Which Witch

Molly trailed behind me, her black cape flowing out below her pointy black hat, as we moved through the festive Salem crowd. Halloween was a town favorite. Even with the enthusiasm around Halloween, Molly would have attracted too much attention at any other time of year, in her witchy getup. I smiled back at her, appreciating her dress sense. Pepper trotted along beside the girl. If anyone thought it odd to see a young witch with a black cat at her side, I couldn’t tell. And honestly, I don’t think anyone noticed.

We slipped into a coffee shop, it’s interior muted from the sidewalk due to it’s large fogged windows. Inside, the humidity was as thick as the hum of human chatter. Pepper risked going unseen and slipped in with Molly, staying impossibly close to the girl. Molly grabbed a handful of my over-sized black sweater and we made our way through the bodies towards the counter. The coffee shop was teeming, due to the warmth it offered on this frosty morning, and it’s diminutive size. All of the micro tables were occupied.

“Small pumpkin steamer and large red eye, please,” I asked expertly. After living in Salem for 5 years, I knew how to efficiently order my coffee at the aptly named: Witch’s Brew Coffee.

I handed money to the barista and moved Molly along the counter to make room for the next customer. Moments later, I was holding two steaming drinks. I could sense Molly behind me and then felt her twist her hand into the hem of my sweater again. We made our way to the exit and maneuvered around the people coming in to get their own caffeine hit.

Outside, I squatted next to Molly and handed her drink to her. She grasped it between her two hands, showing signs of losing their baby chub. She smiled up at me, her cheeks glowing. I returned the grin. I stood as I grabbed her hand and we made our way through the walking crowds, back up the hill towards our favorite big maple tree. The tree was aglow in its fall beauty — I could see the top of it from here!

Marta summoned me to Salem, just before she died 5 years ago. I was unexpectedly single and pregnant with Molly at almost 40 years old. All towns and cities have witches, of course, it’s essential. All humans have the capacity to be witches, but very few discover their inner magic. Salem was a town witches knew to avoid. Sure, they all seemed witch-happy in this century, but the memory of witches is long, passing from generation to generation. It took a certain kind of witch to be courageous enough to call Salem home. But a witch had to be a resident at all times. Marta knew she was fading. Her time was almost done. So she summoned me.

I arrived on a similarly chilly morning, but it was much foggier. Marta resided in the house I now call home. It’s just outside of town with several acres. The house is hidden from the road, nestled in a small clearing. Thick overgrown forests surround the clearing, preventing nosy neighbors and others from observing rituals and celebrations that occur regularly. It was, and still is, rather ramshackle. I keep meaning to give it a fresh layer of paint, but I’m worried it won’t feel as homey.

Marta seemed relieved that I’d finally arrived. She was a gentle support for my last weeks of pregnancy and Molly was born right in the back day room all pink and delicious. I smiled at the thought. Marta actually gave Molly her name. It suited her perfectly. Marta lost her grasp on life two weeks later.

At first it was all so overwhelming. How to maintain the necessary safe guards for the naive humans. Those that don’t know, have no idea how much effort it takes from the witch community to keep them safe! And new baby or no, I still had my role to play in this community that was limited on witches. In addition, it was critical that I not give away my identity as a witch.

But in time, with some magic, Molly and I found our groove. Pepper arrived two years ago, solidifying my suspicion that Molly was destined to discovery her witchy ways. It was that same year that she insisted on wearing her witch costume for all of October and most of November. In the end, I honestly cast a spell to make the costume invisible — but it only lasted 10 months. Actually it was not the best spell to use, I spent 10 months tripping over the stupid thing. It was always in this doorway, or sticking out from under Molly’s bed. Obnoxious.

The following year I told Molly that true witches only wear their witch costumes in October and a week after Halloween, otherwise their identity would be discovered. She loved the intrigue of that. If only she knew, I wasn’t kidding. This year, she remembered my explanation and dutifully waited until October to don her most comfortable of wardrobe choices to her. I didn’t want to limit her being her … but the world wasn’t always the most welcoming of different.

At the top of the hill, we snuggled up on the bench under the tree. The sky was bright cold blue above the shocking red leaves. I sighed with satisfaction. Pepper jumped up onto the bench purring, and nestled into Molly’s lap.

Out of nowhere, I heard a shout and then a bramble of voices that took up the call. My throat tightened as I frantically scanned my surroundings looking for the source. There they came, up the hill, struggling against each other to be in the front. A shiver whipped through me when I finally could make out what they were shouting: there’s the witch!

It was happening again! A resurgence of anti-witch sentiment. I pulled Molly towards me roughly, ready to bolt. Despite the adrenaline wildly dancing through my blood, I remembered the invisibility incantation.

“Ilia, bilia, invisi, brivisi” I said loudly and squinted my eyes tightly, being careful to keep Molly in my grasp. At the last moment, I was horrified to realize that Molly had burst free from my grasp and was running gleefully towards the rowdy mob. I stood to move towards her then quickly, checked my arm. It worked. I was invisible.

What was the reverse spell? My mind went blank. Frantic I searched for Molly among the crowd that had swarmed her. I heard her gleeful delight as the crowd whooped and hollered.

“I told you!” I heard the barista from Witch’s Brew shout above the crowd. “She’s the best witch!” I sank to the bench, dumbfounded. This wasn’t the pitchfork brandishing mobs of centuries past. This was the Salem of today, enchanted by the idea of witches. Maybe it was safe to tell Molly about her power. The trouble with being a witch, like any female, is that too often our power terrifies men. So we hide it, minimize it. But it seemed the people of Salem were thrilled at the idea of a witch. I hoped the power behind women would not terrify them back into the days of rounding up any female that dared to show her power.

“Isivib, isivin, ailib, aili,” I muttered and felt myself slowly become visible. Molly ran over and snuggled onto my lap, and eagerly showed me the small handful of candy she now possessed. Looking up, I could see that the “mob” was fewer than 15 people. Maybe only 10.

“She’s adorable!” the barista said to me. “I had to show my friends! I’m glad you hadn’t gone far! Happy Halloween!!” she enthused and turned with her friends, all moving as one body, across the street and into an over-sized dilapidated Victorian that college students rented out by the semester.

“I love being a witch!” Molly announced. We stood and I took her hand. We continued up the hill, Pepper scampering not too far ahead.

“I’m glad, Molls,” I said with a smile looking down with immense pride at this mini-witch.