The Little Leftover Witch

by Florence Laughlin

  “Would you?” She stared at him from her sharp green eyes.

  “We certainly would,” said Mr. Doon. “Now get into those pajamas and crawl into bed. And that’s an order.”

  “All right,” agreed Felina. “But I won’t take off my hat!”

  Mr. Doon laughed. “That’s your business,” he said.

  Refusing any help, Felina put on the pajamas and got into bed with Lucinda.

  Later, when Mr. Doon came in to check the covers, he smiled. On one pillow lay the golden head of his daughter. On the other, her hat askew, the dark head of Felina. Beside her, curled up in a black ball on the coverlet, was Itchabody.

  4

  Felina Goes to the Store

  Mr. Doon worked for the local newspaper. The next day, when he went down to the office, he put this ad in the paper.

  FOUND

  One very small witch with green eyes and black hair. Anyone interested contact George Doon on Mockingbird Lane.

  He had already reported the matter to the police and they asked him to bring Felina in to the station for investigation. So Felina went with Mr. Doon in his peacock-blue sports car. She wanted to take Itchabody along, but Mr. Doon got his “grown-up” expression ready, so Felina agreed to leave the cat at home.

  The police asked her a lot of questions, which she refused to answer. They took her fingerprints and her picture. They took a front view of her scowling little face and a side view of her profile. But every time the photographer snapped the camera she moved her head.

  They had to take seventeen shots and waste a lot of county film before they could get a likeness.

  “I’ll bet no one will claim this one,” muttered the sergeant as he typed out the bulletin.

  It wasn’t until after Felina had gone that he discovered the mysterious fingerprints on all the important papers on his desk. He spent the whole afternoon using ink remover. “Little demon,” said the sergeant.

  There were no replies to Mr. Doon’s ad. And no replies to the All-Points-Bulletin that the police circulated. There were rumors in town about a traveling band of gypsies having gone through. There were stories about a mysterious airplane accident in the hills and about a family being lost in a landslide.

  But nobody came forth to claim Felina. Either nobody had lost a witch that Halloween, or if anybody had, they didn’t want her back again.

  So Felina went on living with the Doon family. Lucinda was very happy about the whole thing. She thought it was wonderful to have a playmate. Even a witch who was sometimes cross.

  Lucinda liked to play house and she was always asking Felina to play with her.

  “You may have Betsey for your little girl,” she told the little witch one day. She took Betsey down from the shelf. Betsey was her second-best doll, somewhat old and battered but still very useful.

  Felina eyed Lucille, whom Lucinda was cuddling. Lucille was as gorgeous as a princess, with tiny high-heeled slippers on dainty plastic feet. Felina swept Betsey into a corner.

  “I don’t like dolls,” she declared. “They’re too silly. I like bats and cats. I’ll have Itchabody for my baby.”

  So Felina began to pretend that Itchabody was her doll. She asked Mrs. Doon for a scrap of black cloth and made a tiny witch’s hat for him. She tied it under his chin and to the back of his collar, so he couldn’t scratch it off.

  Naturally, Itchy wasn’t very much pleased at first. But Felina was a clever little witch. She asked Mrs. Doon to loan her a leftover sardine. She fed the cat a nibble at a time and said some magic words.

  In a twinkling old Itchabody was sound asleep in the doll buggy, under a blanket.

  Felina played happily with Lucinda that morning. She even took the cat along when they walked to the supermarket with Lucinda’s mother. Of course Mrs. Doon didn’t know about it. Not until they passed by the frozen meat bin, that is.

  Itchabody must have got a whiff of something good, because he suddenly leaped out of the doll buggy and landed slam in the middle of the smoked herring tray!

  It looked delicious and it must have smelled delicious. But it was hard to get at because it was frozen solid. So Itchabody kept scratching and digging and licking, trying to loosen a fish.

  And Felina stood by, waiting patiently for him to get through, while Lucinda and Mrs. Doon went on.

  Felina reached over and helped a little. And finally the two of them got a lovely herring free. But meanwhile, something tragic had happened.

