“Okay,” said the girl, who was tired of brushing her hair a hundred strokes every night to make it shine. (Not to mention getting it caught in the revolving doors at the mall.)
The witch waved her hand, and—Poof! The girl was bald. “Nice doing business with you,” said the witch.
“Is that it?” asked the girl. “Am I a werewolf?”
The witch smirked. “Wait for the next full moon, girlie. You’ll see how a witch keeps her word.”
The girl bought an entire collection of cute hats to cover her baldness. “Not bad!” she said, admiring herself in the mirror. As she counted down the days until the next full moon, she imagined what it would be like to nuzzle snouts with the werewolf boy.
When dusk fell on the night of the full moon, the girl went outside. She sat in the darkness, shivering a little as she waited for the moon to rise. As it did, she began to feel strange. Her bones creaked and stretched. Her nose grew longer and wider (and became wetter and colder). Her knuckles gnarled and her fingernails curved into claws. Then her thoughts changed from words and pictures into swirling clouds. She gave a great sniff, threw her head back, and howled.
With her transformation complete, the wolf girl trotted over to the lair where her werewolf crush hung out. Doing her best to impress, she leaped right into the middle of the pack. Then, just to make sure the werewolf boy noticed her, she howled long and loud. A few seconds passed in total silence. Then the werewolves started snorting and howling and rolling on the ground like a pack of laughing hyenas.
What was wrong? Why wasn’t the werewolf boy nuzzling her snout? A gust of wind whirled through the lair, and the wolf girl shivered. That’s when it hit her. She was freezing. And a wolf—covered in fur—would not feel cold. She wasn’t just a bald girl with a collection of cute hats, she was a hairless werewolf. And that, my friends, is how a witch keeps her word.
THE END
WITCHES’ BREWS
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Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble!
YUM’S (NOT) THE WORD
The “double trouble” line above is pretty famous. It was written by William Shakespeare, an English playwright during the late 1500s to the early 1600s. In the play Macbeth, Shakespeare has three witches cook up an evil potion with these repulsive ingredients:
fillet of a fenny snake
eye of newt
toe of frog
wool of bat
tongue of dog
What really went into that cauldron? In Shakespeare’s time, many people believed that women who were skilled with using plants to cure diseases were witches. And most of the horrible-sounding ingredients in their potions came straight out of the garden.
WITCH PLANTS
•Fillet of a Fenny Snake
The Fens is an area along England’s North Sea. It was swampy and marshy in Shakespeare’s time, and it most likely did have snakes. But “fenny snake” was the nickname for one type of lily.
•Eye of Newt
Some witches might have extracted the eyeballs from amphibians, but “eye of newt” was a flowering herb, also called wild mustard. It was said to aid in “traveling by air” (Maybe they were witches!) and to protect against cold, and colds!
•Toe of Frog
Believe it or not, frogs do have toes. But this ingredient probably referred to the nickname of a flower: the buttercup.
•Wool of Bat
One species of woolly bat can emit a sound every five milliseconds. That makes it one of the world’s fastest “talkers.” Why couldn’t it talk its way out of a witch’s brew? It didn’t have to. “Bat’s wool” was another name for moss.
•Tongue of Dog
Witches are rumored to be cat people, but don’t worry: “Hound’s tongue” is a weed with leaves shaped like a dog’s tongue. Witches used it to cast spells that would force others to keep silent.
BREWING UP TROUBLE
Of course, some brews called for ingredients that are just as horrible as they sound. Some witches believed the plants in their potions would be stronger if they added the blood, bone, or skin of an animal. So bear claws, cat ears, mole teeth, or mice bones might be tossed into the pot. And some of the most powerful potions even called for human blood and flesh.
To make a truly evil potion, a witch would spit on the young seedlings. When the seedlings grew, the witch would harvest the plants beneath a full moon. And then she had to find her way home with a torch held in the hand of a corpse.
