Spell Song: An Enchanting Urban Fantasy

by J. F. Forrest

  “Okay, okay, I got it. Milky Ways and Dr. Pepper. Now, back in the bag!”

  Mikki slid her head down into the backpack and Sami turned to see the clerk staring at her.

  “Sorry,” she sniffed, “pets these days…so demanding.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She laid the stuff on the counter and he rang it up. She paid him and hurried out to the car. Almost a hundred years without using magic in public and now she’d done it two times in two days…and in spectacular fashion. She slid into the car and pulled out of the lot.

  She clicked on her GPS and scrolled down to favorites. She found The Farm and punched GO. She hadn’t planned to go, but it was high time to visit the parental units and get some answers on all of this. RayRay was probably already there, so it would be a veritable family reunion. A little time on The Farm would be refreshing. Beside her, Mikki munched on her Milky Ways and took a big gulp of Dr. Pepper. She belched and grinned up at Sami.

  “Mikway, deepee,” she purred.

  “You’re no squirrel monkey are you, Mikki?”

  Mikki raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. She went back to eating her candy. Sami locked in the cruise control and turned on the radio. Ironically, the Cars were singing about Magic. Sami cranked it up.

  “I gotta get you back to The Farm and see what mom and dad have to say about this.”

  Mikki belched again peeling her lips back in a wide grin and held up a tiny paw in a cute little thumbs-up gesture.

  6

  Hooked On A Feeling

  RayRay turned the dial on the ancient radio in Doris Miller’s mint green 1956 Dodge Royal. She was humming to a tune that was trying to overtake the static coming out of the tinny speakers. Although he couldn’t see the dial, he could hear the stations come and go as he turned it. Finally, the signal cleared and settled in on the Doobie Brothers classic, Black Water. He smiled and leaned back on the creamy leather bench seat.

  “Now, that’s a good one, RayRay.”

  “I like it too.”

  He heard Doris’ thumbs start tapping the steering wheel and she began to mumble out words that didn’t exactly match the lyrics, but he didn’t mind. He sang a harmony part for her when the song reached the chorus. She smiled at him.

  “Ah, such a sweet voice you have, RayRay. I knew you could play instruments, but I never knew you could sing.”

  “Yes, I have been able to sing very well all of my life.”

  “It’s a talent of the Solarian Elves, you know?”

  “That is what my mother told me.”

  The Doobies faded into the ooga-chaka opening chant of Blue Swede’s infectious song, “Hooked On A Feeling”.

  Doris reached down and turned it up.

  “Oh, my, this reminds me so much of my husband, Arthur. He used to sing it to me when we were younger.”

  RayRay knew Arthur had been gone for quite a few years, but he didn’t know what had happened to the man. Doris had always come to the Old City Java café alone, even when her husband was still around. RayRay didn’t think Sami or the other café regulars had ever met the man. And when she mentioned him, no one dared ask what had happened to him for fear of upsetting Doris.

  The old lady was singing now in a dreamy, far away voice.

  “Doris?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry. I was thinking back to the old days. What is it, RayRay?”

  RayRay took a deep breath.

  “I was wondering…about Arthur.”

  “A sweet, sweet man he was when he was around.”

  RayRay waited to see if she would add more…but she only continued to hum along to the radio. He shifted, the well-worn leather seat creaking under him. He cleared his throat.

  “So…how did Arthur die?”

  Doris sputtered out a laugh and smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Die? Oh, dear boy, he’s not dead.”

  RayRay cocked his head to the side and inhaled. He was about to ask another question, but Doris started laughing again.

  “No, no, Arthur is alive and well and living with that granola-munching hussy he ran off with from the Hooters up on Kingston Pike.”

  RayRay opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again.

  Finally, he looked in what he thought must be Doris’ direction and asked, “So, Arthur is not dead?”

  “Nope.”

  “He left you?”

  “Yup, up and left me for a no good, twenty-something hoochie mama from the Hooters.”

  RayRay reached his hand up and scratched his head.