  The end of Itchabody’s tail had got into some spilled liquid and had frozen fast to the freezer. When he grabbed up his fish and tried to run off with it, he discovered that he was a prisoner.

  Now, the cat had always been treated with kindness. He couldn’t understand what had happened. So he gave a horrible yowl and jumped in the air.

  But he was held fast. So he screeched again.

  “Mother, Mother,” screamed Lucinda, running back, “Itchabody’s getting frozen up.”

  “Itchy, Itchy,” cried the little witch, “come to Felina.”

  At the sound of her voice the cat howled again. And Felina scrambled up into the freezer bin to his rescue.

  Now all the customers in the store came running. The manager came running.

  The manager tried to grab poor Itchabody. But the cat hissed and scratched. He tried to grab Felina, but she hissed too.

  Then Mother came running from the soap department. When she saw what was happening, her face got all red.

  “Get out of there, Felina,” she cried.

  Then a big man who was eating a triple-deck cherry cone began to laugh. He laughed so hard he choked on a cherry and began to splutter. His wife had to stop watching the excitement and pound him on the back.

  “Get that cat out of my freezer,” cried the manager. “Get that kid out of there.”

  “That’s not a kid,” said Lucinda helpfully. “That’s a real live witch. She belongs to us.”

  By now Felina was sitting on a frozen turkey with the cat in her lap—the part that wasn’t stuck, that is. She was crooning a little witch’s song, trying to console Itchabody, whose tail was slowly freezing.

  “Turn off the machines and let him defrost,” suggested one of the customers.

  “Use your witch magic, Felina,” said Lucinda.

  “That’s a good idea,” said Felina. And in a loud shrill voice she said:

  “Abracadabra

  Thirteen bats:

  Sesame, sesame

  Frozen cats!”

  Then she bent down and breathed on Itchabody’s tail and pulled very gently.

  Suddenly the black cat sprang free. He grabbed his smoked herring, bounded out of the freezer, and ran to hide behind a bin of onions.

  “Get that kid out of there before she gets stuck,” shouted the manager. He probably would have torn his hair, except he didn’t have any.

  Then poor Mrs. Doon lifted Felina out of the meat bin. Lucinda ran to catch Itchabody and knocked over a great pile of canned tomatoes.

  Mrs. Doon’s face was redder than ever when she finally gathered them all together. Cat, witch, girl, and all—she shoooooed them out of the market.

  “I forgot my doll buggy,” wailed Lucinda.

  “I’ll get it,” said Mrs. Doon. She was so angry she could hardly speak. “But don’t you ever—don’t you ever bring that cat to the store again,” she said to Lucinda and Felina.

  “If you do,” she added, “I’ll—I’ll spank you both till you can’t sit down.”

  It wasn’t at all like Mrs. Doon to become so angry. But she was only human.

  Itchabody just looked up at her and whined. He wasn’t very happy, because he had lost his herring.

  Lucinda and Felina were very quiet. Mrs. Doon went back into the store to settle her bill for groceries and pay for the damages.

  By that time the manager had calmed down and was picking up cans of tomatoes, TWO FOR 25¢.

  “Accidents will happen, Mrs. Doon,” he said. But his manner was pretty chi
lly. And after that Mrs. Doon only traded at that supermarket on Wednesdays.

  That was the manager’s day to go to Kiwanis Club.

  5

  A Permit to Keep a Witch

  The story about Itchabody and the herring went all around town. And as stories do, it grew and GREW. Some people swore that after Felina had left the grocery store, all the labels on the cans were turned upside down. Someone else said that all the pumpkins popped their seeds when Felina stared at them.

  “It’s bad luck to have a witch about,” everybody said.

  Mr. Doon heard all about it down at the newspaper office. When he came home that evening Lucinda was sitting in one corner of the living room. She had a tall dunce cap perched on her head.

  Felina was sitting in another corner with her peaked black hat.

  Mr. Doon looked down at them and began to laugh. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.

  “I hear you went shopping today, Mary,” he said to Mrs. Doon.

