by Lori Woods
I glance into the back seat. “Did you hear that? You have a name now. It’s Broom Hilda,” I say, recovering my composure a little. “Maybe coming to grandma’s cottage isn’t such a good idea. Hmmm, it didn’t work out so well for Red, did it?” I add half-joking, half-seriously. Actually, sleeping in the library might be fun.
Another curve and suddenly I spot the birch-shingled cottage.
“I remember it!” I say to Snowball at seeing the big oak tree and the green tile roof. All at once, I feel I’m at home as I pull off the road and onto the overgrown driveway. The closer I get, the more signs of neglect I see. The image before me now is a dilapidated version of my childhood memory of Granny Maycomber’s cottage.
I open the door. Snowball jumps over me and rushes to the front of the cottage. “Just a second,” I say as I open the back door of the car and grab the broomstick. “Broom Hilda, I think I’m going to be doing a lot of sweeping before we go to bed.” I imagine layers of dust covering everything in the cottage after years of neglect. “And I was hoping just to come in and put on a tea kettle for some tea and biscuits before going to bed,” I say out loud as I walk to the door.
Snowball meows.
“Let me get the door unlocked,” I tell Snowball. “What’s your rush?” The truth is I also want to get inside. I feel as though the trees are watching me.
The moment I crack the door a few inches, Snowball bolts inside. I follow her at only a slightly slower pace and stop in my tracks. The cottage is clean, as if someone just finished dusting and polishing the furniture. I slowly glance around. The white tablecloth is spotless, the leather sofa gleaming. Wood is stacked in a box near the fireplace. It looks as though someone just stepped out for a walk in the woods and will return in a moment.
Creepy!
I look around for Snowball, but she’s found herself a hiding place.
“Well, looks like I’m not going to need the old broomstick,” I say as I lean it in a corner. “Let’s see if there’s electricity?” I turn the switch on a floor lamp with a tin lampshade. It lights up. “Okay, well I guess I will have a cup of Earl Grey tea,” I say as I head for the stove.
While I wait for the kettle to boil, I check out the rest of the cottage. I’m even more amazed to find the closet in the bedroom is fully stocked with clothes in my size. And there’s more stuff here than I even own back home. Okay, so at least I won’t have to worry about the clothes situation.
A few moments later, I’m sitting on the sofa, drinking tea and eating stale biscuits I found in one of the kitchen cabinets.
The howl of a wolf causes me to spill hot tea in my lap as I jump when I hear the dreadful sound. Then I hear a scratching at the front door. Please, please, don’t tell me that fairy tales come true in Nightshade.
7
I grab Broom Hilda, now realizing she is a powerful weapon, and advance toward the front door as the scratching and whining continues. “Okay, I’m coming out and you better scat!” I yell as I open the door.
The small wolf glances up at my face for a moment. Then he lunges at me, but I am ready. I whack him on the top of his head with Broom Hilda! He yelps as the broom knocks him onto his back. I lift Boom Hilda to give him the blow he deserves.
“Stop! Don’t hit my son! Stop!” a man shouts at me.
I glance under the oak tree and see the man who owns the gas station running toward me. “Please don’t hit him again,” he pleads as he holds his hands up in a sign of surrender.
I glance back down at the small wolf, but he’s no longer a wolf; he’s the little boy from the veterinarian’s office. He has his hands over his head and is crying as he stares up at me with beautiful brown eyes.
“Are you all right, Ray?” the man asks, kneeling down beside the little boy.
“Daddy, the bad witch hit me with that wicked broom she’s holding.”
Bad witch! Bad witch! The little boy’s accusation sears a painful path through my brain.
“Oh no. I’m a white witch,” I find myself saying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that you frightened me,” I say, staring down at the little cupid.
“Really? I frightened you!” the little boy says, suddenly brightening up. He glances at his father. “See, I’m a big bad wolf. I frightened the old witch.”
Old witch. I have to force myself not to whack the little brat again with Broom Hilda. Old witch!
