Pumpkin Spice

by James Rasile

  “Have you sinned?” The priest asked innocently enough, “Every day, many times a day. I need holy water.” The priest decided to appease the cowboy and gave him several bottles, he walked the cowboy to the stoup and allowed him to take as much holy water as he desired. “When were these blessed?” the cowboy asked, “Just this morning.” The cowboy placed them into his vest and walked away.

  Outside the church a woman was waiting for him. He walked by her. She followed him. Eventually he stopped and turned to her, but he let her have the first word “I know who you are.” She crossed her arms, “You’re that cowboy witch hunter.” The cowboy slow clapped, “You figured it out. What gave it away, the cowboy hat or the cowboy boots?” He said facetiously. “Did my cousin find you alright?” This caught the cowboy’s attention. “Barry?” He asked. The woman smiled, “That’s him.”

  “Barry’s dead.” The cowboy did not have a way with women. “I suspected he would be, I suppose he revealed himself to you? His true self?” She uncrossed his arms, “Yeah, you could say he did. And I’ll have you know I don’t much care for sorcerers. They’re basically witches.” He refused to show any emotion. “They defend us from witches. They aren’t like witches at all.”

  “If they defend us from witches where’ve they been all this time? Who was there to save my family?” The cowboy was letting his emotions get the better of him, “There are too few of them out there, cowboy. They can’t help anyone. My cousin was one of the last. Not many left I’m afraid.”

  “I killed that witch for you. You’re welcome.” The cowboy began to walk away from the woman. “You can keep killing the witches time and time again, a hundred of them at once, you’ll never make a dent. They’ll keep coming back.” The woman now had the cowboy’s attention. “They’ve been cursed to haunt those woods. It’s not a choice, it’s a curse.” The woman took a step towards the cowboy who now turned to face her, “How do you know all this?”

  “My cousin was a sorcerer, he knew more of black magic than you could comprehend. I know you’re smart, cowboy, I know you think you know all there is to know about them witches. Trust me when I tell you there is more to this tale.” The cowboy stepped up to the woman, their noses practically touching, “Why don’t you tell me?” The cowboy snarled. The women smiled, “Let’s have some tea.”

  The cowboy sat on the front porch as the woman brought him tea, “I didn’t know if you took sugar or not.” She said as she handed him the mug, “Black’s fine.” He took a sip. The woman took a seat next to him and began to tell the cowboy a story. “It was eons ago when witches and men lived together. Then the great treaty separated the two kinds to their respective realms. Centuries past and witches planned a coo, they would invade our territory and dominate mankind.” The cowboy listened curiously as the woman spoke, “It was at the dawn of the invasion when the curse was set forth. A child was born of both witch and human, this child would supreme leader of both species.”

  “Your cousin spoke of an infans.” The cowboy recalled, “Yes, he is referring to the child from the legends.”

  “So, where’s this ‘child’ now?” The cowboy grumbled, the woman continued her story, “The child was never born, instead the witching world was cursed to solitary darkness. They could only emerge on the pentagonal year. My cousin, several years ago found markings, witches markings, in a cave not from our house. They were nothing a mortal eye could read; he used his sorcerer energy to transcribe these markings. It took the life out of him. He knew you were the only one to break the curse. You live without fear.” The woman sipped her tea and continued, “In those woods is a burial. Six feet beneath the surface is a small tomb. In it you will find the talisman which is said to encase the spirit of the dead child. Destroy this talisman and the season of the witch will come to an end. Forever.” The cowboy didn’t know what to make of this story. In all his years hunting witches he had never heard of a curse; they had always just been there. “How do I know I can trust you?” He looked deep within the eyes of the woman. “You’ve come this far, cowboy.” The woman didn’t say another word, she didn’t have to. The cowboy had already given her his trust.

  It was the break of dawn when the cowboy collected his belongings, including a shovel, his shotgun along with his lucky gun, a bag filled with water, holy water and food. Then the cowboy entered the woods. These woods were much different than the woods he had been travelling as a witch hunter. The leaves were mostly dead, the ground wet, and the air cold. The haunting chill of the devil surrounded him. He was searching for a grave, not an easy task. The woods were quite expansive.

