The Witch of Keres Street

I’m not actually a witch, you know.

That doesn’t stop me from having a little fun.

I’m an elderly reclusive widow whose house is a gray Victorian with beautiful purple turrets that stands on a little hill. On stormy nights it would stick out in the skyline starkly contrasted by the bright waves of lightning.

The hill marked the end of the commercial district to the east and the residential district to the west. To the north of my home was a small elementary school and to the south was the boundaries of the city park which meant that children were regularly walking one way or another below the hill.

I became the local children’s legend of a witch. It’s silly, I know, but I took a little enjoyment from giving out the evil eye to the little boys who lingered too long or smacking my lips like a hungry wolf to the little girls who fingered my peonies.

One cozy late autumn day a trio of young children accidentally knocked a softball through my kitchen window. I was upset, but kids will be kids. Plus, I knew a guy who would give me a good discount.

I plucked the ball up and made my way to the front door; I could hear the children outside and I stood to listen for a moment, carefully watching out the peephole. They had not yet rung my doorbell, but they whispered loudly to each other.

I haven’t lost my hearing yet.

“You knock.”

“No way, Deven hit the ball.”

“Scooter threw it funky!”

“You can’t knock unless you go up the steps, Clark,” Scooter pushed the tallest of the boys. He seemed the most afraid.

I giggled to myself, this would be too easy! I had one of those old straw brooms, rustic style decoration, hanging on the walls. I snatched it off its hooks and tugged my black shawl from the back of my armchair.

The boys had not yet knocked on the door.

I open the door carefully, peeking out at the boys, making myself a little frail.

“There she is!” said Clark. The boys stood stalk still and stared.

“Is this yours young man?”

I held out the ball just a few inches from the threshold of my house as I let the door slowly swing open on hinges that were overdue for oil.

I smiled and looked down at the boys, “Is this your ball?”

The boys were frozen in time, staring with wide-eyed terror.

“You’ll have to come and get it; I have a fear of leaving my home, you see,” this was the truth. I hadn’t left the threshold of my doorway since my husband had died thirty years ago.

“You can’t… you can’t leave your house?” asked Scooter.

I shook my head and drew my shawl close.

“Can you just throw us the ball?”

“I’ll have to talk to your parents about the window, you know. I can call them while you wait outside.”

“The other kids say that you are a witch,” Deven took one brave, but tentative, step up the stairs and puffed out his chest.

“Deven,” I said, “I am a witch.”

“What,” asked Clark, “how did you know his name?”

“I know all your names, Clark, Scooter. I am a witch, but you seem to have quite a stigma,” it’s important to use large words around children, they feel like they are being treated like adults, “against witches. We aren’t all bad you know. What exactly have I done wrong?”

The boys’ legs were glued in place, but they swiveled at the hips to gawk and exchange eye language only understood by grade school children.

“Are there any missing children or pets in the neighborhood?”

The boys raised their eyebrows at each other.

“Have there been any plagues, or famines? Have you seen me dancing naked under the moonlight?”

“Okay, so, if you’re a good witch then what do you do?” asked Clark who hid just behind Deven.

“Witches have one single goal,” I grinned with all my teeth, “we hunt monsters. It’s the monsters who started the propaganda that made witches sound like the bad guys.”

“No way,” Scooter scoffed.

“Yes way! We use all our spells and potions to capture them… uh oh…” I crouched down as close to the threshold of the door as I could and sniffed the air.

“What is it Ms…”

“I go by Madame Forrel, but you may call me Lunett,” I sniffed drastically to the right and then the left.

“What is it Ms. Lunett?”

I stuck my arm out the doorway and swiftly dropped the ball on the center of the porch. I closed the door so that only my face was showing.

“What is it Ms. Lunett,” the boys all chimed in as an uneven chorus, speaking over each other to scramble up the steps.

“One of you has a monster... in your closet.” I whispered “And it’s a doozy of a monster. We call them the white whales of the coven and it’s…” I placed my hand against my forehead and paused.

“It’s…” I began to collapse a little.

“It’s…” Clark took a step back.

“It’s you,” I pointed at Clark.

“Yes! I do! I really do. He comes out at night. You have to help me!”

“This would really help me reach my witching quota if I could bag a monster of this size. A bitch can retire on a that kind of money. And you can confirm he lives in the closet?”

“Yes Ms. Lunett,” Clark furiously nodded. He sat down on the top step and took hold of the baseball. I opened the door wide again.

“Closet doors. Give me more information, are they sliding or do they have a knob?”

“Doorknob. It opens outward,” Scooter and Deven settled in on the step below their friend.

“Goodboy, thinking ahead. Does it lock?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Does it visit every night?”

“No, Ms. Lunett.”

Have you counted the steps from your bed to the hallway door?”

“Yeah, it’s just 4 steps.”

“Good boy,” I sat cross legged in my entryway, “what other things do you do to keep it at bay? Any rituals?”

The boy hung his head just a little and side-eyed his friends.

“Clark, Clark. We are all friends here. I am here to confirm and help you rid yourself of this monster. It’s okay, I can confirm that rituals do work. It doesn’t matter how they came to be.”

“Well,” Clark said, “I flip my light switch an odd number of times and then I trace the ceiling another odd number of times with my eyes. Sometimes I have to do it two or three times.”

“It really is a doozy of a monster,” I shook my head, my chin balanced in my hand.

I made a dramatic pause and then sucked in a heavy breath, “Don’t get me wrong, you all have monsters, but yours is just an outright doozy. Well then, good luck boys. Let’s just call this broken window thing even.”