“Thank you. I’m sorry if we frightened you. I was just taking Ray out for his first run in the woods since his transformation,” his father says.
“Ah, is the vet with you also?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t seen him. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just thought I saw him earlier…” I answer and suddenly realize that the gas station owner is also wearing black jogging pants and a black hoodie. Don’t they sell any clothes here that aren’t black? I was going to invite both of them in for tea, but seeing that the father is wearing black, I change my mind. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a long, long day for me.”
“Yes, I suspect it has. I heard about Rachel’s murder. Terrible, terrible. They say you are the new librarian now.”
“Yes, I sort of got sucked into the position. I’m sure it’s only temporary. I still want to get back to Potomac.”
“Are you sure about that?” the man says as he reaches down, takes Ray’s arm, and pulls him to his feet. “Come on, you’ve had enough exercise for one night.” He turns and walks away, still holding the boy by his arm. “See you soon, Suzy.”
“Daddy, I still think she’s a bad witch,” I hear the boy whisper.
“Snowball, you come out of hiding this moment and tell me I’m not a bad witch!” I shout as I slam the door. “The little brat. I should have whacked him a second time!”
I start to put Broom Hilda back in the corner, but at the last moment an idea comes into my head. Witches ride broomsticks! “Snowball, you better come out if you want to see me ride Broom Hilda.”
“Meow!”
“Yeah, I thought that would bring you out,” I say as Snowball appears from nowhere. “Okay, how do I do this?” I say as I throw my leg over the broomstick like I used to do to a stick with a pony’s head at the orphanage. “Okay, let’s go, Broom Hilda. Fly!”
Nothing!
“Meow.”
“I don’t know, Snowball, I’ve never ridden a broomstick before,” I say as I walk around the room with the broomstick between my legs. Maybe there’s some magical word I have to say. “You know, instructions didn’t come with the broom, Snowball.”
I try to think but I don’t know any magical words. Until I crossed from the other side, I didn’t even believe in magic. Heck, I’m still not sure if I do. Finally, after running around the room shouting every magic word I have ever heard uttered in movies and getting no results, I get off Broom Hilda.
“Meow.”
“You want to try?” I snap. “Maybe she isn’t a flying broom. Maybe she’s only good for whacking bad guys over the head and sweeping up dirt.” I stick Broom Hilda back in the corner. “Anyway, I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I say as I head for the bedroom with Snowball following me. The name Broom Hilda makes me think of Wagner, and suddenly I start humming ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’.
Just as I reach the door to the bedroom, I hear a strange whisking sound behind me. I turn around and scream! Broom Hilda is suspended in midair behind me! Snowball hisses and runs for cover. I’m ready to dash into the bedroom if the broomstick makes a threatening move, but it just remains suspended in midair, as though waiting.
“What brought you to life?” I ask aloud “No, it couldn’t be me humming the ‘Ride of the Valkyries’.” I don’t really expect an answer and I don’t get one.
“Now if I touch you, you’re not going to whack me, are you?” I ask as I slowly approach the broomstick. I reach out timidly and touch the handle. Nothing happens so I press down on it. I find I can’t budge it. I put more of my weight on the broomstick and
still it remains suspended waist-high in midair.
“Snowball, are you seeing this?”
A muffled meow comes from the bedroom. I glance around and see Snowball peeking out from under the bed.
“Coward.”
I turn back around and move along the side of Broom Hilda. “Now you’re not like a horse the first time someone rides it, are you? You’re not going to buck me off or something?”
Again, I don’t expect or get a response.
“Here goes,” I call out to Snowball as I throw my right leg over the broomstick and attempt to sit on top of it like I am riding a horse. I stay astride it for only a moment before I slip and find myself hanging upside down like a bat. I can see into the bedroom where Snowball is out from under the bed, watching me with what I can only say is an amused expression.
“You think you can do better?” I snap. “It’s not as easy as it looks. I’m sure most witches learn to ride a broomstick when they are little kids,” I say, letting go with one hand and putting my palm on the floor to support me before releasing the other hand.
