The Forgotten

A Writer’s Cramp (24 hours/1,000 words or less)

Write a story or poem that is titled, "The Forgotten"

The Forgotten

“Marguerite, I’m afraid we have to ask you to leave,” said Griscelda, the witch with the odd-shaped black/brown wart. The thing grew at the tip of her triangular-shaped chin and held three two-inch hairs that stuck out from the thickest part, hairs which seemed to wiggle each time she breathed.

However, the impact of her words halted any urge I had to stare.Her words almost immobilized me. At first I blinked and stuttered a squeaky,"Whaaaaa?" Then, regaining some semblance of stability, I tilted my head and stepped closer to Griscelda, so I could peer into the fierceness of her beady, green eyes. Scorched by her look, I swung about, seeking a friendly eye among my sister witches, but they were all nodding their heads in agreement.

“What do you mean? Why do I have to leave?” I asked.

“You don’t fit. You've never fit in,” Gretta said, followed by one of her loud, high-pitched witchly cackles. Its strident off-tone always turned my goose bumps into screaming cheerleaders.

“You aren’t a worthy witch.” That comment came from Jenny, the oldest of the bunch. If Jenny agreed with Marguerite, my frog was duly cooked.

“Meowwww,” said Thea’s aged black cat. Its tail lashed in vehement agreement. Its claws extended, each knife-like spear slightly yellowish-green like rancid scrambled eggs.

I backed away from the cat, shot a second glance around, still seeing only glaring sets of eyes.

“But why?” I tried again. "You're my coven. I belong here."

“You need ask? You're a lousy witch,” Stormy said.

Thea’s cat continued to advance. I backed further. It seemed that even the familiars wanted to see me gone.

Whenever I'd worked with my sister witches, my familiar was forced to spend her time up in the rafters, avoiding their two cats, one snake, one wolf, and a coyote. Maybe that should have warned me. Neither of us had been popular.

The snake was slithering closer. The ragged-coated wolf suddenly growled at me. I kept on eye on them, noting that, thankfully, the coyote only continued to scratch at his fleas, oblivious to what the others were doing.

“Okay, okay. I’m out of here, but I still don’t understand why.”

Thea caught her cat. Stormy scooped up the cobra.

“You broke the rules,” Thea said, anger making her eyes bulge like two sulfur bubbles threatening to burst “You substituted an old black grape for an eye of newt.”

No argument about that. Caught, guilty as charged. I hung my head. “I know," I said. "I just couldn’t do it."

“Do what?” Mariah asked, her hand stroking her bristling wolf.

“Kill. I couldn't kill the newt. It was a young one, barely a teenager.”

Griscelda’s wart wiggled in a manner that boded evil.

“Squeak, squeak,” said Miss Squirrel, warning me it was time to depart.

I looked up just in time to see that Jenny’s cat had crept up into the rafters and was one pounce away from grabbing my familiar. Luckily Miss Squirrel saw it, too. She took a flying leap and landed, if not gracefully, at least accurately, right on my left shoulder.

Squirrel claws can stab into tree bark and cling, as well as climb. My shoulder suddenly felt like a used dart board. I shrieked loud enough to stop the coyote from scratching. It howled a complaint.

The witches then started to curse me. The odor of magic dust -- dark, heavy, and with the scent of cloves permeated the air. I grabbed my broom, waved the door open, and took off.

As I flew up into the sky, Miss Squirrel chattered loudly into my ear.

“What?” I said repeatedly, hoping she slow down, speak more distinctly.

“The forgotten,” I finally made out, but that didn't make any sense at all. Was she indicating I'd forgotten something back at the witch's house? Whatever it was, it would have to remain there. I never go back. I didn't dare.

I set us down in an ominously shadowy dark forest. Tree leaves were quivering with outrage at my arrival. The bark of the nearest sycamore lit up with a lime green oozing that looked like the sap might be perilous if touched. But trees couldn't cast spells. I'd be safe for a moment while I talked with my squirrel.

“What are you chattering about?” I asked her.

“The forgotten,” Miss Squirrel said again. “You’ve forgotten the forgotten.”

I shook my head, tried to make sense out of her words. A scratchy paw slapped me on the cheek. Instantly I got her message.

A far of remembrance slipped down over my head and smoothed itself into place. “The forgotten," I whispered, stunned at how well the spell had worked. "Right. The forgotten. I’ll see if they’ll accept me.”

Miss Squirrel nodded her head, then dashed up onto my head, then over, so she could sit on my right shoulder to give my left a break. I wiggled the empty side, then pushed off and up.

On the other side of Dracula’s castle sat an old-fashioned cottage with dainty pink petunias. Now that Miss Squirrel had knocked the spell away, I remembered it well. I dropped down onto the path, set my broom against the wall, and knocked at the door.

“Come in,” said four gnarly voices. “We’ve been expecting you, Marguerite.”

The old crone who’d spoken had a nose longer than most bananas. It was tilted upwards and had three lovely warts at the tip -- known as beauty spots among witches.

The other hags were equally glamorous, one with sparse white hair all ratted and disheveled, one with eyes a fascinating shade of slime-green, and the last with teeth blackened like fireplace cinders.

Intimidated, I stared at the floor.

The witch with the lovely teeth reached out and hugged me. “We're so glad you came to join us,” she cackled.

I shivered. What would they say when I told them the truth about me?

The woman with the incredible nose stepped closer. “Our squirrels told us you were coming.”

A tear fell from my eye. I so wanted to believe they’d accept me. I looked up and bravely admitted my horrible secret. “I . . . I don’t do spells well. I can’t obtain bat wings, eye of newt . . . even dragon scales. I just can’t hurt an animal.”

The witches clucked and chortled. “We know that, dear one. Squirrels chatter, you know. They tell us everything. Besides, that’s why we’re glad to accept you. We’re the forgotten ones, the witch vegetarians. We don’t believe in hurting anyone either.”

"Which is why no one ever remembers we're here," said Slime-green. "It's our little secret, you see."

Joy flowed from my eye ducts. Perhaps my eyes reddened. My skin probably broke out in spots. In other words, I was at my most attractive when suddenly a bat fluttered against the window.

“May I come in?” said a deep, mysterious voice.

The witches called out, and Count Dracula soared right into the room.

“Ah, a beautiful new witch." His eyes admired. I sighed, gave a hearty cackle.

"Will you dance with me?” the Count asked.

I didn’t have warts, white hair, black teeth, or a wondrously long nose, but Dracula's fanged smile fastened on me. I cackled again with delight and a bit of nervousness.

The night was dark, the sky moonless. Five witches and one vampire with bright red eyes and skin like moldy cheese danced about the room. We cackled, slurped, and partied with glee as our familiars -- five fuzzy, furry squirrels chittered, chattered, and chased each other from rafter to rafter. It was the happiest day of my life.

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974 words



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My blog is a writing blog, where I add chapters.

Currently in its rough draft stage is my NaNo 2013 novel: The Downside of Solar Panels -- a young witch decides to install solar panels on the cottage where she lives. But how can she achieve her goal of financial independence when a warlock, werewolves, ghosts and a neighborhood vampire keep intruding?




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