The moving truck scraped against the mailbox as it tried backing into the driveway of the tiny house. The neighbor walking her dog was watching and alerted the driver to what he was doing. The man could be heard gruffly saying, “why do people pick such small places to park. Cut some of these damn things down, why don’t ya.” The man motioned, noting the row of trees across the front of the yard.
A woman in a hat rushed from the house, yelling, “don’t hit the trees,” startling the driver, and the mailbox fell to the ground as the post gave way.
“Lady, I’m not responsible for that.” The man yelled as she picked up the post. She nodded, looking at the wood, and could see the bottom of it rotted from neglect. She placed it to the side and wrote on a small paper pad. Behind her, a woman walked up, and the woman with the hat, seemingly concentrating, spoke, “is that a Datsun?”
The woman walking her dog jumped in momentary terror before her new neighbor turned to look her in the eyes. The string of ornaments, seeming eclectic and mismatching hanging around her, drawing the woman’s eyes from the seemingly large hat her new neighbor wore. The woman with the pad wore a hat with charms along the inside rim as well.
Seeing the sparkling baubles on the headwear, the woman with the dog reached up to touch the hat. Only to have her hand swatted away as the woman with the hat finished writing. “Hi, I’m Sasha.” She said, looking at the older woman with the dog before saying, “sorry, I don’t like people touching my clothes.”
The older woman seemed embarrassed, “and you should, I’m sorry, forgive me.” She looked to the brim again, “They all seem so shiny.” Finally, the older woman smiled, offering her hand, “I Mrs. Henpey, Doris Henpey. I live two houses down.”
The other woman returned a smile. “Sasha Rajas, please call me Satch.”
“Satch? That’s an unusual nickname.” Doris responded. Making Sasha nod.
They spoke while the driver continued to maneuver the large trailer into position as he stopped several people waiting in nearby cars now gathered in the front yard. One approached, “Miss, we going to start unloading. You have that paperwork you said you were going to show us?”
Satch nodded as she handed the man a paper of where to put the items being delivered. She then told him, “If you want, just put them in the room, and I’ll take it for there.” She then gave an innocent smile. The man smiled back and taped the brim of his baseball cap before yelling orders to the others. Finally, she said goodbye to Mrs. Henpey and headed inside.
Several hours had passed, and the workers had left. The truck no longer filled the small driveway, and Sasha parked her car. She walked over, picking up the rotted post, and looked at the hole. She then looked around to see if anyone was looking before placing the post on the broken part. She had it standing with a bit of force but looked around again before pulling out a small bag. She opened the small pouch and, with two fingers, pulled out a pinch of its contents. She sprinkled it across the ground around the post and spoke whispered words.
Within seconds stones of all sizes rolled slowly toward the loose post, building a pile around it to help keep it vertical. The rocks stopped halfway to the mailbox, a conical tower neatly constructed of interlaced stone and pebbles.
“There, that should hold till I get a new post,” Sasha said as she dusted off her hands and headed back inside. As she walked inside, the whole house was full of activity, and small clay people worked to move the furniture where she wanted it. She stepped over a small troop of them that unrolled the rug in the hallway. She sat in her curiously decorated chair and reached for a copy of an old newspaper. She read the article, and the headline read, “Local couple thwarts kidnapping, Saves perpetrator from fire.”
Sasha smiled as she leaned forward. Her chin was now resting on her interlaced hands. “He was a real sorcerer. There’s no way they walked out of there unless….” The woman paused, motioning for a small troop of clay figures to place the end table further back. She then sat back in her chair, “they have to have magic. Guess I’ll find out when I see them.”
She then stood and inspected the mirror as it was hung on the wall. The nails seating themselves into the plaster securely. She looked at her reflection and brushed her hair back with her hand to see blonde streaks not appearing on each side of her head. Their location and shape were closely mimicking what could have been the ears of a cat. “Tch, I’ll have to dye them again,” giving a sigh of frustration, “I still can’t believe I got that spell wrong. Where is a good ol’ witch when you need one?” the woman said jokingly.
Sasha heard a tap and turned to the window. Outside, a raven perched on the sill, tapping the glass. “Oh, I almost forgot you were out. I have to remember to dis-spell you this time.” She smiled, opening the pane, as the bird graciously hopped inside.
“Sorry Malik, I hope you weren’t waiting too long. Tell me what you’ve found,” Sasha said as she pulled out a small colored pouch from her pocket. She pulled a small looking glass, and the bird started into it. Sasha could see the words within the loop in the glass, and its small hollow handle softly echoed the phrases from the portal.
“Ah, so he was following that funny old man,” Sasha looked up as if in thought. I wonder if he was tracking the magic? The words ended, and the witch spoke, “you’ve been a good familiar, Malik. I’ll make sure to throw in some treats while you’re resting.” Sasha pulled at the string around the bag as the bird stared toward her. As she opened it, the bird turned to dust, which was quickly drawn toward the pouch, filling it.
Sasha then placed the bag in her pocket, saying, “maybe they can help.” Before heading into the kitchen, as she turned the corner, her voice could be heard saying, “kettle, I don’t hear any water boiling.” A moment later, the kettle handle flipped over, turning on the stove, and a blue flame seeped from around its bottom. Within seconds the kettle’s whistle was heard throughout the house.
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