“Ouch!” I complain when I hit the floor. I glance at Snowball defiantly. “That’s just my first try.”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” I say and immediately get a hissing response from Snowball. “Sorry; bad choice of words. I’m stressed,” I tell Snowball as I go over and grab a kitchen chair and drag it across the room. I place it next to Broom Hilda. “Just think of it as training wheels,” I tell her and Snowball as I throw my leg over the broomstick again. This time, I balance myself by holding onto the back of the chair.
“Gee, no wonder witches are mean. This is really uncomfortable. Maybe I could install a bicycle seat,” I say.
Suddenly, Broom Hilda shudders under me.
“Kidding; just kidding. Don’t you go bucking me off, Hilda!”
The trembling subsides. “Kind of sensitive, aren’t you?” I mumble under my breath. “Okay, let me get the hang of this,” I say as I move around until I think I am perfectly balanced atop the broomstick. I let go of the chair. “Yes, yes,” I call out. “I’m getting the hang of it,” I say as I lean forward and grab the front of the broomstick’s handle in the position pictures always show witches riding brooms. “Okay, yeah, leaning forward and holding onto the handle gives me balance. Snowball, I’ve got this!”
Okay, what are the commands you give a broomstick. Is it the same ones as riding a horse? “Getty up, Broom Hilda! Gee or haw. Onward. Let’s go.”
I can feel Snowball watching me. “You better not be laughing at me, Snowball, or it’s no Meow Mix for a week,” I say in frustration.
Let me see. What activated Broom Hilda? Me humming ‘The Ride of the Valkyries,’ I think. Okay, let’s see what humming it again does.
I take a deep breath, grab hold of the broom handle with a vicelike grip, and then start humming, slightly off-key, ‘The Ride of the Valkyries.’
I scream as Broom Hilda zips forward. I scream again as I see us heading directly toward the wall. I think, Turn left. In a flash, the broomstick whips around in a circle, missing the wall. Stop! I think! One moment, I am on top of Broom Hilda, and the next I am airborne. I land on the sofa and bounce off onto the floor, dazed. I feel something warm nuzzling my face.
“Thanks for the support, Snowball, but I’m alright,” I say as I gently push her aside. I glance at Broom Hilda. “You did that on purpose. I know you did.”
The broomstick doesn’t move. It is suspended in midair, as though waiting for me to get back on.
“No, no, I’m not getting on you in the house,” I say, getting on my feet. I grab the handle of the broomstick. “Let’s take this horse and pony show outside,” I say and am mildly surprised when I am able to pull Broom Hilda toward the door. Just before I walk outside, I look back at Snowball. I pat the straw brush on the end of the broomstick. “You want to ride with me, Snowball?”
Snowball hisses and dashes back under the bed.
“You really are a coward, you know,” I say as I pull Broom Hilda out of the cottage and close the door. “Don’t wait up for me,” I call out to Snowball as I throw my leg over Broom Hilda.
8
As I climb onto Broom Hilda, I feel a rush of adrenaline. I’m frightened, but determined, as I take a deep breath and imagine my broomstick flying. I know in my bones that this is going to be a life-changing moment.
It happens. In an instant, Broom Hilda takes off like a rocket. I hold on for my life as we leave the ground, zip under the low-hanging branches of the big oak, and then soar skyward. I quickly find that I can control Broom Hilda with my mind. She obeys my mental commands as soon as I think them.
I want to fly high. Suddenly the broomstick is pointing at the full moon and I’m flying straight for it. I glance back and see nothing but darkness. I’m scared. Farther away, I see lights and head for them at a speed that threatens to rip me off Broom Hilda. Screwing my brows together, I concentrate on slowing down until the wind tearing at me is no longer hurricane-force. At this slower pace, I approach what I realize is Nightshade. I see the road to Granny Maycomber’s cottage and follow it back into town.
I laugh like a schoolgirl as I buzz the library.
I wonder if the dwarf sleeps back among the stacks somewhere.
