“It is precisely unlikely that you would wake up to find you have a kid, and that the kid has, against most odds, been yours for any number of years, apparently without anyone having caught on.”
“Especially uneaten,” said the witch, adjusting her pointy hat, “which is exactly the way that Gucci does not like Children.”
“How can you joke?”
The witch raised an eyebrow, and glanced sidelong at the alligator stretched out under the rickety, wooden table.
“Witches don’t joke.”
The servant wiped her hands on her apron.
“She looks nothing like you.”
“No. She is much greener.”
“I mean the girl”, She said, pointing a ladle.
The older woman sighed. “I know she’s mine, Nin. I keep a diary. I have written about her since she was a child. I keep it on my bed, so I see it every morning.”
The other woman set the breakfast table with quick precision. To her surprise, she had already set four place mats out.
“She’s probably not even human,” mumbled the housekeeper, “nothing around these parts ever is. Especially thems that are.”
“She seems human enough. She has an amazing gift, if my diary is right.”
“What, that no one knows a thing about her? Kids are worse than cats you know, mark my word.”
Gucci croaked loudly, as a thin man in robes opened the front door.
“Love, there’s a girl sleeping in my study,” he said, unfolding a newspaper. He moved to the small table, and sat down, wiping the bugs and dirt off of his morning reading.
“She’s ours, dear”, said the witch.
The man nodded to the housekeeper, and smiled.
“We’ll be keeping her then?”
The housekeeper poured him a cup of something red. “I rather think cats are overrated, since you’ve asked. She keeps missing the litter box. It’s disgusting.”
“I think he means the girl, Nin.”
“Our new found daughter uses the litter box?” asked the father, ruffling the pages of the daily.
“Ah look here,” he continued, “It says the paperboy’s gone missing.” He squinted. “This is yesterday’s’ paper.”
Gucci burped.
Everyone turned to look at the Croc, who slithered toward the back room.
“Sometimes I think he understands us,” said the man.
“Cat’s understand more than you’d think, sir.”
“I think he means Gucci, Nin.”
The bedroom door opened.
Mary shambled in slowly, trying to pull a brush through her long, wavy hair, but it had stopped half way down, refusing now to go up or down. As was often the case, the entire family was staring at her, eyes wide, as if she were a stray just climbing out from under the house. Being only thirteen, she had some trouble composing her thoughts. So she said, after some deliberation, “You’re drooling on your hat, Mom.”
This seemed to break the ice a bit, as there were sighs of relief all the way around.
“At least the cat stopped hissing,” said Nin.
“Disgusting creatures,” said Mary, smiling at the housekeeper.
The servant produced a grey pitcher from behind her back, and poured the little girl something blue and steaming. Mary noticed a thing in the liquid as it squirmed out of sight, deeper into the cup.
Mary cackled politely.
“Mom,” she began. ”
“You’ve hardly touched your bacon,” the older witch interrupted.
Her daughter, if indeed she was, sighed, and unzipped a backpack. She began filling it with odds and ends from the kitchen drawers.
“That’s hardly bacon.”
“It’s gator bacon,” added the housekeeper.
“It’s always gator something,” said Mary. She finished packing, and zipped up her backpack. “I’m going to the store,” she announced.
Mary’s father looked over the edge of his newspaper, eyes his new found daughter as she shuffled toward the door. He looked at his wife. “We have a store?”
Mary opened the door. It creaked as it swung inward, letting in the musty odors of the swamp, the croaking of the frogs, and the thick moonlight. “No dad, but I do have a store.”
Her father turned the page, and went back to reading.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“Wah?” said Mary’s mother.
Mary paused at the door. “It on page 112 of your diary, mother.” With this, she stepped into the night, into the witch’s swamp, and made her way toward the closest town.
As Mary walked down the wet cobblestone street, the morning’s dew just settling amongst the coarse stones, she noticed that the door to her candy store, normally closed, was open, and as she drew closer, she could see that it was marred.
Mary spat as she rubbed the door edge. She pulled splinters from around the lock as she eyed the interior of the building. When she caught site of the section where candy bars normally line, her mouth twitched.
It is said, in remote portions of rare and remote places, that if a witch’s mouth twitches, bad things could happen. One reason that these places are rare is directly related to the saying. However, this saying was likely unknown by two children that were watching Mary from across the street. They did realize that the twig she pulled from her pocket was not at twig at all. Well, it was a twig, but it didn’t act like a twig. The children’s ignorance was apparent, as they skipped across the road, and burst into the candy store.
The girl skipped to the wide counter, a toothy grin adorning her face. He brother went off to peruse the shop.
“Hi, Mary,” said the girl. She rocked back and forth on pointy shoes, looking at the floor, smiling.
Mary looked down at her with blank expression. When Mary did not speak, the girl continued.
“May have one candy bar, please?”
In isle three, her brother couldn’t suppress a snicker.
So it had been them. There was no doubt. “You know we don’t have any candy bars left, Prism.”
“Why’s that?”
Mary tapped her foot. “Someone stole them all last night.”
In the back, her brother snickered again.
“All of them? What a shame!” The girl smiled.
From isle six, her brother called out. “Where are the gumballs, Mary? I want some gumballs.”
“What’s wrong,” called out Mary. “You don’t like screwdrivers?”
“Very funny!” yelled the boy.
“Oh not at all!” Mary walked around the counter, pulling the girl toward the door. He brother soon came out of isle six, his face white. “What’s going on?” I don’t see any candy!”
Mary opened the door. “Oh, didn’t anyone tell you? This is a hardware store.”
The two kids looked at each other, truly concerned.
“You can’t do this! Everyone will want the candy store back.”
Mary tilted her head, yawned silently. “Actually,” she said, tucking a twig in her belt, “I think that you two are the only ones who will remember that there ever was a candy store.”
The siblings’ eyes grew wide.
“You can’t do that!”
Mary shoved the girl out the door, and then the boy. They were in such shock, they could do little more than stumble. She closed the door slowly, eying them through the narrowing crack.
“Look who’s laughing now.”