  And Mrs. Doon said, “It wasn’t funny.”

  Then Mr. Doon looked down on the floor. And there was Itchabody in his little peaked hat, lying on the gray rug purring away. Mr. Doon began to laugh all over again.

  Then he kissed Lucinda on the cheek, he chucked Felina under the chin, and he kissed his wife’s pretty, cross face.

  “Life must have been very dull,” he said, “before this little witch came to live with us.”

  The strange thing is, when he said that, everyone began to laugh, even Mrs. Doon. They laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Even the manager of the supermarket laughed a little himself, when he told his wife what had happened in the store that day.

  * * *

  The kindly Doon family found it slightly embarrassing now and then to have a witch in their midst. There was the matter of the hat, to begin with.

  Felina insisted upon wearing it constantly, except when she had her hair shampooed, of course.

  She wore it to bed. She wore it at the table. She even wore it to church on Sunday. And the Doons allowed her to because they realized how important it was to her.

  “I keep my magic in it,” Felina always said.

  And strange things did seem to happen when Felina was around.

  There was the day, for instance, when Mrs. Brown from next door arrived to say that all of her chrysanthemums had lost their heads.

  “Every last one of them—beheaded, like that!” She snapped her fingers. “And I thought I saw that little houseguest of yours behind the gate,” she added.

  “Are you quite sure Clarence didn’t do it?” asked Mr. Doon, over Mrs. Doon’s shoulder.

  Now, it was well known that Mrs. Brown did not like children very much. And it was little wonder because she had one of her own named Clarence. Clarence was what is sometimes known as a “problem child.”

  “Clarence has been home with a cold all day,” said Mrs. Brown. “I want a complete investigation.”

  “You’ll get it,” said Mr. Doon politely. And he politely closed the door.

  He asked Lucinda if she knew anything about the chrysanthemums. He asked Felina. She said, “What are chrisanteums?” He looked under the bed and behind the clothes in the closet and in the mulberry tree.

  No chrysanthemums. It wasn’t until weeks later when he filled his pipe from his humidor and took a big puff, that he began to suspect what might have happened to the flowers from Mrs. Brown’s garden.

  “Ugh,” he said. But it was too late to explain to Mrs. Brown because by that time she was planting amaryllis bulbs.

  Then there was the time when Mrs. Doon went to make an apple pie. All of the apples had vanished from the refrigerator. Mr. Doon knew nothing about them. Lucinda knew nothing about them.

  Felina just set her small pointed chin and shook her head. But that very day, when Mrs. Doon took off the witch’s hat to shampoo the little creature’s hair, seventeen apple cores fell on the bathroom floor!

  Felina looked down at them, her eyes green and wide, as though she had never seen them before. And Mrs. Doon said nothing at all. She just began very gently to unbraid the black hair.

  That evening, after supper, Mrs. Doon brought a big basket into the dining room and set it on the sideboard. Then she called all the family to come see it.

  It was full of delicious red apples, big oranges, bananas, and tangerines.

  Mrs. Doon said, “All the food in this house belongs to all the people in it. Whenever you want an apple or an orange, just help yourself.”

  When the fruit vanished, the basket was always filled again. That was Mrs. Doon’s kind of magic.

  * * *

  When the days passed by and nobody came to claim the little witch, Mr. Doon decided it was time to do something legal about the matter. So the whole family got into the blue sports car and went down to the courthouse to get a permit to keep a witch.

  “A witch, eh?” said the old judge. He looked down at the thin little creature. “Looks more like a scarecrow to me.”

  Now, he didn’t know witches had such good ears, or he wouldn’t have spoken so loud.

  Felina said defiantly, “Witches are supposed to be scary. And I’m a mean witch, so there.”

  “Ahem,” said the judge. He put on his bifocal glasses and peered down at his papers. “You, George Doon, want a permit to keep a witch—for how long?”

  “About a year,” said Mr. Doon, “till next Halloween, that is.” And he explained how Felina had broken her broom and would have to stay on the ground till next Halloween. And how she had no other place to live.

