Hocus Pocus and the All-New Sequel

by A. W. Jantha

  Winifred threw her hands up. “Why, why, why was I cursed with such idiot sisters?” she demanded.

  Sarah did a little twirl. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Mary snorted before she could stop herself, and Winifred let out a tearless sob.

  The three sisters turned away to try to find their original targets.

  “Oh, man,” said Jay. “How come it’s always the ugly chicks that stay out late?”

  One by one, the Sandersons turned. Sarah in particular looked prepared to turn someone into a box turtle or slug. Something slow on the road and sweet on the tongue.

  “Chicks?” prompted Winifred.

  Winifred managed to bring the boys to their knees thanks to a particularly well-delivered lightning bolt. She gave them over to her sisters to drag back up the road to their house in the woods. Once there, she summoned two of her favorite cages from the closet. They’d once housed Winifred’s prized phoenix twins—the ones Mary set free out of pity at the age of twelve.

  Winifred was happy to have them empty now, for she shoved one boy into each cage and sealed the doors with iron locks. The cages crackled with electricity as she used her magic to rehang the huge iron things on their ceiling hooks. The impertinent boys wept and pled for pity without pause.

  Winifred ignored them. Their suffering would teach them not to disrespect their elders—even if they wouldn’t have much time to live out that lesson. “We haven’t much time left,” she said. “We shall have to make the potion from memory.”

  “Let us outta here,” whimpered the blond boy, who had told Sarah that his name was Jay.

  “Yeah,” said the other boy, who called himself Ernie. “We’re really sorry.”

  “We think you’re really cute,” Jay added with effort, hoping to win them over.

  “Hush!” snapped Winifred. She began to pace. “I can’t think,” she muttered to herself.

  “Remember, remember,” her two sisters chanted in low voices, trailing her across the room. She hated when they did that, but both were stupidly convinced that it worked. “Remember, Winnie, remember.”

  “Now I remember!” Winifred cried, whirling around.

  Mary and Sarah gasped and jumped back.

  “I was here,” Winifred said, ignoring them. She pointed to where the podium stood. “The book was there. You, Mary—you were here.”

  Mary beamed at being remembered.

  “Sarah, you were in the back,” Winifred added, fluttering her hand dismissively. “Dancing, idiotically. And the book said—”

  Mary leaned in. “Yes?”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday,” Winifred said, grinning.

  “Yes?” said Mary.

  “Oil of boil,” Winifred recited, the long nail of her pointer finger dancing through the air as if reading a spell, “and a dead man’s nose.”

  Jay and Ernie exchanged a suffering look. Nose? Ernie mouthed. Jay cringed. Is this why the old ladies had kidnapped them? To turn them into potion ingredients?

  “Dead man’s toes!” Sarah crowed.

  “She’s trying to concentrate,” snapped Mary, shooing her away.

  Sarah shrugged and wandered off, nibbling her lucky rat tail.

  “No, his thumb,” said Winifred softly.

  “Thumb?” asked Mary.

  Ernie chewed anxiously on his left thumbnail.

  “Or was it his gums?” asked Winifred. “A dead man’s buns... ?”

  “Buns,” said Mary. “Buns. Sounds like—”

  “Mums?” asked Winifred hopefully.

  “Mums. Funs...funs...”

  “Chungs,” said Winifred.

  “Chungs?” Jay asked, turning to give Ernie a startled, anxious look.

  Ernie drew a finger across his neck to make Jay shut up. “Dead man’s chungs,” he said breathlessly.

  “No,” said Mary. “There’s no such thing as chungs.”

  Winifred made a helpless sound. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” asked Mary. Then, with more certainty: “I’m right.”

  “It’s no use,” said Winifred. “I don’t remember the ingredients. I—I—I’ve got to have my book!”

  Behind her, Sarah grabbed the base of Jay’s cage and spun it about, making him whimper and clutch at the hammered iron bars. She giggled.

  Winifred went to the kitchen and retrieved the Black Flame Candle, which had been merrily flickering the whole night.

