Pumpkins and Potions

by Tegan Maher

  “Why are you looking for a witch?” I asked again.

  The cape of his cloak whipped in the wind behind him. “Because a witch is the only one that can help me.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him how it was possible he hadn’t run into a witch before now, but he wasn’t finished.

  “Not just any witch. A witch that was prophesied to me while I was still of this world.

  “Okay, listen. While I do usually enjoy the whole ominous thing, I’m not really up for it tonight. I’m tired, I’m wet, and I’m still pissed off at those witches behind me. If you could just cut to the chase, I’ll let you know if I can help you or not and then we can all be on our way.”

  “Days before I was beheaded for the murder of my betrothed—”

  “Whoa,” I held up a hand to stop him. “You murdered your fiancé? That’s how you lost your head?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he boomed, the fire lighting up the darkness in the jack-o-lantern. “I would never have hurt her. I love her.” He grew quiet for a moment, and I realized the whimpering from the worm twins had finally stopped.

  “A few days before, a witch stopped me in the village and told me that something bad was coming. Something that I couldn’t stop. I disregarded her, of course. I even laughed in her face. That made her angry and she swore then that I would spend eternity without my love unless I found the white-haired witch by the sea.”

  The black horse gave a light whiny of condemnation.

  “I was arrested and sentenced to death, but I didn’t even care then. I didn’t want to live if it meant living without my darling. Mere seconds before my beheading, I looked out into the crowd and saw the witch smiling at me. Afterward, before my soul returned to this world, my head was stolen and so they were only able to bury my body.”

  “Your head was stolen?” Minnie asked.

  “I believe it was the witch carrying out her curse, but I’ll never know the truth. She put a protection around herself and died not long after. I was told that I carried the curse with me in death, and that I couldn’t cross over until I was released.”

  “So, you’ve just been trapped her on earth without a head searching for a witch with white hair?” Dorothy came up behind me, her face etched with pity.

  “That is correct. I had to either find my head and return it to my body or find the white-haired witch to free me. That was the rules of the curse.”

  “Pretty strong curse,” Judith mused.

  “If she was from one of the powerful lines and she turned to dark magic, I’m not at all surprised that her curse has lasted this long,” I said.

  “You see, when I was a boy, my mother told me once that I must stay out of the woods after dark on All Hallows Eve. She said that was when the witches would come out to play. So every year I visit as many towns by the sea as I can, scouring the woods for the white-haired witch.”

  “Um, I don’t mean to burst your bubble because I think you’ve already had enough of that for one lifetime, but as women age, their hair can turn white. I grabbed Dorothy by the arm and shoved her forward pointing at her head with my freehand.

  “See, old woman, white hair.”

  She lifted her hand to her throat and glared at me.

  “I’m not lying,” I said.

  He made a throaty noise that resembled a chuckle. “Yes, I’m aware. There’s more you see. She told me that the white-haired witch would be the most powerful I’d encounter. That I would be able to sense it. I was much farther out there in the forest, looking for any sign of witches in this town, when I felt a strange sensation pulling me in this direction. I’d never felt it before and I decided to follow it. Then I encountered a few young men who turned into coyotes and I was afraid they would frighten you away with all of their hysterics. By the time I made it here, the feeling wasn’t gone completely, but it was almost just a whisper. That is, until you came back.”

  “So that’s why you believe I’m the witch you’re looking for?”

  “It is.”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Dorothy. “I don’t suppose this witch gave you any instructions to pass along to me about how to break the curse?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I nodded, annoyed that this ancient old hag had strapped me with this responsibility without so much as a hint of how to fix it.

  “That’s okay. If she was able to place it, I can remove it.” I looked up at the sky and was pleased to see that the moon was perfectly overhead. That would make it easy to draw a little extra something from the universe.

  I heard the sound of feet shuffling in the dirt behind me and I freed Helena and Minerva so they could join the circle forming around me.

  The horseman stepped back, the light in his jack-o-lantern blazing to life. Once the coven had completed the circle by holding hands, I drew in their magic like inhaling a breath of air. I could feel the moon’s energy boosting me up and once I felt as if I might burst, I forced every ounce of magic at the horseman.

  The light in his eyes raged for the briefest moment and then, he was gone, the jack-o-lantern thudding to the ground with finality. We stood in silence, staring at the pumpkin.

  “Does that mean it worked?” I heard someone murmur.

  I glanced up from the pumpkin, noticing that the horse was gone as well, and spotted a man dressed in the horseman’s cloak standing under an evergreen, as if stunned.

  I lifted my arm and waved, and he came bounding over, a smile taking over his face.

  He stopped at the edge of the forest as if he wasn’t allowed to come any further.

  “You did it.”

  “I did. I guess the old hag that cursed you was right.”

  “Most old hags are,” Minnie said, without an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Thank you,” he said, raising his hand in a final wave.

  “Wait!” I called out.

  He paused, turning halfway to meet my gaze.

  “I have to know. Why the jack-o-lantern? I mean, of all things.”

