The Trouble with a Witch: Part Two

My curiosity did get the best of me. So later that day, I walked down the dirt road to get a look at the old house. I could see desolate patches where flowers once grew. Overgrown bushes and old fallen tree branches had taken over the yard. The wooden gate had rotted and fallen from its hinges and laid on its side, still showing signs of white paint.

I crept along the old stone path and up the rickety steps onto the porch. Its rotting boards were dirty from old leaves that never blew away. The clapboards were weathered and grey. I could barely see my reflection in glass pane of the front door.  The crud and grime too thick to even see in. The lace curtains on the other side were  tattered. I reached for the brass door knob. It shined bright and clean. It didn't look like the rest of the house.

The knob turned easily and I pushed open the door.  It was dark inside.  I couldn't really see anything, but I crept in and wondered if the floor would give way as it creaked under my weight.

Inside, I noticed a lit candle sitting on a perfectly clean table in the corner. I stepped slowly towards it. The front door slammed shut and I raced back to it.  While struggled with the knob, I heard it.  A lower airy laugh that grew into a cackle.

A dark figure emerged through the door way at the far end of the hallway. I knew at once it had to be the witch. I saw her bony hands, a pointy warted nose, and drawn mouth.  At least that's what I thought I saw at first, but as she approached me, she changed into a blond-haired young woman wearing a red silk dress. No bony hands. No warts. Just a smooth and milky complexion.

"Well well well..." Her voice was warm and lush. She twirled her hand in the air and the room turned from decrepit and barren to clean and furnished.  It reminded me of a sultan's chamber I had seen in a story book about Ali Baba. "What's your name?"

Frozen in place, I managed to stutter out.  "Ttttommy."

She smiled. "I'm Marigold. Marigold Stemm. Do you drink tea, Ttttommy?"  She mocked me.  She fluttered over to a side table and poured two cups of tea.

I shook my head and slowly reached around for the door knob.

"Don't worry.  I'm not going to eat you.  I simply want to talk."  She pointed to a chair near me and said, "sit for a moment. No harm will come to you  And besides, the door is locked."  I heard the lock click behind me.

With the most caution I could muster, I perched on the edge of the chair, at ready to run.  "You're not going to turn me into anything, are you?  You know... like a toad?  Use some spell on me?"

She laughed.  "Heavens no. I'm not a witch at all.  I do know how to use incantations though. They are kind of like spells."

"What do theeey dooo?"  I stuttered.

"They do a lot of things. Like turn rocks into gold. Or zap a person from one place to another.  Perhaps travel through time."  She picked up the cup of tea and held it out to me.

"You're not going to zap me, are you?"  I refused the tea.

"Oh Heaven's, no. Like I said, I just want to chat for a bit."  She gently put the cup and saucer back on the table.

At that point, I remember thinking that she wasn't a witch.  She was just crazy. A crazy lady living alone. She didn't look old at all.  She wasn't really a witch.

I kept staring at her.  It was her eyes that caught my gaze.  Her eyes were an unusual blue. Very bright and a bit sparkly.  As she spoke, I found myself drawn to her.

"Tommy, do you know how to read?"

I nodded, finding that I couldn't stop staring at her.

"Wonderful. Here." She held out a piece of paper which seemed to appear from no where and handed it me. "Read this out loud. I want to hear how well you can read."

I took the piece of paper from her and looked at the words.  I mispronounced my way through them.

The Trouble with a Witch: Part One

When I look back, I think "was it a dream or did it really happen?"  To this day, I can still hear her talking to me.  I can smell the foul mixture in the brass kettle over the fire.  I can see the jars and bottles of brews and potions. The coarse upholstery of worn furniture. And of course, her. I don't think anyone would ever forget a witch.

*****

It was summer of 1938 and I had gone to stay with Grandma Alfred and her sister Aunt Lela.  Mama was ill with fever and Dad wanted me to stay away for a week so Mama would get better.  "She'll be fine," the doctor told us. "She just needs rest." It was only about an hour's ride to Grandma's house and I usually didn't get to see her that often.  

They lived in a little house on a farm out in the country. Mr. Pruitt lived across the packed-dirt road. He was kind of keen on Aunt Lela.  And next door stood a ram-shackled house, overgrown by brush and weeds.

"Tommy, now don't you be a goin' any wheres near that place," yelled Aunt Lela as strolled along the fence separating the two houses. "If you get eaten by that witch, I ain't gonna feel sorry for ya."

"Ah get out," I said. "There's no such thing as witches."

Aunt Lela laughed and lazily pointed towards that house. "Well, ya'll so smart, why don't you run on down there and see for yurself?"  I was never afraid of Aunt Lela. She was always nice and read me stories.  

Through the oaks and maples, I could see the roof line, but most of it was hiding behind the overgrown bushes.  If I was the loft of the barn, I could see the side and back of the old house. Trees hadn't been trimmed in years. Some of the battered shutters clung for dear life. A few had given up and fell off. I always thought it was odd that none of the windows had been broken. Those would have been perfect targets for rock throwing.

It looked like a sad and lonely house.

*****

One lazy day, I was hanging onto Mr. Pruitt's picket fence across the road, watching him sweat from turning up potatoes and turnips in his garden.  He grabbed weeds up by the roots and tossed them into a compost heap in the corner. He sure did have a nice garden.

"Looks like you've got a good crop, sir."

"I do. Very good crop this year. Lots of manure. That's what ya need to make a garden grow well, Thomas. How are you enjoyin' your visit?"  He always called me Thomas.  I didn't mind it one bit.

"It's good, sir. I'm glad it's cooled down."

Mr. Pruitt nodded.  "Cooler than any August I remember.  But we don't always remember the weather much past yesterday.  Unless it's something really out of the ordinary."  He knocked dirt off the carrots he'd just yanked up. "Glad for the rain. It's helps with the root vegetables when you're tryin' to pull them up."

"So I heard you're Aunt tellin' ya to stay away from the Stemm place. I'm not sure that there's a witch, but I would advise stayin' away. I figure one or two more good storms and that old place is going to fall down."

That was the first time I ever heard it called the Stemm place. Grandma or Aunt Lela never talked about it that much.

"Mr. Pruitt, whose house was that?"

"The story my Grand-dad told me was back about hunderd years or so, a man named Stemm built it and moved in with his three daughters.  Two of the daughters later moved away and one stayed behind. Her name was Marigold. The old man died, although some say disappeared. The youngest, Marigold, lived there until she died."
Mr. Pruitt struggled to uprooted another batch of stubborn potatoes. "But there are some who say she didn't die either and she still lives in there."

"Ah, that sounds like hog wash."

Mr. Pruitt grinned.  "It does, does it? Well, be warned. That house ain't safe. Wouldn't want to be in it if a stiff breeze came along."

All I could think was "I know I shouldn't..."  But curiosity always gets the better of ya and always leads to trouble.