  He wandered the woods for what felt like hours, the sun never changed its location above him. Surely time had passed, but he couldn’t tell, these woods were evil. A sweet aroma filled the air. Maple, he thought. It could only mean one thing; a witch was nearby. The cowboy readied his shotgun and slowly trekked along the wet leafy surface. A tree to his right suddenly burst into flames. Then one on his left. No sound or inclination of a witch in sight. The leaves behind him all raised a foot above the ground, they began swirling into a funnel and forming a figure. The figure hovered towards the cowboy, “Halt, Cowboy!” The leafy being bellowed, “What is your purpose in these woods.” The cowboy raised his shotgun, “To kill every goddamn witch in it. That a problem?” The leaves circled the cowboy, “There are no witches in these woods. The law forbids them.” The cowboy was bemused by this, “No witch shall enter these woods by order of the dark lady.” The cowboy raised his gun and shouted at the leaves, “Very well! I’m looking for the final resting place of the infans. Where is it?” The leaves hovered motionless. Not another word was spoken by them, they dispersed to the ground once again. Instead of laying still they travelled a path to the western side of the woods. The cowboy followed the leaves.

  The sun was beginning to set when the cowboy was taken to an old abandon church. The walls had crumbled and collapsed over the decades, save for one. It was the northern most point of the church there was a cross engraved in the stone. The leaves stopped moving, they lay on the surface below the cowboy. The field surrounding the church was rich with green grass and evergreen trees. He could see snow in the distance, unusual for this time of year, he thought. Etched in the stone wall of the church were signs, they must have been the scripture Barry had read. The markings were nothing unusual to the cowboy, all markings of a witch he had seen on his previous hunts. He moved on passed the church. His feet were cold, the snow was now beneath him. That was when he saw it. The snow had all melted and through a pathway of evergreens stood a single maple tree. The tree was unlike the rest in these woods, if was full of life. The leaves were green and red, and maple itself was dripping from its trunk. Just behind the tree stood a small tomb with the name Bermithia inscribed. The cowboy rushed to the grave. He removed the tombstone, grabbed his shovel and began to dig.

  It was night by the time the cowboy hit something hard below the surface. He was just over five feet deep. Sweat was protruding from his forehead. He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He reached down and removed the small casket from the ground. This must have been the talisman the woman had told him about. The casket was made entirely of wood, with gold plating on the sides. The initials B.H were inscribed on the top. The casket itself was just bigger than a typical shoebox, much heavier though. The cowboy laid it on the ground at his feet and opened it. There was no soul inside, only the decaying form of an infant. He gasped before slamming the casket shut.

  By the time he exited the woods the sun was rising again. He didn’t feel like he had been in the woods for an entire day, but the sun didn’t lie. The woman stood outside of her home and watched as the cowboy walked towards her with the talisman in his hands. She rushed towards the cowboy; a bright smile filled her face. “You did it. You found the talisman.” She said. The cowboy was out of breath, “Water would be nice.” He said to her. “Now what would a cowboy witch hunter need water for?” A voice said from behind the co
wboy. An old raggedy voice, a recognizable voice. The cowboy turned to see Barry standing behind him, “Barry?”

  “Howdy.” Barry smiled, “Thanks for going in them there woods and getting that for us. Y’know, cause us witches ain’t allowed in there.” He lifted his arms and shouted a spell knocking the cowboy unconscious.

  When the cowboy came to, he was surprised to find himself tied upside down to a tree. This was his first time being bested by a witch, and the first time he had encountered a warlock. He looked on as Barry and his cousin stood on top of a pentagram with the talisman at the centre. They were in the middle of a field just outside the woods. The cowboy had been tricked. No witches were allowed to enter the woods, and Barry and his cousin concocted the plot to lure the cowboy in and collect the talisman for them. He watched on as the warlock and witch, now dressed in all black with pointed hats, and a broom stick by the woman’s side, were going to destroy the casket. Or so he thought. The witch stood over the talisman and bowed before it, the warlock did the same. They began humming an incantation. The casket rose from the ground, a light shone through it. They weren’t going to destroy the casket; they were going to use a combination of their powers to bring the unborn child to life. It all began to make sense to the cowboy. The woman had told him their plan, he was just too delusional to understand. This child was born of witch and human blood, and bringing it back to life would reunite the two worlds. Witches would rule as they did way back before time began.