  “A twenty-something Hooter’s girl? Wouldn’t Arthur be…about eighty?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “As in…sixty years older than this girl?”

  “Yup,” Doris puffed a heavy breath preparing to launch into a tirade, “I never met the wench, but I’m sure she had big, twenty-something year old hooters too. I mean, how’s a woman of my age supposed to compete with these young bimbos and all their plastic parts? Huh? We were married for fifty-seven years for cryin’ out loud. Isn’t that worth something? Even if my boobs do hang down to my waist, isn’t fifty-seven years of marriage worth more than—”

  She continued on as they drove, but RayRay spent the rest of the trip trying in vain to block her out and erase the image of Doris topless.

  After some time, RayRay heard Doris chuckle and finish with the words, “but he got his in the end, I suppose. I guess she got tired of his shriveled up body and left him for a movie producer in Hollywood. Can you believe it?”

  He coughed, “That is truly despicable, Doris.”

  “You’re tellin’ me, sonny.”

  She was quiet for a time, but then said, almost to herself, “Not sure where he is now, but he sent me a letter a couple of years ago. Never opened it, chucked it straight into the trash.”

  He could almost hear her shaking her head back and forth and grinding her teeth. He slurped his empty forty-four ounce Weigel’s soda cup and felt his nature calling.

  “Doris, I need to use the restroom. Is there somewhere we can stop soon?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. I’ve got a Depends on that’s been full for the last half hour threatening to overflow.”

  RayRay added this to the list of mental images to erase from his mind.

  “The next exit has a Denny’s. How ‘bout we stop, stretch our legs, and grab a couple of Grand Slam breakfasts? Good old-fashioned stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. Not that alfalfa sprout crap they sell at the Old City Java back home.”

  RayRay imagined he could feel his arteries clogging as they pulled off of I-40 West. Hope they’ll have a light menu I can order from…or some fruit or something.

  “So, where are we anyway?”

  “Fairview, an hour and a half or so out from The Farm.”

  RayRay felt his stomach tighten up. He was still trying to work out how he was going to tell his parents about the violin. He brushed his hand on the case sitting in the car beside him. He thought he could feel the power emanating from the centuries old artifact.

  A quick Google search of The Farm will reveal the circular boundary of the commune and almost nothing else. To those who don’t know any better, it will look like a round road with a forest in the middle. The ecovillage structures that make up The Farm are all built using the principles of permaculture design. In other words, they build them to be one with nature. Many of the buildings have grass growing on their roofs and hand-slathered mud on the walls. Picture Luke Skywalker’s home on Tatooine and that’s kind of what The Farm is…only in the forest…and only one sun. In 1971, a few hundred hippie types loaded up on vividly painted buses to travel to this eight square mile forest to live in harmony with nature. Why did they land in this particular grove of trees in the middle of nowhere in Summertown, Tennessee? Magic.

  Because whether they know it or not, humans are drawn to holy places, places of wonder, and places of magic. They might not consciously understand why, but they feel it just the same. When they stand
on the edge of the Grand Canyon staring across the vast chasm in wonder or when the Northern Lights flash across the wintery night sky taking their breath away, they may not know what it is they are experiencing…but Incantors know. These places that draw humans like pilgrims to Mecca are usually on or near a Caulla. Those with magic in their blood almost always gather near them.

  Ninety-seven of the three hundred and twenty-two current residents of The Farm are magical creatures. Two of them are Mary and Wilmot Proctor, longtime Incantors of the Cantus Caulla known as The Farm. They had one biological daughter, Samantha Dawn Proctor, and one adopted son, RayRay Proctor. While Samantha shared their cocoa colored skin and dark amber eyes, RayRay was Japanese, and his eyes didn’t work at all. Thus, he could not see the welcome center when he and Doris pulled into the gravel parking lot in the early afternoon.