I jumped up to my feet and began closing the door.

“Wait, wait!”

“Hmmm?”

“How do we hunt it?”

“My goodness boys,” I laughed, “you can’t hunt it yourself. Much too young to start. You don’t know any of the incantations that trap it in a web of multidimensional… oh, you wouldn’t understand at all.”

“What if,” Scooter started.

“And,” I interrupted him, “Don’t even think of asking me to come hunt it. I retired. I can no longer leave my home out of fear of humanity. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Can you write it down for us?”

“Well, you can’t read it in written form you would have to memorize it. I suppose you could do a ‘repeat after me scenario,’ but I don’t have a tin can phone that would work for a group call.”

“The radios!”

“Radios?” I asked.

“We have CB radios! Do you have a radio?!”

“10-4, young Scooter.”

“We talk to each other on station 11 around 8pm.”

“I’ll be there. No rituals until we talk.”

“I winked and closed the door.”

That night, right around 8pm, the boys joined. I listened to them for just a little while before I jumped in.

“Scooter signing in.”

“Clark signing in.”

“Deven signing in.”

“Should we wait for Ms. Lunett?”

“You guys, my mom says she just a bored old bat.”

“She knew all our names before we said them!”

“Didn’t you see the broom she was holding?”

“I don’t know. Clark, I think you’re just hearing that old hairless cat your mom bought to feel love.”

“Shut up, Deven.”

“I’ve seen things, it has these oily needle claws that slip under the space between the door and the floor.

“Lunett signing in!”

“Ms. Lunett, I haven’t turned the light off yet. No rituals.”

“Perfect, I know how difficult this is going to be, but I need you to just turn your light off once. Go ahead. It will be difficult, but we are trying to draw it out so that you can repeat the incantation.”

“Lights are off,” the radio squelched, “and I’m in bed.”

“Everyone the same?”

“Yes, Scooter out.”

“Yes, Deven out.”

“Now, pretend to go to sleep and when you get to the first sound of a monster, I want you to squeeze the call button three times sharp. When I hear three sharp calls I will slowly give you one line at a time and you are to repeat it word for word, you got that?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Clark. His fear was palatable.

“Over and out, until the call.”

It was no less than fifteen minutes before the triple scratches came at my dead husband’s little radio.

“Alright, repeat after me, into the radio so that I can hear it: Le monstre s'en va. Monstrul pleacă. Potwór odejdź.”

It was just “monster go away” in three random languages. I did a language search on the internet; I probably didn’t even do it right.

The boy repeated the incantation line by line as I gave it to him.

Then silence.

Then a clatter and a small commotion.

“Scooter,” I said, “was that you?”

“Yes, there was a monster in my room. I saw it! I can’t believe I saw it! It was blue and it had a big head and these little birds’ feet as arms. It came out of my closet! Then poof! It just poofed into itself!”

“Good job Scooter. With one more monster free of this world the rest will lay low, I think you can all sleep a peaceful night.” I smiled knowing I had helped them get one good night of rest.

“Ms. Lunett?”

“Yes, Clark?”

“Will we be able to get mine tomorrow?”

“Same time, same place. You’re safe for tonight.”

The next night we repeated the same pattern. The boys, brave from their first successful monster hunt, and a good night’s sleep were raring to go.

“Ms. Lunett said I have one too,” said Deven. I am going to leave my closet door open.

“Don’t get cocky, Deven,” I said.

But it was indeed Deven who’s monster made an appearance that night. I think Clark was just too scared to bring his out; we needed to increase his confidence. I really enjoyed seeing the children’s confidence build.

Deven’s monster was a devilish red blob, complete with horns. It rolled slowly out of the closet and it’s fat purple tongue dangled out of his mouth. Then poof! He was gone.

“Le monstre s'en va."

“Le monstre s'en va."

"Monstrul pleacă."

"Monstrul pleacă."

"Potwór odejdź.”

"Potwór odejdź.”

“We got him. Don't pout, young Clark, third night is the charm! Go to bed, get your strength. You’ve all done good work.”

“Ms. Lunett?”

“Yes, Clark?”

“Would it be okay if the guys slept over at my house tomorrow night?”

“I can’t imagine why not,” I said, “he is a big creature. It might just help to have all three of your following my lead in the encantation.”

“That’s what I was thinking! Talk to you tomorrow, Ms. Lunett!”

We met again the following night at 8pm sharp.

“We’re all here together Ms. Lunett.”

Good boys, you’re going to have to pretend extra hard to be asleep. Having three of you will increase the power of the enchantment, but he’s a smart one and he’s going to be skeptical.

All went quiet. The minutes ticked by. I rubbed some of the sleep from my eyes and then I heard the front door knock.

I left the room to answer it. I had no idea that that is the exact time the monster would choose to strike.

I was gone for five minutes. Damn Mormons.

I’m really not an actual witch; I prefer occultist, a doctorate. You see, you can’t have magic without science.

There is a group of kids outside my window right now playing kick ball.

Where was that ball retriever spell?

Being an occultist will never stop me from having a little fun. Think of it a little like canning peaches, but in this case, with a monster delicacy. This much monster will keep until the next lunar decade, and it was nice to get fresh monster from outside the house. I was so tired of that weak basement stuff that scuttled in on spidery legs. I tucked another jar onto the shelf.

It doesn’t matter your age; you can always enjoy playing with your food. It really was a doozy, but a shame that it took out all my bait.

THE END