“I’m a witch! I’m really a witch, Alford!” I shout down at the building.
Seeing the light on in a convenience store, I descend and Broom Hilda comes to a perfect landing a few feet from the front door. “Wow,” I say as I get off my broomstick, my legs a little shaky as I work to gain my equilibrium. I watch in awe as Broom Hilda turns into just an old-looking broomstick. I carry her through the door into the store, feeling thirsty and thinking maybe a carton of chocolate milk would be nice.
“No, I don’t need the floor swept. And you can’t hang out in here unless you buy something,” the grumpy old man with snow-white hair says, looking up from his comic book.
“Hmm, second childhood,” I say, nodding toward the comic book.
“What’s wrong with reading a comic book?” he asks, glancing at me over his wire rim glasses. “Buy something or get out. I don’t allow homeless people to hang out in my store.”
“I just want a carton of chocolate milk. Are you always so rude to customers?”
“No, only those that look like they just flew in on their broomsticks!” he snaps before dropping his eyes back to his comic book.
I can’t help but laugh. And once I start, I can’t stop. Suddenly I am laughing so hard that tears begin to roll down my face.
“Are you having some kind of fit or something?” he asks. “Either buy something or get out before I call Sheriff Dudley!”
That makes me laugh even louder, thinking of the floppy-eared horse-faced sheriff rushing over to evict me from the store. Finally, I gain enough control to make my way to the dairy cooler. I find a pint of chocolate milk, open it, and start drinking out of the carton as I head for the counter.
“A dollar!” the clerk snaps.
I reach for my purse.
My purse! It’s still in the car!
“Ah...”
“What? Do not dare tell me you don’t have any money after you opened and started drinking from the carton!” the old man says, closing his comic book as he takes off his glasses.
“Yeah, I forgot my purse.”
“Do you know how many times these old women in Nightshade have tried to pull that one on me?”
“No,” I say in subdued voice.
“Here, I’ll pay for the beautiful woman’s chocolate milk,” someone behind me says.
I turn around and find myself looking at the strangest man I’ve seen so far in Nightshade. His hair is midnight-black and looks even blacker against his moon-pale skin. His face is so beautiful he looks like a mannequin.
“My name is Val Kilmoor,” the man says, introducing himself. He is dressed in black pants and a black shirt, with a short, black cape.
“Suzy Maycomb
er,” I say, staring into his eyes, which seem to flash back and forth from green to blue. I have to force myself to glance away.
“Oh, the new librarian,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk.
“Yes,” I answer, but don’t look him in the eye even though I have a strong urge to do so.
“Bo, do you realize that you have been rude to your new librarian?”
Suddenly, the old man looks like someone stuck a hot-wire to him. His eyes are so big I think they are going to pop out of his head.
“You’re a witch? You did ride your broomstick here, didn’t you?” he says, stumbling over the words witch and broomstick.
“You got me! It’s my first time on a broomstick, and I did forget my purse,” I say.
“Oh, your money is no good here,” he says.
“Why? Because I’m a witch?”
No, because you’re the librarian. Witches are a dime a dozen in Nightshade, but there is only one white witch at a time, and she is always the librarian.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pay. I don’t like handouts,” I say. “Val, may I borrow a dollar until tomorrow, please?”
As Val puts a dollar on the counter beside the old man’s comic book, I notice the wooden cross hanging from a gold chain around his neck. Is he a priest?
“A Protestant minister,” he says, noticing that I am looking at the wooden cross. “And we are not celibate,” he adds and winks.
I spit the mouthful of chocolate milk out of my mouth in a mist as my face turns bright red.
“Sorry,” he says as he hands me his white hankie. “It’s clean.”
I wipe my mouth as I feel the flush leaving my face. “That was more information than I needed to know.” I try to sound stern but fail.
“It’s just when women realize that I’m a minister, they presume certain things that are incorrect,” Val says as he takes the hankie I offer back to him, now with brown spots. As he takes the hankie, he grabs my fingers with his other hand and lifts my hand to his mouth.