  RayRay had smelled The Farm long before they arrived. Compost piles, chicken coops, and organic gardening offer the nasally sensitive a truly novel experience. Breathing it all in, RayRay couldn’t help but smile at the memories that came rushing back. But it wasn’t only the commune experience that he felt…he felt the magic. The Caulla magic infiltrating the hippie community filled his body like air swelling in his lungs. Though he couldn’t see it with his eyes, he could feel it in his Elven blood. He took a deep breath and inhaled the power. No wonder Incantors lived near Caulla. It felt so good.

  “Well, dearie?” Doris patted his leg startling him out of his reverie, “We’re here.”

  “I know, I know. I am working out the best way to explain my decision to take the violin to school with me.”

  “Sweetie, I would say simple honesty is the way to go.”

  “Yes, of course. You are right as always.”

  She patted his leg again.

  “Do you need help getting inside?”

  “No, I am more at home here than I am anywhere in the world.”

  RayRay opened the heavy door of the vintage car, shouldered his backpack and slid the violin case out. He opened the brass snaps on it and ran his fingers along the smooth, dark wood of the instrument. It was a thing of beauty. He clicked it closed and got out of the car. He closed the door and leaned into the window.

  “Thank you so much for the ride, Doris. I will see you soon back in Knoxville.”

  “Of course you will, dearie. And I look forward to hearing you play again soon.”

  RayRay squeezed his fingers on the handle of the violin case. He wondered if his parents would ever let him play it again, let alone take it back to school with him. He tapped his cane on the rough-hewn steps of the welcome center. As a resident, he didn’t need to go in there, but he knew that was where his mother usually worked. She said she liked welcoming new people to the magic of The Farm and enjoyed the trippy seventies vibe of the building. He heard the bells tinkle as he opened the door and stepped in. Waiting a second for someone to greet him, RayRay stood inside on the hand-woven mat. He breathed in again smelling strawberry incense and patchouli mixed with the smell of fresh dirt and natural fertilizer. Strawberry poop, that’s what it smelled like. And he almost laughed at the smell. But no one greeted him, which was odd. There was usually someone peppy, bordering on giddy, to welcome visitors stationed at the desk.

  “Hello?” he called.

  Nothing. In fact, he knew there was no one there because his blindness had turned his ears into very sensitive radars. Walking into the room, he could picture the lobby. The cash register sat on a counter to the left, and shelves holding paintings, carvings, sculptures, drawings, and books written by The Farm’s residents flanked the reading circle on the left. In the center of the room, towered the welcome center’s star feature. The fireplace. Someone long ago had built it to look like a massive tree holding up the roof with its branches. And on the trunk, it had a Sid and Marty Krofft, H.R. Pufnstuf inspired face with psychedelic eyes, a broad stone nose. The fireplace opening and stone hearth served as its gaping mouth. If stonework could’ve been tie-dyed, it would’ve been. The effect was disconcerting to some and magical to others. Like with Gene Wilder’s portrayal of Willy Wonka, you could never really decide if you were scared or exhilarated.

  RayRay could feel warmth from the fire, but did not hear any crackling. It had burned down to embers, which meant no one had tended to it in quite a while. Strange. Where the heck is everyone?

  He took a few more steps into the room and called out again. Still nothing. Tapping his cane around the fireplace, he walked to the back. A storeroom and a small bathroom led out to the rear door. This bathroom contained The Farm’s only plumbing, as some visitors weren’t accustomed to the natural aroma of an eco-toilet. RayRay tapped on the restroom door thinking the clerk on duty might have needed a break. It swung open. Not in use.

  He found the back door ajar and the screen door swaying in the cool breeze. Something’s wrong here. He eased down the small concrete stairs onto the field that led toward the commune. The path was familiar under his feet and he hurried toward the ecohostel. Surely someone would be in there. Outsiders could stay in the hostel and go through training to learn the environmentally sound living techniques used by The Farm’s residents. Many found it to be too much nature and left in a few days. Some stayed a week and missed their phones and tablets too much to stay. But a very few stayed longer. If they became one with the mission, the vision, of The Farm, they could apply to stay forever and be full time residents. This was exceedingly rare. However, more rare than this, was for the hostel to be completely empty. RayRay stood in the door and called out. No one. Not a single person in the welcome center or the hostel.