DOUBLY TROUBLING
If witches were really just healers who used herbs with creepy names, why were they so feared? In Shakespeare’s day, horrible things happened that no one could explain. The worst: A plague called the Black Death swept through England and killed more than 80,000 people. Londoners were terrified, and the Globe Theatre where Shakespeare’s plays were performed was shut down.
The plague was actually caused by bacteria, and the disease was passed from person to person by fleas. Since no one knew that at the time, they blamed “witches.”
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QUEEN ELIZABETH I ruled England during Shakespeare’s time. In 1562, she passed a law titled An Act Against Conjurations, Enchantments and Witchcrafts. The law said that anyone who used “Witchcraft, Enchantment, Charm, or Sorcery, whereby any person shall happen to be killed or destroyed” was to be put to death. Witchcraft remained a crime in Britain until 1951.
WHO’S SCRYING NOW?
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You’ve probably heard the expressions “dumb as a rock,” “hard as rock,” and “steady as a rock.” But you had to come to Uncle John to hear “magical as a rock!”
ROCK OF AGES
In ancient Asia, agates were more than just pretty stones to collect. They were believed to be powerful magical tools. A yellow agate could lighten your mood. An orange or brown agate could put money in your pocket. A red agate could keep spiders away. And a black agate? Carrying one “guaranteed” victory in the sports arena. For thousands of years, agates have been also used for another magical purpose: scrying.
I SEE...A ROCKY FUTURE
Scrying is a form of fortune telling practiced by ancient cultures such as the Egyptians, Greeks, Celts, and Persians. Practitioners believe it’s a way to see the past, the present, and even the future.
WHAT YOU NEED:
οA polished agate
WHAT TO DO:
1.Find a quiet place.
2.Hold your agate up to a light.
3.Ask a specific question related to your past, present, or future.
4.Keep a steady gaze and a clear mind, and…wait.
5.In time—so the mystics say—truths will be revealed. And then the mystical forces inside the gemstone will magically project images into your mind.
6.Write down a description of the pictures that come into your mind.
7.Your gut feelings about the images will help you decide how the images answer your question.
Don’t have an agate handy? Scrying can also be done using a mirror, water, or other clear polished stone or crystal. Gaze if you dare!
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MAGICAL TUNES
If the title “Who’s Scrying Now” sounded familiar, it’s because Uncle John loves playing with songs, like these…
οI’m So Lonesome I Could Scry, by I. Nita Vision
οAn Even Whiter Shade of Pale, by Sheesa Vampire
οI Believe I Can Fly, by Peggy Suss
οWe Gotta Get Out of This Place, by N.A. Dungeon
οI’m Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot, by Bea Phoenix
οI Only Have Eye for You, by The Cyclops
οSquirrels Just Wanna Have Fun, by Thayer Knutz
οI Put a Spell on You, by I. Havawand
LITTLE-KNOWN LITTLE FOLK
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Beware the dracs and portunes! But first, you’d better find out what—and where—they are.
SPECIES: Cluricauns
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br /> SPOTTED IN: Ireland
BEHAVIOR: These leprechaun cousins are rumored to be tiny old men with terrible tempers. They come out at night for a bit of fun, and, after a few drinks, have been known to ride about on sheep and dogs. It’s said that they protect a family’s wine cellar, but if the family makes the cluricaun angry? The wine will taste like vinegar.
SPECIES: Dracs
SPOTTED IN: The river Seine, France
BEHAVIOR: These little elves shape-shift. They may take the form of purple globs that float on top of the water. Or they may form themselves into golden goblets and rise from the river. If a human tries to grab one, he’ll be dragged underwater to the dracs’ kingdom and forced to work for seven long wet years.
SPECIES: Kobolds
SPOTTED IN: Germany
BEHAVIOR: Until the 1600s, many miners believed kobolds were small goblins that lived underground and caused rock slides and cave-ins. Their favorite prank? Leading miners to ore that looked like copper or silver. When smelted (melted to purify it) the ore smelled awful, like garlic. Around 1735, a Swedish chemist named Georg Brandt realized the stinky ore was its own kind of metal. He named it cobalt after the legendary goblins. (Cobalt adds that lovely bright-blue color to teapots.)