  A half smile crept on his face. “As I said, I searched for you on All Hallows Eve. What’s easier to find on All Hallows Eve than a pumpkin?”

  He started to fade, and the last image I saw was him shooting me a wink before he turned around and scooped up the beautiful young ghost woman leaping into his arms.

  Once he was gone, we stood in silence for a few moments. Once I was satisfied he was really gone, I clapped my hands together.

  “Well, there’s my good deed for the day. Anyone up for some Halloween candy? I have two full bags at my place.”

  We spent the hours until dawn stuffing ourselves with candy and alternating between laughing and bickering. It was just exactly as it should have been.

  Dru

  “That’s a crazy story, Granny,” I’d been leaning forward, raptured by her tale and when it was finished, I fell back against the couch.

  “It’s definitely one none of us will forget,” she said, her eyes sliding to the front door just as the bell tinged.

  Dorothy and Minnie wandered in, arguing about something or other, followed by a stream of coven members all chatting and laughing.

  Granny and I exchanged a smile.

  “You never did tell me what you’re doing tonight,” I said.

  She looked over at her friends and then back to me. “Oh, I suppose I’ll just stay in tonight. Someone has to keep an eye on the lot of you.”

  Want to Read More?

  You can find the first book in the Blackwood Bay Witches series, Haunted and Hexed, on Amazon HERE

  You can see a full list of Misty Bane’s books on Amazon HERE

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  Apple Bobbing Horror

  Mona Marple

  George Mansley’s house is always a place you’d kill to spend Halloween. Except this year, it seems like someone’s done just that when one of the props turns out to be a genuine dead body.
Can Connie and Sage work out whodunnit in time to get back home for their own trick or treaters?

  1

  “Where’s Herbert?” Sage asked. She’d been in the pantry for long enough that I’d forgotten what she went in there for.

  “Hmm?” I asked. I was emptying jumbo sized bags of candy into a huge bowl, while performing the occasional taste test on the varieties I liked. For food safety reasons, of course.

  “Herbert. I can’t find him,” Sage said.

  I paused. The name rang a distant bell in my mind, but I couldn’t place it.

  “You don’t remember Herbert?”

  “Sure, I do, I just… erm, no I don’t.”

  She rolled her eyes and floated across the room towards me. “Herbert’s the life-size butler figure! How can you not remember him? He comes to life when a candy is taken out of his tray. It freaks everyone out.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled. “Yeah, he broke.”

  “He broke?”

  “Let’s just say there was an accident getting him into the loft and he went to the great Halloween graveyard in the sky,” I offered a weak smile. It was unlike Sage to be so attached to inanimate objects. “Help me put up the last decorations?”

  “What’s the point with no Herbert around?” Sage asked. “Did you even try to fix him?”

  An image of Herbert lying at the bottom of the attic ladder, his plastic body broken into a dozen pieces, came to me, and I grimaced. “He was gone, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey! Have you been eating this candy?” She asked, and that was the end of Herbert. Sage’s mind was like a butterfly, always moving, flapping around to the next thing. She’d been like that when she was alive, and she sure hadn’t changed since she died and started haunting me.

  “I most definitely have,” I admitted. “Consider it quality control.”

  “You think I should walk through the front door like I did last year?” She asked.

  “If you want,” I said, “but take it steady. You tired yourself out last year.”

  “True,” she agreed. Forcing herself to walk through a solid object drained Sage’s energy quick, and as entertaining as it was seeing the teenage trick or treaters squeal and run away, I’d prefer she not do it. She was my sister, after all. My annoying, eternally-young ghost of a sister, and I wanted her healthy.

  Plus, everyone could see spirits in Mystic Springs. So the gag was amusing, but it was probably repeated in at least half a dozen houses in the town.

  I poured the last bag of candy into the bowl and gave the contents a stir, so the varieties mixed together. Things had been different back in my day. Now, it was all individually wrapped candy bags and a whole list of the things that kids didn’t want included. I’d gone trick or treating once in my whole childhood. Most houses had ignored my knocking, and the few that had answered seemed confused by my presence on their doorstep in a homemade cat costume. One old dear of a woman had retreated into her kitchen and returned with a plum. She’d passed it over to me, her skin touching the bare fruit, and I’d happily eaten it - unwashed! - as I skipped across to the next house. Now the candy had to be organic and safe and kids didn’t fail to express their disappointment if their favourite kind was already all gone.

  “Are we finished?” Sage asked.

  “Sure,” I said. I shot one last glance towards the mirror. I was dressed all in black and had hand-drawn whiskers across my cheeks. It was a weak costume, even I knew that, but I felt too self-conscious to put on a full outfit. I eyed Sage. I didn’t remember what she was dressed as, but every year it was similar - a sexy something. A sexy nun, a sexy nurse, a sexy firefighter… “Let’s go.”

  Every year, we decorated the house early so that we could walk through the neighbourhood and see the other houses before the trick and treating started. The town of Mystic Springs took its trick or treating responsibilities seriously and the few residents who didn’t decorate didn’t tend to stay long.

