By David “Daveykins FoxFire” Gonterman
The morning sun’s rays creep toward the humble cottage on the outskirts of town; just a simple home that rested in a nook surrounded by tall trees, keeping hard winds and rains at bay. As the sunlight moves closer, the shack appears to be inhabited and well maintained. It was cleaned and painted, the windows were replaced with new windowpanes, and a few wind chimes ring out their gentle ambiance among the hanging bird houses and critter dens. There was even a garden planted in the back yard.
The inhabitant of this cottage is a nature lover for certain, not to mention someone who isn’t that much into modern trappings. The motorized birdbath, the indoor lights, and the few appliances inside were the only technology used therein. It’s a simple place for someone with a simple lifestyle.
This person herself wasn’t quite as simple.
The cottage consisted of two larger rooms, one in front and one in back, with a bathroom and a small kitchen. The main room in front still looked sparse; only a desk, chair, and bookshelf occupied one wall. A table with two chairs and a large crystal ball occupied the far corner. The desk housed multiple containers of various herbal materials, a pestle and mortar, parchment and some quill pens over a vial of ink, and several other boxes. The numerous books in the shelf, some of which may be hand-written and bound, supplement it.
The majority of this room is claimed by a large round rug, ornate Persian style but with a border with writing that could be more at home in the world of fantasy. At the point of the rug closest to a fireplace, a small altar was placed. It was only a foot and a half tall, with two candles at the far corners to go with the seven candleholders surrounding the rug. On the altar was a ceramic plate with a pentagram pointed toward the fireplace, a wand and dagger crossing each other, and a chalice. Off in one corner, a hand-made broom rests leaning up against a wall.
The small room in back could match the front in emptiness. A dresser for unmentionables was next to a coat post that holds up a long flowing robe of deep purple with a sash, and a wide-brimmed pointy hat of an identical color. A pair of black strapped shoes lay under this robe.
Beside
that was the bed, and on the bed was the occupant of this cottage.
The woman had a youthful face and body under the loose sheet and
white silky nightgown, but there were three strips of gray in her
reddish brown hair. She was still asleep, even as the sunlight
greets her. But as the sunbeam crosses her still dreaming body,
something else on the bed stirred with a start.
It was a smoky gray cat, which the sunlight woke up. The cat’s head bolted straight up, eyes blinking and ears twitching, until she finally let out a silent yawn. The cat then crept up to the woman he was sharing the bed with and started to lick her face.
The sensation of sandpaper tongue against human cheek made woman stir. She gave a soft moan and a long stretch as she opens her emerald eyes.
“Ooooooi. G’ mornin’ t’ ya, Kira, me lassie,” she coos to the purring cat rubbing up against her face. The woman’s voice was thick with Irish accent, thicker than even the folks of Ireland would have. No, this accent had a hint of an older time to it.
She got out of the bed and stretched again in her silk gown before she took it off. Even with the windows open, she knew she didn’t mind walking around clad only in sky. With seven-eighths of the cottage surrounded by forest, the only beings that would see her would be from nature, something she believes is a part of herself. Such is her way.
“YEEOOOOOW!”
She looked down as Kira rubbed herself against her bare leg.
“All right you,” she said. “I’ll feed y’ after I get me self dressed, y’know?”
Kira bounded to the main room as the woman pulled a dresser drawer open. She pulled out a pair of panties by random and put them on. The pick of stockings required more thought: “Oy, it ain’t Halloween, Shazell, and y’ ain’t gonna be introducing a child to Wicca t’day. Let’s go fo’ the basic white. There y’ go.”
She then went to the coat hanger, took the purple robe into her arms, and made herself decent, pulling the sash snug around the waist of the robe as her stockinged feet slid into the shoes. Hanging in the same peg as the robe was a pentagram pendant, which she pulled over her head. The pentagram fell between her now-covered breasts, pointing straight up to guide any frontal looks back up to her eyes.
