Mistic Pets

Welcome to Issue 53
Created by The Mistic Pets Team

The Witch and the Mericai
Written By TheBrokenFox

A mother Mericai and her two darling children were on the way home from school. It was early that October, and Lantunacht was right around the corner. The two boys ooh-ed and awed at the spectacular decorations laid out already, from elaborately carved pommekins to huge spydres just waiting for prey. One decoration popped out the most, and both boys couldn’t stop talking about it.

“Mom! Mom! Do you see that awesome witch?” Adrian, the youngest boy, called.

“Yeah, the one stuck in the tree. Look how lifelike that one looks!” Phillip, the oldest, chimed in.

There in front yard of a particularly well decorated house was a witch stuck in a tree. Long straggly black hair swayed in the breeze as the ankle-length black skirt of her dress billowed around her broom and legs, which looked crippled and misshapen wedged in the tree. The straw of the broom looked dry and flustered, as if it had seen some flight before impact.

“Yes, I see it,” their mother smiled at them, happy that her boys were getting into the Lanturnacht spirit.

“Can we get one?” The brothers asked in unison.

“Sure, sure. I’d rather you boys be decorating than rotting your teeth out before we even get our candy stash," she laughed.

After an early dinner, the trio headed to the Holiday Shop, not far from their home. If anyone would have such an awesome decoration, Mom was sure Rosebud would have it.

They arrived and everyone rushed in, taking their own route to find the witch prop. To their surprise, no one could find it! Mom decided to ask Rosebud, and the happy overgrowth Phelocan looked through her inventory to no avail. It seemed she didn’t have any witch-in-the-tree props.

A little disappointed but not out of the race, they went to every shop they could think of, venturing as far as the Banshee Swamps. Everywhere they went, they could not find their prized item. Then, finally defeated, they made their way home. As a last resort, on the way home, they stopped by the house that had the witch on display. The mother knocked on the door of the home that the witch belonged to, which was quickly answered.

“Hello, I was wondering where in the world you got that witch there in your tree. I’ve looked everywhere and I just can’t find one like it!” She said, exasperated now.

“I’m sorry,” started the young male Mandoran who had answered the door, “We just woke up one day and she was there. At least the pranksters didn’t get us with toilet paper this year.”

After a short conversation and goodbye, the downtrodden mother returned to her children empty handed. “If only I could get them their witch, then this Lanturnacht would sure to be memorable for them,” she whispered to herself. In that moment she could have sworn she saw the witch twitch, but blew it off as her imagination once she turned and saw it still there, unmoving.

The next few weeks flew by, and after checking every day for the prop, the Mericai mom still could not acquire the one witch. She bought many other decorations for the enjoyment of her boys, but always noticed the sad expression not well hidden in their eyes as they found out each passing day that the witch had not been found.

The day before Lanturnacht was upon the mother, and the house was perfectly empty for her to finish the last day of fall cleaning before the big day. The candy was ready and the inside of the house pristine. The boys’ costumes were hanging at the ready. The last touch was to finish the front yard, and it was going to take quite a while. More leaves had fallen than looked necessary, and with a broom and rake at her side, she began to tackle the job. Soon she found herself wishing the rake could pick up the leaves on its own. As if by magic, the rake swooped away from her hands and raked the leaves to perfection. Then her broom took to the air, and began to chase her around the yard at super-fast speeds. Screaming and running, she could not get away as the broom swept under her and whisked her into the air.

Clutching the broom in a white-knuckled grip, the mother looked at her fur as it began to recede and turn to ghastly green skin. Her hooves transformed into sickly yellow talloned paws, and her beautiful blue mane became black and grey. The housecoat and penny loafers she sported swiftly turned to the black attire of a witch. The broom quickly turned almost 180 degrees, and started barreling towards the tree in their front yard. In her head the cackling of a demon sounded louder than anything she had ever heard:

“Be careful what you witch for.”

Comments

This article does not have any comments.

Go Back to Articles

Go Back To Issue Overview