  We laughed at the Sullivan house, where their life-size Santa and his reindeers had been put up on the roof as if they’d forgotten which special occasion it was. The Sullivans always did something kooky for Halloween. Sometimes their sense of humour landed, other times it missed the mark completely. Three years before, they’d put up NO ENTRY signs at the end of their lawn, and filled the path with traps, including a real trap door that Mr Sullivan’s mother-in-law claimed she had almost fallen down.

  Past the Sullivans, there were the regular houses with spiders hanging from trees, motion-activated witches hidden around corners, and just one house that sat in regular darkness.

  “Who lives there again?” Sage asked.

  I shrugged. We were a few streets away from home and my knowledge of the residents on this street wasn’t great. “Wasn’t it old woman Nancy? I hope she’s okay in there.”

  “No!” Sage exclaimed. “Old Nancy moved into a nursing home a couple of years ago. Maybe it’s empty.”

  I glanced back down towards the house and saw a small dog jump into the window. Not empty, after all. How did my dead sister have a better knowledge of the town gossip than I did? It had always been that way when she was alive of course, she was the outgoing sister, the one who made friends and courted gossip as if it was her life force. But even in her after life? That hardly seemed fair.

  We came across a couple I didn’t know, clearly mid-argument. The woman stood on the front door with her arms crossed, mouth contorted as she flung an insult towards the weary looking husband who gazed at us eagerly, as if hoping we’d somehow intervene and save him from the trouble he was in.

  “You’ve done it all wrong, Dean!” The woman called. She didn’t sound angry as much as exhausted, as if she’d been having the same argument for longer than even she could be bothered for.

  “Come on, babe, it looks okay,” he pleaded.

  “Okay? When has okay ever been good enough? Is that how we want to live, Dean? Really?”

  Sage and I eyed each other and I walked a little faster.

  “Wow, she’s a whole load of fun,” Sage exclaimed with a laugh when we were somewhere near being out of earshot.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re nearly at George Mansley’s. I can’t wait to see what he’s done this year.”

  George Mansley was the self-appointed king of Halloween in Mystic Springs. Every year, his decorations got bigger and better, and I was excited to see what he’d got planned this year.

  2

  George opened the door himself, which was a sign of how early we’d arrived. Later on, the door would be left open so that guests could roam around on their own, anticipating the point where he’d jump out at them and offer them glasses of his spiced pumpkin punch, which was as legendary as his haunted house.

  “Well hey there neighbours!” George gushed. He was a goofy kind of man with a moustache that looked like it was built to sweep the room, and thick glasses. “Welcome to Casa Mansley, the Haunted House of Horrors!”

  “Wow,” I breathed. George had covered every inch of his house with cobwebs, old fashioned photographs, and other decorations to make the place look old and abandoned. He turned and led us into the kitchen and I had to brush some of the cobwebs from my face. In the kitchen, a cauldron full of creamy orange liquid sat on the stove and he ladled a spoonful into a glass and handed it across to me. “I added a new ingredient this year, but don’t ask me what it is. I’ll have to kill you if I say!”

  I laughed. He repeated that joke every year, and yet the spiced pumpkin punch never changed taste. I took a sip. “It’s delicious George, and this place looks incredible as always.”

  He leaned down to stroke a cat as black as soot.

  “Cute kitty,” I said. The cat padded across to me and I reached down to give it a fuss. “Well hello, cute baby. Aren’t you cute? Yes you are! What do they call you, huh?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t have a name,” George said with a smile.

  “No way,” I said. “She looks too healthy to be a stray. You got
ta have an owner, right, baby?”

  “She’s my cat,” George said. “I just didn’t name her.”

  “Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Well how the heck do you call her in for dinner?” Sage shared none of my concerns around being tactful.

  George shook his head a little and laughed. “Us humans can be mighty vain, thinking the whole world should dance to our tune. I don’t see why I have power over an animal to choose its name.”

  “Well, that’s great and all, but seriously, how does she know when to come in?”

  George eyed the cat, and she really was a beautiful specimen. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green. “I guess she’s pretty smart. A hungry belly usually makes its way to the kitchen. Do you know I hand bake all of her food? Right here every Sunday, if you ever were passing by. I always say the secret ingredient is love!”

  “That’s really great, George,” I said. He was a single guy, no children, and I was glad that he had some company around the house.

  He positioned himself in front of the kitchen island, where a half-carved pumpkin was surrounded by intricate tools. “Don’t mind me, I have the last few pumpkins to carve.”

  “That’s quite the kit you’ve got,” I said, because I knew enough about men to know that they always wanted to be flattered about their tools.

  “Oh, this little set?” George said, but his eyes lit up. “I even got my initials on them, you see?”

  I looked over at one of the tiny - but sharp - utensils. There, indeed, was an elaborately hand lettered GM on the handle. “Nice!”

  I heard Sage yawn beside me.

  “I considered the 99-piece set for a moment,” George whispered as if he was sharing a juicy piece of gossip. “But I think if something’s worth doing, it’s worth right!”

  “So, how many pieces did you get?” Sage asked.