  “Behold, sisters,” she lamented. “The candle burns to a stub. Soon our time will be spent, and we will have wasted our last chance.”

  “Curtains,” Mary whispered, finally putting together Winifred’s earlier rant.

  “My dress is made of curtains,” Sarah said, before trading Jay’s cage for Ernie’s and twirling in the other direction.

  Winifred stalked past both of her sisters and threw open the nearest window. She leaned out and released a high-pitched keen: “Booo-ooook!” Her shoulders sagged. “Come home,” she pleaded. “Or make thyself known.”

  Mary petted her back as Winifred dissolved into a fit of sobs.

  Allison began to stir, which woke Max from one of the deepest sleeps of his life.

  “Hi,” he said to her, unable to hide a smile.

  She smiled back. “Hi,” she said sheepishly. She picked up the clock near her hip. “Oh my god,” she said. “It’s five o’clock. My parents are gonna kill me. I should go.” She leaped up and grabbed her sweater.

  Max stretched. “I wish you could stay,” he said.

  Allison looked at him. At first a worried look passed over her face. She was unsure of what he meant and where he wanted this to go. But his dopey grin made her relax.

  “Hey,” Max said, straightening as he woke more fully and realized she was worried not only about being out so late but about being out late with a boy. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You can say Dani got sick on sugar and I needed help. Dani will vouch for you. Plus, my parents saw us together out in public. They know we weren’t—you know....”

  “Maybe I’ll say the girls kidnapped me as a prank,” Allison said thoughtfully.

  Max nodded. Allison would know best, he realized, but it made him wonder if she didn’t want her parents to know about him at all. Maybe he’d misread her again and she didn’t really like him back. Or maybe she did, but she was embarrassed about him. He got to his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

  Allison glanced at Dani, who was still asleep. The dark curving line of a black cat was pressed against her cheek.

  “Poor Binx,” Allison said.

  Max looked at him then, too. “Yeah, poor Binx,” he said, thinking of their conversation at the park. He couldn’t imagine being separated from his family for so long. Dani had meant well when she said a dozen generations of Dennisons would look after him, but Max knew that her promise wasn’t much comfort to Thackery Binx.

  “We owe him a lot,” Max added.

  Allison nodded.

  “Look,” he said. “Can we find some kind of way to help him?”

  Allison thought about this proposal. “The book,” she said. “The witches used it to put the spell on him. Maybe there’s a way in here to take it off.”

  She dropped her sweater on Max’s cluttered desk and walked back to the loft’s staircase, where she plopped down on the bottom step.

  “I don’t know,” said Max. “Binx told us not to open it.”

  Allison picked up the spell book. Every time she picked it up, it seemed to get heavier. “But the witches are dead,” she said. “What harm could they do?”

  Max nodded, thinking that over. “Well, just be careful.”

  “I will,” Allison said, smirking. She undid the clasp that strapped the cover closed, then reached for Max’s arm. “Hold my hand,” she said.

  He did, happily.

  Allison took a breath and lifted the cover. She skimmed the first page, which included a list of names she assumed
belonged to former owners of the book: Gunnilda Arden, Odelina Arden, Isolde Fitzrou, Mathilda Picardy, Eve and Amice and Frances Harvey, and then Cecily Sanderisson, Emma Sanderisone, Druscilla Sanderson, Winifred Sanderson, and last, Elizabeth Sanderson.

  “That’s odd,” Allison said, examining the final name on the list. She ran a finger over it.

  “What is?” Max asked.

  “The last name on the list isn’t Winifred’s,” she said. Shaking her head, she turned to the first page of spells. Max leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Nothing here so far,” she said, flipping to the next page.

  Winifred Sanderson left the window of her childhood home and dragged her tired body to a fainting couch in the corner. This was the same chaise upon which her mother had birthed her and each of her sisters—quietly and all alone, as was a witch’s way.

  Mary and Sarah and even the two imprisoned boys watched as Winifred settled herself onto the fainting couch and began to weep into her hands and ash-streaked skirts. The sun would rise soon, and she’d expire in this small house alongside her hopeless sisters. And then what? The thought made Winifred sob even harder. She was afraid to go back to the place filled with fire and brimstone and catty witches—or worse, to go to no place at all. The idea of death chilled her to her marrow.

