Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
DIFFICULT SPELLING
Garstang’s eyes were beginning to smart. He tried rubbing a paw over his face, but it didn’t help.
It had started when the fire was lit. Smoke filled the kitchen causing the cat to suffer some explosive sneezing. Then, out came the cauldron.
Now the whole kitchen felt like an assault to his extra-sensitive feline senses. The smell, the heat, the noise – sometimes being a witch’s cat was the worst. As Garstang was considering just how much more of this he could put up with, the witch let out a shriek.
“Noooo! Get back here you little bugger! Garstang, quick! Put your foot on its tail, stop the damn thing escaping…”
“Paws.”
“What?”
“I don’t have feet, I have paws. And it’s ‘pardon?’ not ‘what?’ you old harridan.” The last three words he muttered under his breath.
“Well, put your paws to good use and catch the bloody thing. Do you know how hard newts are to come by nowadays?”
“I’m sure I haven’t a clue,” purred the cat, enjoying an extravagant stretch.
The witch looked at her feline accomplice, eyes narrowed, “Perhaps we don’t need eye of newt for this spell, maybe eye of cat would do instead. I’ve never really questioned how accurate one must be when creating potions.”
Garstang could move when he needed to, and this felt like it was a time to do so. He had seen that look in his owner’s eyes before – it never ended well. He jumped to it, returning moments later with an unhappy looking newt which he dropped at the witch’s feet.
As the witch performed some specialist newt-based surgery, Garstang considered the kitchen table and other surfaces looking for something he could knock to the floor. Sadly, there was nothing. This day was just one huge disappointment after another.
“Do you think this is such a good idea?”
The witch paused in her stirring and looked at the cat, “What do you mean?”
“This potion you are working on,” said Garstang.
“What about it?” asked the witch, an edge to her voice.
“Look, I know there were issues last Halloween…”
The witch shuddered, “Those pesky neighbourhood kids. What they did was beyond disrespectful. This year,” she raised a gnarled fist, “I will have my revenge!”
“Right, right, but is this particular potion a good idea?”
The witch shrugged, then giggled, “Turning them into the monsters they are dressed as? I think it’s a fabulous idea. It was their choice after all.”
Keith R. Burdon was born & raised in Middle England but now lives in sunny North Wales with his partner and a plethora of imaginary friends and pets.
He enjoys writing short stories, flash fiction and has recently discovered the pleasures of a good drabble.
When he isn’t writing, he can be found listening to music, documentary bingeing and dreaming of the next road trip to somewhere exotic, Belgium perhaps.
If you enjoyed this drabble you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.
Iron Faerie Publishing 