Witches And Other Such Nonsense


three witches

Some of my more loyal followers may recall the dust up I had with a coven of witches about two years ago, so it might come as no surprise that the real reason I moved from the East Coast to California was not, in fact, to chase my dreams of selling words to people, but was rather simply to get away from witches.

I don’t have a peculiar odor, I don’t leave food out overnight, and I don’t feel attuned to any sort of magic, and yet I attract witches like a playground attracts creepy forty-year-old men in sunglasses. At least the witches don’t sit on benches, legs spread wide, and toy with their mustaches while muttering “yeah, that’s good. That’s real good.”

But I digress.

I moved West to get away from witches. Imagine my surprise, then, when I woke up yesterday to the sound of someone bouncing pebbles off of my third story sliding glass door. I rolled over and curled a pillow around my ears. This had little effect on the pebbles, which bounced and pinged off the doors with  abandon.

“Hells bells!” I roared, throwing off my sheets and rising like Nosferatu from my slumber. I manhandled the sliding glass door open. It had fallen out of the grooves months ago, and now slides as easily as the boulder in front of Jesus’s tomb did.

Divine help is required.

I looked over the balcony ledge. Three women in ratty black robes stared up at my balcony. One was short, one was tall, and one was pretty. I’m not saying that the other two weren’t pretty, I just know witches, and I know that’s how they prefer to categorized.

“Can I help you?” I asked them.

They entered into a conversation with each other. I couldn’t hear what they said. Minutes passed.

“Okay, I’m going back inside. Don’t throw rocks at my windows anymore.”

“We weren’t throwing rocks,” the tall one said. I looked at the stones in her hand.

“Pebbles. Whatever, look, the point is I don’t want you throwing anything at my window short of gold doubloons, okay?”

“We were just trying to get your attention! “The short one said. She twirled her brown hair around her index finger.

I waved my hands in the air, irritably. “You have it, madame! But to what end?”

“Well,” the pretty one said, “we’re three witches –”

“I already know,” I shouted.

“How?”

“Because, sadly, the only women who would come into the creepy alley behind my house and hurl projectiles at my broken sliding glass door to get my attention wouldn’t be anyone normal!”

They balked at the world normal. Red crept up my neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean normal. You know what I meant.”

“We know exactly what you meant,” the tall one spat, with the sort of vigorous hatred only an old person could muster, “we fly on broomsticks, dance naked in the moonlight, seduce young men tour our beds, kill them, talk to frogs and commune with the devil, but since it doesn’t fit into your WASP worldview, it isn’t normal, right?”

“Hey…”

“Ass hole” the tall one said.

“Now look here, if anyone’s the ass hole, it’s your three… or should I say you three are all ass holes, for throwing rocks –”

“– pebbles –”

“– things at my window!”

“We just wanted your attention,” she short one began.

“But again, ladies, why?”

The pretty one straightened her robes. “We were wondering what you were doing tonight.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Maybe you’d want to come over, watch some Netflix and chill.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You just said you lure men into your beds and kill them.”

The pretty one shoved the tall one. “Damn it, Gretchen.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Gretchen said, not sounding sorry at all, “but he got me all riled up talking about normal this and normal that. Normal! What the fuck is normal, anyway?”

“Normal is not telling our prey we’re going to lure him to our beds and then kill him.”

I rested my head on the balcony’s ledge. “I didn’t think California had witches.”

“We’re everywhere, buddy.”

“Yeah, get used to it.”

“I’m going back inside,” I told them.

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” the pretty one shouted. I stopped.

“What?”

She fished around in her robe for a few moments and pulled out an apple. “Want a shiny red apple? I swear there’s nothing sinister about it… ” The witches covered their mouths and giggled.

“Sure! Toss it here!” I said with fake enthusiasm. She threw me the apple, and I hurled it down the alley. A cat screeched.

“Hey! It took days to poison that!” The pretty one shouted.

The short one hit her. “Shut up, yah idiot.”

The pretty one made an aggravated noise and tried to poke the short one in the eyes. The short one intercepted the poke.

“Oh, a wise guy, huh?” The short one waved a fist around in the air, ready to strike. The pretty one watched it. The short one smiled, and then kicked her in between the legs.

I swear to god, the pretty one’s eyes crossed.

“Hey,” the tall one said, coming over and knocking the other two’s heads together, “knock it off!”

SLAM! My sliding door shut, and I was gone form the balcony.

The witches stared at the balcony.

“Our stooges routine didn’t even work!” the short one said.

“Fuck LA. This place is no good for witches.” The tall one said. “There aren’t even woods to cavort in.”

“Lets go back east.”

“This guy wouldn’t have been good anyway.”

“I bet he never gets lured into people’s beds.”

“Hah, burn!”

I threw the sliding glass door open. “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU! I’M CALLING THE POLICE.”

“Fine, fine,” the tall one said, holding up her hands, “we’re going.”

The witches shuffled off and left.

I watched them go, and then felt kind of bad, so I checked my phone.

October fourth. Twenty-seven days to halloween.

They’ll find someone.

Maybe I will too.

sexy witch

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9 Comments

  1. Haha, love it! I used to be a witch…well I thought I could be one, study Wicca and somehow morph into Alyssa Milano! And that image was my phone screensaver. Wow, I sound sad…

    Reply
  2. lisabrock

     /  October 4, 2015

    Another good one! It’s gold Jerry, gold!

    Sent from AOL Mobile Mail

    Reply
  3. Hilarious, dude.

    Reply
  4. Brilliant dialogue — dynamic and believable.

    Reply

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