Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

The fact is that most witches do not conform to the fairytale stereotype.

That’s what Jane’s sister tells her.

They don’t have warty green skin, hairy chins, and a recognisably cackling laugh.  They are not ugly fat hermits living in a forest, occasionally dancing naked around a cauldron. Apparently, cauldrons are not a thing.

Most witches are like the one Jane is currently watching from the dubious comfort of her very old car which smells like the artificial lemon scent of the air freshner hanging from the rear view mirror.  She sips on good bitter coffee from her sustainable thermos mug before raising the camera again.  She adjusts the lens to focus on the woman currently pruning the roses in her front garden.

Mandy Adams is a Suburban Mom.  She has a perfect blonde bob, pretty features, and a kilowatt smile.  Her typical outfit is white sneakers, blue jeans, a pastel-coloured t-shirt, and a cardigan in a matching hue to keep off a non-existent chill. 

Mandy has clearly modelled herself, her marriage, and her life, after the witch in that old television show, the one who wrinkled her nose to solve every mundane problem.  Mandy’s husband, David, looks like he came from central casting.  He’s a tall handsome accountant who reminds Jane of an old Superman cartoon. 

Mandy endeavours to be a superwoman.  She can Always Be Counted Upon to run an errand for a friend in need.  She has actual friends.  The group of women are not witches, not a coven, just a gossipy group of scary sorority sisters. According to her file, Mandy uses her business degree to run a self-made Etsy store where she sells homemade candles.

Jane sets the binoculars aside.  She checks that she hasn’t chewed her lipstick off entirely in the rearview mirror.  She takes a breath, grabs her bulky purse, the water cup her sister bought for her birthday, and gets out of the car. 

She tugs down the pencil skirt of her grey suit and adjusts her jacket.  The pink blouse underneath is creased, but there’s little she can do about it.  She walks steadily towards Mandy, trying to breathe calmly though her heart is pounding uncomfortably.

“Amanda Adams?” Jane pins a smile on her face and wonders if it looks as awkward as it feels. The perfume of the roses almost makes her head spin.

“Yes?” Mandy has stopped pruning.  Unfortunately, the rather sharp clippers are held tightly in her hand.  

“Jane Smith, IRS, may I speak with you inside?” asks Jane politely, ignoring Mandy’s quickly hidden flash of alarm.

Mandy’s smile is tight.  “May I see some identification?”

Jane nods.  She juggles the water cup and reaches into her bag for the thin wallet fold with the badge and card.  She hands it over, ignoring the stirring nerves in her belly.

Mandy examines it carefully before handing it back.  “My husband David handles our tax returns.  It may be best to wait until he’s back from soccer practice.”

Jane knows that’s a lie.  David posted on Instagram that he’s taking their son over to the grandparents for dinner.  He does it once a month and Mandy never goes with him.  She really doesn’t get along with her in-laws.  Jane can relate. 

“This is in regards to your business, Mrs Adams,” Jane says.  “I’m sure you’d prefer not to air the details in the front yard.” 

Mandy glances past Jane to the other side of the road.  Jane is certain without turning around that there’s a twitching curtain.  Mandy heads into the house.  Jane follows her and closes the door behind her.

“Now, what’s this…” Mandy begins, turning back to face her.

Jane unceremoniously throws the contents of her water cup at Mandy ensuring the water hits her fully with no drop wasted.

There’s a brief flare of horror in the perfect baby blue eyes before Mandy simply melts away, her very normal clothes left behind in a puddle.

Most witches do not conform to the stereotype, but one thing is true: all witches melt when doused with the right type of water.

Jane turns around and walks out.  She phones her sister as soon as she’s in the car.  She’s flipping through the file on the passenger seat which details how Mandy had stolen the lifeforce of more than a dozen women, all thanks to her magical candles, when Emilia picks up. 

“It’s done,” Jane says bluntly.

Emilia hums.  “We’ll make a witch hunter out of you yet.”

“I’m still not wearing leather and carrying wooden stakes in my bag,” Jane demurs.

“You know vampires don’t exist, right?”

Her sister is laughing when Jane ends the call.

fin.

Next story: Hidden in the Woods

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Copyright Rachel F Hundred 2024.