When Sam woke he didn’t know where he was. He was lying on a couch with a cushion shaped like a cat, and a knitted owl staring at him. His head felt groggy and he was thirsty.
He stood up and stretched. He quietly looked round the room. There were two plush armchairs and lots of clutter stacked about the place. Mainly books on shelves built into the alcoves on either side of the chimney. There were pictures all over the walls and an easle in one corner.
There was a smell of cooking wafting from the kitchen. It smelt like chicken. Suddenly his taste buds were jumping. He strolled towards the cooker. ‘Well hello boy’ said the woman standing by it stirring the food. ‘you hungry?’ ‘would you like a drink?’ He looked up at her, she was very tall.
‘Miarow’ a strange sound came out of his mouth, boy she was Very Tall. He tried again ‘miaow, murrp’. WHAT THE HELL?
He suddenly realised, his tail swishing from side to side. He was now a cat!
Old Belladonna Green watched as the moon rose. It was full and glowing tonight. Just the right time to be abroad for some witchery…..
She stood on top of the hill looking down at the old town. What enchantments could she weave to change people’s lives tonight?
She was a solo witch. A bit like solitary bees. Not part of a coven, but quietly making a difference where she could. The world was too modern for her really. No apprentice had been to see her for twenty years and her stock of charms had worn out long ago. Yes she could go to the local magic shop, but the stuff in there was mainly tat. Who wanted to buy a whoopee cushion to help indigestion?
And the Internet? It spread such falsehoods that no one knew what to believe anymore. When texting arrived she almost gave up. As it was she had to be very circumspect about what she did. All those satellites and droney things. She was good at weaving invisibility which she needed to keep out of sight of CCTV! More than once she had been forced to take the form of a black cat to avoid detection.
She looked over at Larch Street. A small row of terraces which were humble but cozy.
Oh yes. Mr Hughes, he needed some help, he was losing his hair rapidly…. She climbed up the drainpipe. She was still quite nifty at climbing even though she was 74… As she had thought, the bedroom window was open to let the cool moorland air in. She pushed the sash window open and deftly stepped through. Her soft shoes made no sound… She had a pouch of green herbs on her belt and she moved over to where Mr Hughes was sleeping. Gentle fingers massaged the green goo onto his head, he snored and turned in the bed, putting an arm round his wife. Belladonna stood back, approving her own work, then swiftly left the way she had come.
As the alarm clock went off the following morning Mr Hughes went into the bathroom. He was rather shocked to see in the his face in the mirror… A full head of hair…. But why was it blonde?