  “Oh, Winnie,” said Mary gently. “Do you want to hit me?” She knelt and placed a hand on her sister’s wrist. “Would that cheer you up?”

  Winifred batted her hand away, and Mary sighed, straightening. She helped Winifred put her feet up. “There you go,” she said, plucking up a fan and opening it to wash some fresh air over Winifred’s face.

  “This is the end,” said Winifred. “I feel it.”

  “No,” Mary said reassuringly, pumping the fan with more gusto.

  But Winifred didn’t believe her. No, Winifred knew that she would draw her last breath in the same house wherein she’d drawn her first.

  “We are doomed,” Winifred insisted. “I feel the icy breath of death upon my neck.” The thought made her sick. She’d always been destined for more than these four walls. She’d been destined for greatness. Her tea leaves had always said so, which meant something, Winifred thought, even if she’d nudged the leaves around once or twice to properly decode them.

  “Mary?” She looked around blearily, as if she couldn’t see her sister right next to her. “Take me to the window. I wish to say good-bye.” She struggled to rise, and Mary hurried to help her. “Good-bye. Good-bye, cruel world. Good-bye to life.” Winifred reached the open window and leaned heavily on the sill.

  Mary worried that not even the house’s sturdy foundation could keep her sister on her feet.

  “Good-bye to all that,” Winifred said sadly.

  As she did, she noticed something in the distance and straightened.

  “Sister!” she said, reaching for Mary’s arm. “Observe!”

  Over the dark tree tops, near a full, heavy moon, shone a thin beam of reddish light.

  “They opened it!” crowed Winifred, energy pumping back into her body. “Ha-ha! Just when our time was running out. Come! We fly!”

  She dragged Mary to the closet. Sarah trailed behind them. Their own brooms were gone, leaving only a few objects meant for cleaning left by the humans who had turned their beloved house into a shop. Winifred, who was the first to look inside, snatched up the only broom. Sarah took the mop, holding her nose at the smell, and Mary fussed over the upright vacuum.

  “What about us?” Ernie called after the witches’ retreating backs.

  Jay hushed him, but not before Sarah turned to them with a sultry, conniving smile.

  “Oh, we’ll have plenty of time for you,” she said. She blew them a kiss as she followed her sisters through the front door.

  Allison, who was becoming impatient with the number of spells in the huge book, turned to a new page.

  “Oh, listen to this,” she said, happy to have found anything useful at all. “‘Only a circle of salt can protect thy victims from thy power.’”

  There was a yowl, and Binx leaped onto Max’s lap and shoved the book shut. He climbed on top of it to keep Allison from reopening it, then hissed at Max and Allison in turn.

  “We were just trying to help you,” said Allison.

  Binx batted at her shoulder. “Well, don’t!” he said. “Nothing good can come from this book.” He turned to swat at Max’s face. “You got it?”

  With that, he leaped down and padded back over to where Dani was sleeping.

  Max looked apologetically at Allison. “Maybe we should go now,” he said.

  She hesitated before nodding. “Okay,” she agreed, sounding disappointed. She set the book back on the loft’s staircase and followed Max out of his room.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Max peered into one of the other rooms accessible from the upstairs landing. “Mom?” he called. “Dad?” He turned back to Allison, shrugging. “They’re still not home,” he said. “That’s weird. Must be having a great time.”

  “I dunno,” Allison said, leading the way downstairs. “Something’s not right. I’d feel a lot safer walking home if we had some salt.”

  Max led her into the narrow kitchen. The only window was set over a steel sink, and the cherry-patterned curtains were drawn back to let in a little moonlight. The space was clean but not yet unpacked: boxes were stacked, unopened, against one wall, and Max suspected they would be for a while.

  “My mom’s not much of a cook,” he said apologetically, swinging open a set of white-painted cabinet doors and climbing onto one of the tiled counters to inspect the highest shelves.