SPECIES: Monaciellos
SPOTTED IN: Italy, near Naples
BEHAVIOR: Sturdy and broad like dwarfs, monaciellos dress like monks. (Monaciello means “little monk.”) A little monk will only appear to a human who is in great need. They’ve been known to either turn bread into gold or to lead humans to treasure. But rumor has it that they have a warped sense of humor. They like to sneak around kitchens at night, raid refrigerators, and turn on faucets and stoves…and leave them on.
SPECIES: Portunes
SPOTTED IN: Great Britain
BEHAVIOR: Small and wrinkled, these fairies wear tattered coats, eat frogs roasted on sticks, and like to help out on farms. Sound useful? They are, unless a farmer insults one by offering to replace its grubby coat. Then the portune will drive the farmer’s horses into the nearest swamp and laugh like a lunatic as the poor beasts try to get out.
THE MILKMAID’S HALLOWEEN
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An Uncle John’s Totally Twisted Tale
THE MILKMAID LOOKED AROUND at the rundown farm where she lived. “I’m tired of these stupid chores,” she said. “Milk the cows, feed the chickens, hoe the beans! Give me a break!”
She was ready to leave it all behind. But she was just a kid. How would she ever get enough money to flee the farm?
As she walked from the barn toward her house, she passed the pumpkin field. The fat orange pumpkins reminded her: Halloween was tomorrow! She could go trick-or-treating and collect as much candy as her milk pail would hold. Then she’d sell the candy to the other kids on the school bus.
“I’m a genius!” She grinned.
The next morning, she took the biggest milk pail she could find and headed up the road. As she crossed a bridge over the river, she could see the farm in the distance, spreading out over the valley. “I’ll soon be leaving you for good!” she said.
She collected candy bars and lollipops at all of the houses on her road. Then she walked into town and knocked on every door. Soon all kinds of treats clanged merrily in her milk pail. “When I sell this candy, I’ll be rich,” she said. “I’ll buy a train ticket and head for Hollywood.”
All evening she collected candy. As the pail filled up, she got even more excited. “This haul will bring in so much money, I can buy new clothes, too!”
Her dreams kept growing. She’d dye her hair bright orange and audition for Milking with the Stars. Once she got on TV, she’d be rich beyond her wildest dreams. All thanks to a pail full of Halloween candy.
The sky grew dark as she headed back out of town. Along the way, she spotted a caravan—not the gypsy kind, but the motor home kind that retired people toodle around in. The milkmaid knocked on the door, and a tall chicken-headed creature wearing a purple jogging suit answered.
“Yez?” asked the chicken head.
“Uhmm…nice costume?” said the milkmaid hopefully.
“Halloveen. Yez. Tank you,” said the chicken head in a heavily accented female voice.
“Trick or treat?” The milkmaid held out her pail.
“Vwone moment,” said the chicken-woman.
Behind the door the milkmaid heard something that sounded like feathers flapping, followed by a squawk. Buh-kack!
The door opened, and the chicken-woman in the jogging suit plunked an egg into the pail.
“That’s not candy!” The milkmaid scowled.
“Candy iz bad for teeth.” The chicken-woman opened her beak, showing a mouth full of tooth rot.
“Right. Thanks!” said the milkmaid, and she turned and fled.
By now, the milkmaid’s arms were aching from carrying the heavy pail. But nothing could dampen her excitement. When she topped the last hill, she looked at the rundown farm that had been her home. “Soon, all of this will just be an unpleasant memory.”
That night, the milkmaid counted the candy. “Five hundred eighty-five pieces of candy and one egg. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be headed for Hollywood.” She set the pail beside her bed and nodded off to sleep.
