I’ve been asked many times why so many of my stories have to do with witches and witchcraft. I think it is largely due to the fact that I was exposed to Wicca at an early age. I realize now that compared to my fantasies, Wicca is actually more like a religion than magic but to a Pre-teenager it held all the mystique and mysteriousness as the real thing would have.
There were two of them, sisters, living in a small rustic cabin in a dark patch of pine woods. You could see the cabin long before you reached it because it always seemed to sit in a puddle of light. As a kid it seemed spooky because the sun seemed to always be shinning on their cabin but no where else. Of course now, looking back, I realize that when they built the cabin they had to cut out a few trees which created a hole in the canopy, hence the puddle of sunlight, but to a young kid it seemed absolutely magical.
No one in our tight knit christian community would admit that we actually had two witches living amongst us. No one spoke of it, but when something stumped the doctors, like a real bad case of poison ivy or a persistant wart or anything that their doctor couldn’t figure out, guess who they went to? That’s right, the witches. The sisters were always brewing up potions for people, who would promptly go home and pour them into empty medicine bottles so that they could say that it came from the pharmacy.
That’s how I first met them, poison ivy. Our family doctor told my parents that nothing he was doing was working and that it had gotten so bad that it could be dangerous, possibly even fatal. He suggested that she take me to them. One of them had me strip down to my underware then she moved her hands all over me like she was rubbing me, only she never actually touched me.
While she did that she was chanting something I couldn’t understand, it sounded like english, but if it was she was using words that I had never heard before.
After she finished she had me get dressed and told my parents that they’d see a difference by morning, it’d be gone within a week and I’d never be able to get it again. Now you can believe me or not, but I can still rub those leaves on my arms or legs and it doesn’t affect me one bit.
The sisters never charged anything for their services but they did keep a small kettle hanging by the door so that someone could donate something to the cause. I guess most people did, at least I never heard of either of them having to get a job. A week later, after all my skin had cleared up, mom took me down there with her to thank them and I saw her drop a hundred dollar bill in that kettle.