  “Sounds like my kind of lady,” Allison joked. “When I’m an adult, the only thing I want to make are chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Milk or dark?” Max asked.

  “Dark,” said Allison, as if the answer were obvious.

  “Oh, no way,” said Max. “They’re cookies. You gotta go milk.”

  Max found a spare canister of salt behind a bunch of sugar packets and spices that the previous homeowners had forgotten. He made a triumphant sound and tossed the paper cylinder to Allison. Then he dropped down to sit on the same counter she was leaning against.

  Allison turned the container over in her hands, then paused and smirked.

  “What’s it say?” Max asked, leaning in. He noticed that Allison smelled like green apples and cinnamon.

  Allison glanced at him, then back to the canister. “It says, ‘Form a circle of salt to protect against zombies, witches, and old boyfriends.’”

  “Yeah?” Max asked. “And what about new boyfriends?”

  As she studied his face, Allison’s lashes fluttered against the tops of her cheeks. Max noticed the quirk of a smile around the corners of her mouth, so he leaned forward. He skimmed the dip of her lip right below her nose, and he felt his pulse kick up to a dangerous RPM.

  A crash thundered down the stairs, and both Allison and Max pulled away and looked at the ceiling.

  “Dani,” Max breathed.

  He jumped down from the counter just as Allison pushed off toward the stairs. On his way up, he checked his jeans for the reassuring weight of his dad’s pocketknife.

  “Dani!” Max called as they rounded the upstairs landing and barreled back into his bedroom.

  Dani had pulled the covers over her head, her hair just poking out of the top.

  Max exhaled with relief and tossed his coat on the floor.

  “Max,” Allison said. “The book is gone.”

  He walked toward the narrow staircase that led to the loft. Sure enough, the book had disappeared. Allison snatched his wrist. “I’m telling you,” she said, “something’s weird.”

  Max hurried over to his sleeping sister and yanked back the covers. “Dani, wake up,” he said.

  But it was not Dani in his bed.

  Sarah Sanderson sat bolt upright, beaming. “Trick or treat!”

  Allison shrieked and le
aped away. Max backed toward the closet, but its plantation doors accordioned open.

  Mary and Winifred Sanderson strode out, both grinning. Winifred clutched the spell book, its patchwork front cover facing him. Mary had one hand around Dani’s mouth and another around a large knitted sack.

  “Looking for this?” Winifred demanded, waving her book.

  “Or this?” Mary asked, tightening her fingers around Dani’s face.

  Max looked from Dani to the book and realized Binx was right: the spell book was dangerous, and it must’ve somehow betrayed them. Even as he thought this, the strange pucker of skin on its cover shivered a little and then opened, blinking blearily. It was an eye, and by the looks of it, the thing had been cut from a person’s face.

  Max shouted with disgust, stumbling away. Winifred raised her free hand and hit him with a bolt of white lightning. Max flew into the air and crashed into his drum set. Cymbals and drums went everywhere as he collapsed.

  Allison popped the salt open and began to shake it wildly around the room.

  “Salt!” said Winifred. “Ha! What a clever little white witch.”

  Allison brandished the container at her.

  “But it will not save thy friends,” Winifred continued. “No. Come, sisters.” She plucked up her skirts and started up the stairs to the loft. “The candle’s magic is almost spent. Dawn approaches.”

  Mary followed her, still clutching a struggling Dani. Sarah trailed after them both, looking from Max’s prone body to Allison. She gave the girl a dark look, then stuck out her tongue and hurried after her sisters.

  Dani bit down hard on Mary’s finger. “Let me go!” she shouted when the witch had freed her mouth. “Put me down!”

  Winifred launched lightning at the loft’s small window, and the wall exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke that turned from pink to green to gray. The blast knocked Allison off her feet and sent a cascade of wood boards down the stairs.

  Allison pushed herself back up and dashed for the stairs to the loft. “Dani!” she called between coughs. But the witches had flown away, and they’d taken both the spell book and Max’s little sister with them.

  Allison turned back to Max and shoved the snare drum off his chest. “Max, are you okay?” She helped him sit up.