  “Well, of course, we could put her in an institution,” said the judge. “If you don’t want the trouble, that is—”

  “Oh, but we do want her,” said Mrs. Doon.

  “Please, sir, Mr. Judge,” said Lucinda, who was standing beside Felina. “Let her live at our house.”

  “Very well then.” The judge scribbled on the form in front of him. “Granted. Temporary permit to keep one small witch till next Halloween. That’ll be one dollar.”

  “Thank you, your honor,” said Mr. Doon.

  He started to leave with his family.

  “Just a minute,” said the judge, pointing a finger at the little witch. “She’ll have to go to school, you know. Even a witch needs an education.”

  6

  Felina Learns to Read

  “Don’t want to go to school,” said Felina emphatically when the family arrived home.

  “Everyone must go to school sometime,” said Mrs. Doon. “I went to school. Lucinda goes to school. And even a very small witch must get an education.”

  “I got an education,” insisted Felina. “In Small Magic school. Next year when I go back, I’ll go to Big Magic school. The old Wizard teaches that, and you learn to do big mischief.”

  “Well, down here,” said Mr. Doon, “we don’t go to school to learn mischief. We go to learn to read and write and to be good Americans. Tomorrow morning you will go to school with Lucinda.”

  “Won’t,” said the little witch. She glared at Lucinda’s father out of defiant green eyes.

  Mr. Doon glared back, looking very stern, which was hard for him to do because he was in the habit of smiling so much.

  “I won’t,” repeated the little witch, “unless,” she added in a very small voice, “unless that is an order.”

  “It’s an order,” said Mr. Doon. Then he smiled and knelt down so that he could look into her troubled little face. “Someday you’ll be very glad you went to school, honey.”

  “All right,” agreed Felina. But she didn’t look too happy about it, and Lucinda put an arm around her.

  “I’ll help you with your lessons,” said Lucinda.

  “I’ll get you some paper and pencils and some new school shoes,” said Mrs. Doon. “You’ll have to wear some of Lucinda’s dresses for a while,” she added. “I believe they’ll just fit you.”

  The very next day Felina went off to school
with Lucinda, still wearing her funny black hat. Mrs. Doon walked along to talk to the teacher.

  “Please let Felina wear the hat in school,” Mrs. Doon said. “It seems important to her. Before long I hope she will forget about it.”

  Miss Prang, the teacher, looked doubtfully at her strange new pupil. “Well, we’ll try it,” she said.

  At first the children were fascinated at having a real live witch in their class. Lucinda told them all how Felina was left over from Halloween, and the children on the playground gathered around her, asking a hundred questions. Where did she live and how did it feel to ride on a broom. And could she really do magic tricks.

  But all Felina would say was, “Cats and bats!” Or, “Bats and cats!” And she stayed very close to Lucinda’s side.

  Everything went quite well for a time. Felina had a seat behind Lucinda and listened very quietly to the lessons. She enjoyed the crayon drawing and made an excellent picture. But all she wanted to draw was jack-o’-lanterns, bats, and cats.

  “Before long it will be Thanksgiving time,” suggested Miss Prang. “Why don’t you make a turkey?”

  Felina refused. But she did make a pumpkin in a corn field, and Miss Prang said it was the best in the class.

  Then it came time for reading. Miss Prang went down Felina’s row, asking every child to read from the book. Tommy read well, Lucinda read very nicely.

  “Now, Felina,” said Miss Prang. “Let’s see how well you can read.”

  Felina stood up, holding the book in front of her. She looked at the pages with black letters and pictures. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t read a word.

  She stood there for a long time. Finally Miss Prang said, “You may sit down.”

  And all of the children giggled. All except Lucinda.

  A boy in the back of the room, a boy with pumpkin-yellow hair and freckles, whispered, “Some magic!” The children laughed again and Miss Prang rapped on the desk.

  After recess, when the children came back to class, Felina was not in her seat. They found her in the cloakroom, sitting on the floor among the overshoes.