  The hairs on RayRay’s neck began to stand up. This was not good. And that’s when he began to hear the voices. They started as a murmur and then grew to a louder, more raucous chorus of shouts and whistles. He could tell the noise was coming from the direction of the pit. The Farm maintained that it was a place of nonviolence and pacifism and that any conflicts or disagreements would be solved in a nonviolent manner. However, if such a disagreement arose that could not be settled in a simple meeting, the person who felt wronged could issue a Challenge to the offender. Challenges could not be denied and both people would agree to settle the matter in the pit. The pit was exactly what it sounded like: a hole in the ground. Composted material, leaves, grass, brush trimmings, food scraps including fruits, vegetables, peelings, bread, cereal, coffee grounds, tea leaves, dust from sweeping, old herbs and spices, and anything else that was organic waste got thrown into the pit. This also pertained to the manure (both animal and human) produced in the commune. The decaying material created a foul-smelling sludge that looked like a cross between motor oil and a Wendy’s Frosty. While only two feet deep, the composted material proved to be a motivational substance in which to hold the Challenge matches. The rules were simple. Two people entered and wrestled until one of them said the word “uncle,” meaning that they surrendered. The person who lost the Challenge agreed that the other was the victor and they would abide by the community’s support of that person’s position. In other words, the other residents of The Farm would side with the winner. Since the official start of the community, all disagreements had been settled in the pit safely, without harm to any of the participants. Incantors who lived at The Farm had an unspoken rule as well: no magic allowed.

  RayRay ran toward the dome-like structure that housed the pit and found that all The Farm’s residents were there. The noise was deafening as they all cheered on their chosen combatant. RayRay heard cheers and calls for both sides and was immediately shocked at what he heard.

  “You show her, Wilmot!”

  “Grab him by the jewels, Mary!”

  “Don’t let that hussy get the best of you, Wil Proctor!”

  “Get him where it hurts, Mary!”

  Yes, RayRay’s parents were in the pit…fighting each other. As he heard more from the crowd, he realized that the cheers for his father were all from the men and the cheers for his mother, you guessed it, were a
ll from the women. This continued for several minutes until RayRay heard the voice of Artemis Baen over the crowd.

  “Order! Order! This Challenge has been issued by Wilmot Proctor against Mary Proctor and is valid in the eyes of the community. Do all those present agree to abide by the rule and support the victor?”

  Even RayRay’s sensitive ears could’ve heard a pen drop on the dirt floor of the pit.

  “Well, do ye?”

  Artemis Baen was a former environmental rights lawyer, biomedical engineering professor, paramedic, brick mason, flour miller, and horse trainer who served as the de facto leader of The Farm even though it was primarily run as a social collective. As such, he led classes in permaculture, ecovillage design, and natural building. He also served as the mediator in the pit Challenges.

  Murmurs of grudging dissent spread through the gathering. Artemis waited long enough for everyone to agree.

  “Then, I shall state the disagreement and the parties, Wilmot and Mary Proctor, shall have as much time as it takes to determine the victor in the pit. Once it has begun, no one shall leave until the outcome is decided.”

  More murmuring. RayRay began to edge his way around the outside of the dome toward the voice of Artemis Baen. He sure wasn’t going to get caught up in the argument, but he wanted to know what the heck was going on here. As he got closer, he could hear Artemis unroll a piece of paper that presumably had the disagreement written on it.

  “It is hereby stated that Wilmot Proctor and Mary Proctor are in irreconcilable disagreement on the following point: the neutral position of the toilet seat lid.”

  The crowd interrupted Artemis as he read the words shouting UP or DOWN.

  “It should be down!”

  “Why is down any different than up?”

  “Down is the closed position!”

  “It takes no greater effort to put it down than up!”

  And so it continued until Artemis again shouted over the crowd.

  “ORDER! There will be order in this place! Now, you all know that we are here to decide the issue and we must all abide by the victor’s claim. Wilmot Proctor states that the lid should be in the up position and Mary Proctor says it should be left in the down position.”