As the milkmaid slept, lollipops and butterscotch bites danced in her dreams. Weird techno-music that sounded like crinkling candy wrappers played over and over as the candy cha-cha-cha’d.
When the milkmaid woke up, she stretched. Whew! Wacky dream, she thought as she rolled over and peered into the pail. Then she gasped. The pail was filled with empty candy wrappers. A broken eggshell sat on top, and a trail of purple feathers led out her bedroom door.
“Gerta!” called her mother. “Get up, lazyshanks. It’s time to milk the cow and feed the chickens!”
Moral: Don’t count your candy before the chicken hatches.
THE END
HOGWARTS: AN INSIDER’S GUIDE
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A BRI member visited the London studio where the Harry Potter movies were made. She’s no Rita Skeeter, but she did uncover a few secrets!
HOGWARTS SHOCKER
This may be a blow to aspiring witches and wizards, but our insider says, “Hogwarts school doesn’t actually exist.” A large miniature model of the castle was built for the first few Potter films. The rest of the school consists of sets at Warner Bros. Studios near London and parts of historic English buildings.
Hogwarts’ elegant corridors are really in historic Gloucester Cathedral. The school’s hospital wing and library are actually parts of Oxford University’s Bodleian Library. The arch-ceilinged classrooms are part of Lacock Abbey. And the school’s Great Hall is the Great Hall of Christ Church College (also part of Oxford).
THE GROWING GRYFFINDORS
There’s a reason Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindor boys aren’t seen stretched out on their beds in the final films. The beds in their dorm are too short! They were built when the actors were about 11 years old. Once the actors hit their growth spurts, they were too tall to lie down under the covers. So they had to be filmed sitting or reclining on their beds. Our insider had a quick sit-down on Harry’s bed, and found it “too hard.”
WHAT’S GREAT ABOUT THE GREAT HALL?
On the set, our insider saw many of the rich details you see in the movies: crystal goblets, silver cups and saucers, a podium topped with a fierce carved owl, and those fringed house banners dangling from the vaulted ceiling. In fact, the Hogwarts’ Great Hall movie set was so closely modeled on the Great Hall of Christ Church that it looked like the real deal.
“But it’s a wonder the hall passes fire codes,” said our insider. Why? When the filmmakers asked Potter author J.K. Rowling if there could be electricity on the Hogwarts set, she said, “Certainly not!” So the hall is lit by firelight. Tall black candelabras line the tables. Huge metal bowls filled with fire hang from the ceiling and gargoyles spouting fire protrude from the hall
’s stonelike walls. “All that fire makes the place feel really magical!” said our insider. (We told you she was no Rita Skeeter.)
Our insider did notice something odd when dinner was served—“The food didn’t magically appear on the tables,” she said. “Waiters brought it.”
Our insider was seated at the Slytherin table. That makes us wonder: Did someone know she was the type of person who would steal the table decoration? “It was a cheap wooden replica of the Slytherin coat of arms,” she huffed. “I would never take the real thing! Honestly.”
DUMB CLUCK
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An Uncle John’s Totally Twisted Tale
HENNIE HAD AN EASY LIFE. She was Mrs. Lean’s only chicken, so she had the whole coop to herself. She rigged up a fan to keep herself cool, and she spread a soft blanket in her nest for sleeping. Mrs. Lean fed her a bowl of corn every morning. In return, all Hennie had to do was produce one egg a day. No chicken in the county had a more comfy setup.
Life is good, thought Hennie. But maybe it could be even better!
The next morning, Hennie stood in the chicken yard outside her coop. She watched as Mrs. Lean poured corn into a bowl.
“Is that all?” Hennie asked.
“That’s the same amount I always give you,” said Mrs. Lean.
Hennie cocked her head and eyed the bowl. “If you gave me twice as much,” she cackled, “I could lay twice as many eggs.”
Mrs. Lean thought for a moment. “I’ve been feeling a bit lean lately,” she said. “Two eggs would be wonderful.” So Mrs. Lean poured Hennie a double helping.
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