Juniper's Mess Causes Some Distress

They were closing in, and Juniper realised her mistake of not packing sooner. She should have done it right when she had discovered the source of that stench. Wilfred and she could’ve been far away by now, but she had​​—typically—procrastinated making preparations.

Juniper inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. That bitter stench penetrated her nose and throat, and she cupped her mouth with her hand as she gagged. It had reached gut-wrenching levels.

A cacophony of outrage rumbled in the distance. How many would there be? Juniper glanced at the open logbook lying on the ground beside her unmade bed. She had filled nine pages with names written in moss-green ink. Most of them she’d recorded fairly neatly along horizontal lines on the pages: customer name, potion order, quantity. But she had also jotted orders in the spaces along the edges of the paper, in uneven vertical lines, upside-down, and in hasty scribbles wedged into corners, unreadable even to her. Who knew how many there were!

She dared a peek out her front window, clutching the black woven-wool curtain tightly as she hid behind it. The townspeople were now visible between the tall white bark trees of the forest. A high-pitched whine escaped Juniper’s throat at the sight of them.

A small army of abominations was headed her way. A classical witch-hunt, if it hadn’t been for the humongous, swamp-green heads wobbling angrily on necks of various lengths and widths. That and the slimy, webbed hands wrapped around the wrought-iron pitchforks and torches. And the long mouths that ran across their faces in thin lines, blending into brown-spotted cheeks. And the large yellow eyes that bulged out from under thick lids, with black almond-shaped irises that stared in opposite directions from one another.

Maybe one day they could all laugh about this, Juniper thought, her face contracting into a pained half-smile. See that woman over there, she still looked just like herself! Save for the water pouring uncontrollably out of her ears, creating a mud trail beneath her where she walked. She spotted Juniper hiding behind the curtain and opened her mouth. An abnormally long, pink tongue unrolled from between her lips. As the woman took another step, she stepped on the tip of her tongue, tripped, and planted face-first in the mud.

Juniper squealed and jerked away from the window. She snatched her goat hide travel pouch off the brass hook on the wall. She could never show her face here again. If anyone found out about this, the Witches Association would take her license away. And she had only had it for five moon cycles! Without looking at what she was grabbing, she started shoving her belongings into the bag. The rage outside grew louder—they were closing in.

The door trembled in its hinges. Someone was pounding on it.

‘Wilfred?!’ Juniper hissed as she swept her hand through the mixed pile of herbs on her redwood table. The layer of dust came loose with the bay leaves, sage, and rosemary, and flew up into her nose. She gasped, breathed in both the dust and that dreadful stench. She sneezed.

‘She’s in there!’ someone yelled. ‘Kill her!’

‘No, we need her—ribbit—alive!’

Juniper stood frozen beside her table, her eyes frantically scanning the room for a sign of Wiflred. A shadow was cast over the wooden floor before her. A figure rose in the back window. Juniper could see it looming in the corner of her eye. Slowly, she turned her head.

Two yellow eyes, each as big as a child’s head, stared at her—sort of—from behind the fingerprint stains and oily streaks on the window. Thick slime dripped down the creature’s cheeks and neck, leaving wet streaks on its speckled skin. Juniper squealed as a long, wet tongue lolled out from between the creature’s lips, and a low voice croaked out of its mouth.

‘Your potion was supposed to—ribbit—turn me handsome! Make Grr—ribbit—eta fall in love with me!’ the frogman bellowed. ‘But one look at me and threw her sandal in my face!’

‘I’m sure she was only joking,’ Juniper chuckled nervously.

The frogman’s eyes bulged even bigger. ‘She scrr—ribbit—eamed she would rather make love to her sewing needles than to marry me!’

From behind the front door boomed another voice, ‘And you prr—ribbit—omised me I would fly! But instead of wings, I now have thighs like slimey, dead fish!’

Juniper bounced from one leg to the other. ‘Well… did you know frogs can actually leap very high?’

‘I gave you all the coin I had for that water-breathing potion!’ another cried from beyond the cabin wall.

‘Frogs can breathe underwater!’ Juniper exclaimed.

More voices erupted from beyond the walls. The townspeople had surrounded her cabin now.

‘I was promised better fortune for my leech-collecting business!’

‘You said my pits would never smell again, but I reek worse than before!’

‘And I'm still constipated!'

‘I’m sorry!’ Juniper whimpered. ‘So terribly sorry!’

‘Turn us—ribbit—back!’ the frogman in the window croaked.

‘I will!’ Juniper exclaimed. ‘As soon as I find out how!’

The frogman’s eyes bulged even larger in their slimy sockets, red veins popping in the corners. ‘RIBBIIIIIIIIIT?!’

Rage erupted all around. They were pounding on her walls now. The stones trembled and shook, dust and sand pouring out from between the cracks.

‘Wilfreeeeed!’ Juniper cried. ‘Where the heck are you?!’ She flung her travel bag on her back.

She had liked it here. This town had appreciated her craft. They had welcomed her with open arms. Times were different now. Witches were not burned anymore, but rather appreciated. And this town even been open to her as a newly graduated witch. Business had been booming. If only she hadn’t ignored that damned stench.

The stench!

She ran to her cauldron in the far corner of the room, accidentally kicking over a stack of heavy, leather-bound books, and peered over the edge. The murky leftover liquid filled about half of the cauldron, boiling in a gray-black colour. Large bubbles grew on its surface. She gagged as one of them burst, and a mixture of old bluebird eggshells, crushed dragon’s tooth, decaying morels, and a vague hint of rose petals hit her face.

‘Oh, Wilfred!’ Juniper took one breath and held it, reaching into the cauldron. The liquid was thick and grainy, like mud, and unpleasantly lukewarm. She reached around in it and hit the bottom of the cauldron with her fingertips. A thick layer of muck was caked onto the bottom. Burnt salamander feet, soggy remains of herbs, bone dust, on half of a leech. Whatever potions she had been making these past months had suffered at the hands of exactly what had delayed her graduation for so long. Her own doing.

There!

Her hand wrapped around something cold and pulled it out.

Wilfred stared at her blinkingly, seemingly unfazed by the fuss. The concoction dripped off his small, frog body in large, thick drops. Each of his little bulging eyes looked in a different direction.

‘Ribbit.’

‘Oh, Wilfred, how many times did I tell you not to get in there?!’ Juniper hissed. ‘You’ve landed me in some big trouble now. Not like school either. Actual trouble! We have to go.’

‘Ribbit.’

‘I told you time and time again that cauldron won’t magically turn you into a prince.’

Wilfred blinked slowly. ‘Rib—’

‘Nah-uh, I'm not kissing you!’

Juniper yanked her broomstick out of the corner and locked it under her armpit. Her teachers had always warned her that something would go wrong. She had been so desperate to prove them wrong. But now, years of lost notes, forgotten textbooks, burned scrolls, and nightly searches for Wilfred, who she never had managed to keep in check flashed through her mind.

But she could improve! She would remember in the next town. She would write it down somewhere, carve it into the wall above her bed if she had to.

CLEAN YOUR CAULDRON!

Juniper cast the frogman in the window one final apologetic smile. ‘Greta will change her mind, surely. Real beauty comes from within after all.’

The frogman’s eyes looked like they were about to pop now. He opened his mouth wide, tongue trembling as he bellowed, ‘TURN ME BAAA—RIBBIT—AAACK!’

Juniper snapped her fingers and teleported away, Wilfred cold and slimy in the palm of her hand, and that stench permanently anchored in the back of her throat.