  The cowboy needed to put an end to this before the warlock and witch followed through. He had devoted the better part of a decade to hunting and killing witches, it all came down to this moment. He curled up and reached for his feet, it was a struggle, he probably should have concentrated more of his time on doing sit-ups. Finally, he reached the rope. He tugged and tugged, it slowly loosened. The winds were picking up, the incantation was beginning to take. He wasn’t able to break himself free, the rope was tied together with a curse. Suddenly the witch turned to him. “Our sacrifice my dark lady!” And she pointed to the cowboy. The ritual needed a live human to sacrifice. A life for a life. Lucky me, the cowboy thought. The warlock, without leaving his position from the pentagram, pulled the cowboy forward. He tried as hard as he could to stay where he was but the spell from the warlock was too much for the cowboy. He was soon hovering above the talisman. The witch waved her arms, green electricity emanated from her palms, she directed the electric bolts towards the cowboy sending an electric charge through his body. He tried to shriek in pain, but he couldn’t make a sound. The electric charges raced through him until he was rigid. He was stuck. No chance of survival. He called out to the witch and the warlock. He told them they would burn at the hands of Satan for all eternity. The coven laughed and hissed at the cowboy, “When we complete this ritual, we will be more powerful than Satan!” The warlock shouted out. The cowboy found that when the warlock spoke the spell was released momentarily. The cowboy used the time to free his hand. He decided to try it again “Satan? You two dimwits could never be as powerful as the dark lord.” This time the witch and warlock both focused on the cowboy and shot electric bolts at him. His body pulsated in the air. With his free hand he was able to reach into his underwear and pulled out his tiny lucky pistol. He always knew it would come in handy. He reached out and shot the warlock in the forehead then the witch, knocking them both to the ground. The cowboy’s body crashed down with a thud. Landing on the casket wasn’t the most comfortable or preferred option, but it was better than his essence being transferred into some centuries old dead witch baby.

  He grabbed the casket and ran as fast as he could away from the coven before finally hiding behind a tree. The witch and warlock sprung up to their feet and looked around. The witch used a spell and began ripping the few trees in the field from their roots. Finally, she removed the tree the cowboy was hiding behind. Only to their surprise he was no longer hiding. He stood and looked them in the eyes. In his right hand was a lighter, in his left was the dead baby and its feet engulfed in flames. The heat was getting a bit much for the cowboy and he dropped the infans on the ground. The dry leaves around it caught fire and it began to spread quickly. The cowboy ran back towards the farmhouse. The witch and warlock were screaming in agonizing pain. They were connected to the infans in a way the cowboy could not comprehend. When he got to the farmhouse he rifled through his belongings and grabbed several bottles of holy water he had collected from the church. He raced back to the field and placed a bottle of holy water over the infans and began pouring. The dead child’s eye burst open, flames exited its mouth. The darkest clouds your eyes have ever see formed above them in the field. Rain began to pour down extinguishing the flames. The cowboy poured a second bottle, then a third. The infans squirmed below, the cowboy stepped on it and force fed the dead baby the remainder of the holy water. It exploded right from under him and soon the witch and warlock did the same. Body parts flew all over the field. The dark cloud dissipated, the sun emerged and shone brightly, and in the distance a rainbow could be seen. The cowboy watched as the body parts and the talisman all vanished into thin air.

  The cowboy made his way back to the raggedy old pub where he had met Barry. He figured it was the perfect place to celebrate whatever he had to celebrate. Whether he relinquished this world from witches forever he was not sure. He knew that this season of the witch was over. He’d have to wait five more years before he knew if another was coming, if more witches wandered the woods. For now, he’d enjoy an ice-cold beverage. The waitress approached him; this one was much more pleasant than the last. She had long brown hair, her skin was fair, her eyes green, and when she smiled, she had all of her teeth plus they were pure white. “Beer, please. Can I start a tab?” He had just completed a busy season and figured he’d need a few drinks. “Sure,” she smiled, “what name can I put it under?” Name? He hadn’t gone by a name in quite some time. The cowboy looked up at the waitress tilted his black cowboy hat and smiled, “Jasper.” The waitress smiled back and walked off to get Jasper his drink. The cowboy sat at his table near the back of the bar and watched on as the patrons all enjoyed their cocktails, pints, and deep-fried food. All were happy, and all were safe, for now…

  THE END…

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