Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1897611
There’s a reason for those figures of crashed witches on telephone poles and trees.
|Hello you young witch, wizard, warlock, sorcerer, or whatever it is you young people call yourselves these days. As you might have noticed, it’s that time of year when many people decorate their houses- hopefully with Halloween stuff and not Christmas stuff- skeletons, werewolves, Frankie, Grimmy, vampires, and other such things. Of course, there are those figurines of crashed witches- a tribute to a dear friend of mine, and a warning to others.|
It was back during the 17th century, when folk like you and I more openly used our powers- in spite of those annoying witch hunts. Most of us were good folk- no different than those normal humans, though there were those who gave us a bad name. Most of the time we were healers, trackers, and so forth- we did things normal folk had trouble with, including delivering packages to distant towns and settlements.
Eliza was the best person at that- she could do the London to Rome run in three hours- took most deliverers at least four, with five being the average. It was a good job, people paid you well, even gave you food and drink to keep your energy up during the journey. Sometimes they even helped you out with certain needs- Eliza was never short on a pick of lovers when the urge came upon her, including a few women from what she told me.
Of course, back in those days, water was not to be trusted- no it doesn’t cause witches to melt- that would be silly. However, it could make one very sick- didn’t matter if you had magic or not. Most of the time one drank beer- it was weak, mind you- you’d have to drink like twenty or more pints to actually get drunk. About the only good thing about it was that it wet your throat, and it was much safer to drink than water. Every stop you went to, at least one person would fill up your drink container, which was normally made out of a type of metal.
One All Hallows Eve, Eliza had been invited to celebrate at this Earl’s palace. The Earl was a nice guy, and he was good in bed too- couldn’t say the same about his descendants though, I’ve yet to have the pleasure of bedding one of them down. Problem was, he was a drinker, and he gave Eliza some very strong brandy. Another problem was that one of the deliverers was sick with something and Eliza was the only other witch in the vicinity when the Master Witch sent out a location spell. The delivery was a load of medicine, a must delivery. Eliza picked up the package, and barely made it to her destination, almost crashing into the town square. After she received payment, she left.
The next day, she didn’t report in. It wasn’t unheard of- there was more than a few storms along the route, and more than a few had taken shelter in areas that were magic dead zones- you couldn’t contact them, and they couldn’t contact you. Others were dealing with the effects of being over tired, including some good sized headaches. As for me, well, I was enjoying the company of a good man- didn’t bother to report in until after noon.
The day after that though, she still hadn’t reported in. Those along the route she had flown on were ordered to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Well, I was one of those in the area, and I found her- it wasn’t pretty. She had crashed into this tree, and split her skull- and I could smell trace amounts of brandy. Somewhere between the drink and the storm, she must have lost her bearings, and her life.
After that, a rule was made- no strong drink for any witch, or any other magic user. We also made figurines of Eliza, which were placed in the training centers, showing how she died. It saved a few lives.
Nowadays, the use of magic has all but died off. However, figurines of Eliza are still around- though most have forgotten the message. But there are those who know what they are- and heed the warning. Now I’ll tell you young witch, wizard, or whatever you call yourself- when you go out flying tonight, don’t drink, or you’ll end up like poor Eliza.