She was put on her pointy hat as she caught up to Kira over at the tiny kitchen. It consisted of a small refrigerator, a stove, a pair of sinks, and a cupboard. When she opened the cupboard to find that there was only one can of cat food-always moist-remaining inside.
“Well, m’ lassie,” she told Kira as she poured the contents of the can into the cat food dish next to the water bowl, “It looks like I be going to the store.”
“Yow,” Kira said as she started to nibble at the food.
“Y’ take care of the place ‘til I be back,” she said as she picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door. It’s not like Kira would need to do much guarding, not too many people know of this cottage. Woods surrounded it, after all, and the only way out is to a back alley, which is about a half-mile from the nearest busy street, about a couple blocks from the nearest store. It’s very hard to find, and those who know it would have a warning in the back of their head from trying anything with it. Shazell is a witch, after all.
Being a witch didn’t keep Shazell from going out in plain sunlight, though. She walked down the alleyway with her head held high and her eyes closed, humming a tune that can only come from communing with the spirits around her, oblivious to the occasional stare from anyone in their backyard.
One
stare, however, was more welcomed.
“Shazell! Nice to see you this morning.”
It was a neighbor who was working in a backyard garden.
“Brightest blessings, Karen, how’s your wrists?”
The middle-aged woman got up and flexed her hands. “They’re feeling great! I’ve been fighting this arthritis for almost three years, and tried everything outside of surgery. But your homemade salve was the only thing that worked!”
“I be glad that it does, my Lady. I think I have that vat filled out f’ ya.” Shazell dug through her purse to pull out a good-sized container and handed it to Karen.
When she took it, Karen had pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to Shazell. “Now, Shazell, I know you don’t accept much money, but this is less than what I spent in a month for my arthritis pain not too long ago, and this filled vat’ll keep me for more than three. Besides, you were about to go to the grocery store, weren’t you?”
“Aye, that I be,” Shazell said as she put the fifty in her purse. “I be surprised about me herbalore being so popular with ye, my dear.”
“Well, Shazell, you heard of the full circle Modern Medicine has been going,” Karen said. “It seems that we're going back to the roots and herbs that were working all along after modern medicine either stops working or ends up being worse than the disease.”
“Ye be right. The world’ll always go back to their roots, and I like t’ be their guide. And whom do we have here? Happy to Meet ye, little laddie.”
Behind Karen was a young boy, could be her son or grandson, who was watching in the distance. He was obviously cautious of strangers, especially strangers dressed as Witches. But he gathered enough courage to come closer as Karen, his mother, introduced Shazell to him.
Shazell knelt down to his level and giving a warm smile under her pointy hat. She hoped that she’d be close enough to give him one of her good luck charms she carried around for kids.
“Y’ needn’t be ‘fraid of me, m’ boyo,” Shazell said as the boy came up to thank her for helping his mother. “It ain’t like I have a good reason t’ turn ye into a newt or something.”
The boy gave a nervous laugh. “You’re a real witch, aren’t you?”
“That I be, my laddie.”
“Wow . . . you talk to spirits?”
“Every day, and they make great conversations.”
“What do they say?”
Shazell gave his mother a mischievous glance: “What’s this kid doing standing on m’ grave?”
That made the boy jump from where he was standing
at, right into an embrace in Shazell’s arms and a bright laugh
in her eyes, which was infectious toward the child.
“Y’ have to excuse them, these spirits, they tend to pull tricks on you. Here, let me give you something.”
She took one of her good luck charms, a pin of a four-leaf clover, and pinned it on his shirt. She then gave him a kiss on his forehead. “May you have good luck today, child.”
She got up and carried on her way after that, glad that she made at least one good deed for the day. Spreading random acts of senseless kindness is part of her magick, which allows the spirits around her to send such kindness’ to her as well. Such as getting paid for her potions and salves enough to eat.
---To Be Continued
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FoxFire” Gonterman credit for this original work, b) It is not
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