Then he seemed to realize something. “Wait.”
“You’re not a witch.” Mr. Brian sounded just as angry about this as he had when he’d stormed into her house claiming the opposite. “That’s foxglove, not wolfsbane. One of the ladies puts it in the church bouquets every Sunday.”
Helda felt like banging the three of them on the head. People are hard to deal with sometimes, especially when they keep upturning their own game around your ears and still make you lose.
“So have you caught me, or not?” Helda sat down in the chair. Mr. Brian, Mr. Baker, and Mr. Elliot stood an arm’s length from her, not sure how to proceed.
“You’ve been warned. Stay far away from witchcraft,” said Mr. Brian. “Next time the church won’t be so light on you.”
Mr. Elliot leaned in, probably hoping he looked intimidating. Agnes obviously didn’t think so because she came back out of the house and rubbed her cheek against his leg. Mr. Elliot looked down, disgusted, and slammed his cane on the black cat’s back.
Helda was done with these people. Sticks and stones are one thing, but when they have the audacity to hit your cat, it’s time to act.
“Get away from my cat, Mr. Elliot,” said Helda. He stared down into her eyes — or it should have been down. In truth, Helda was eye-level with the man. She shouldn’t have been, even if she’d been standing. Mr. Baker looked down at the ground, eyes widening. He snatched Mr. Elliot’s cane and swept it along the ground at the feet of Helda’s chair. The stick passed under the chair, and Helda rose higher still.
Helda was hovering in her chair a good foot above the other three, as they squinted up at her and bid farewell. They were far more polite than they’d been for the rest of their visit.
The chair rose higher, over the garden fence, high enough that from her perch Helda could see the three men scurry home.
Then witch and chair settled back to the ground, and Agnes jumped up onto Helda’s lap. Helda sat in the sun, petting her cat, and wondered when the next full moon would come.