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TALES OF THE WITCH CLAN
BAD BEX

     Living at college can be so stressful, Becky grumbled to herself. It was a pleasant break being with her family again for the holidays. Her elder sister Melanie, had some fascinating studies about Merlin archetypes through out recorded history. Jonathan was back from Afghanistan, and beginning to rediscover himself as a budding wizard with Dad. Little sister, Tori got all the magick she wanted, playing video games and reading fantasy novels. Mom was all business, with her sewing shop, where Becky and Melanie would help out as they could.

     Mom was comic to see, bustling so fast, she nearly ran into herself, trying to run a business during the holiday rush and set a fair table for holiday company and making sure the house looked ‘cheery’. Dad, well… he lived in his ivory tower, which was a four room apartment at the edge of town, near the woods he loved so much. Dad was an imposing vision in basic black, always a sight to behold. He had a way of entering a room and people would clear the way for him. Her college friends would never understand somebody like him. Dad was an anachronism. He looked like he could turn you into a newt if you crossed him, but he was a lot warmer and caring than he appeared to be. Maybe that was just to his own children. He still called her ‘Bad Bex’, as he had most of her life. It was one of those childhood nicknames that parents never let their kids grow out of, and is as comfortable as a favorite, old pair of slippers.

For Christmas, her father had given her a wizard’s fountain with a scroll. He had told her that he was aware of all the stress, living away from her own kind would give her, and that the fountain had a spell that would help her with her studies.

“I’m studying to be a vet, Daddy,” Becky giggled. “It’s not Spellcraft 101.”
 

But her father was not to be put off, and gave her a rather heavy hatbox to take back to her dorm. Holidays having come to an end and school renewing its demands, Becky was feeling extra tense, with all the midterms coming up and the social issues in the dorm, she thought it would be a good time to open Dad’s present and set up the wizard’s fountain.

Inside the box was a wide, blue stone crock, about four inches deep, with an insulated electric pump wrapped inside. She cleared a spot on the stand near her bed, and set the crock and pump up there. Next there was a hefty smaller box of stones, comprised of petrified wood slabs and semi-precious stones and pebbles, to arrange in the crock around the pump. These all looked normal enough, Bex thought. She was concerned, her father might have made something too outrageous to be seen by her non-witch college friends, but this looked rather nice. With all their muted colors and striations, it was relaxing just arranging the stones in the fountain to her liking, Finally, there was a vellum scroll, with thin scarlet ribbon and a wax seal, that her father said, were the instructions on how to use the fountain. You just never knew with Daddy, what that might entail.

She poured some water into the crock, plugged in the pump, and watched the fountain bubbling away merrily. The stones looked ever so much prettier when they were wet and shiny. As the water began to saturate the rock, Bex noticed images beginning to surface on them. No doubt, her father had done something to them. He did say the fountain was enchanted for her. She looked back at the fountain, to see her father’s face, appearing faintly in the stone of her waterfall, and a couple runic symbols to either side. As she pulled the stone out of the fountain, the images faded to show only bare stone. Daddy had some curious craft, Bex thought proudly. She decided it was time to break the seal on the scroll, before faeries started appearing and decide to river dance on her computer, or something equally bizarre. The instructions were in a penned Celtic script, and indicated the fountain was safe enough to have around. It was designed, by her father, to help her relax. The scroll read:

Enchanted Wizard’s Fountain

     This fountain is intended for use when too much study and stress, make it impossible to concentrate any more. Simply set up the fountain near a light source and a place where you may lie down and relax to its soothing sounds. As you close your eyes, you are to remember the woodland brook where you played as a child. Picture yourself back there, sitting beside the clear, bubbling stream. Before too long, a familiar old wizard will join you at the brook, and remind you of all lessons, long forgotten. When you awaken, you will be refreshed, and relaxed. The problems you faced when you lay down, will now have ready solutions. Merry Christmas, my child. I wish you success in all your endeavors.

-the old wizard

Becky replaced the stones in the fountain. As she studied the stones with the water flowing over them, she could see her name, written in runes on one. She remembered her Dad, teaching her about runes when she was very small. The stone face of her father, peered at her out of the waterfall. She kissed her index finger and touched it to his face, and said: “Thanks Dad, it’s just what the doctor ordered.”

She lay back on her bunk and closed her eyes. The bedside lamp felt like sunshine on her face. Coupled with the sounds of a babbling brook, it was easy to picture herself, laying by the brook on a warm sunny day. Butterflies and dragonflies fluttering and zipping around her, with the occasional faery, landing on a branch or a rock to tell her a story. It was so good to be back. To hear her brother and sisters playing near by, would have completed the illusion, but they were busy elsewhere, with lives and problems of their own. Bex sighed deeply. As she looked in the water, a very large, and familiar shadow appeared, over her right shoulder. Looking up through the sunlight, was a vision of her father, with his long hair down over his shoulders, in a long white robe, with a staff in his hand. For all the world, he looked like Gandalf the White, come to tell her not to be upset if the trees get up and walk around a bit. She giggled at the thought.

“Nice touch, Dad,” she laughed, “with the robe and all. I can’t remember the last time I ever saw you in anything but black.”

“I thought it would be nice for the occasion,” her father replied. “Sundog, seemed to think it was appropriate.”

Perched on one shoulder, was the mischievous blue faery, they all knew as ‘Sundog’. That was not his real name, that was a secret kept even from the Storm kids. But there he was, his eyes practically gleaming with delight, and a wicked grin on his face, as if he had just pulled the grand daddy of all pranks on the old wizard. It was a strange relationship between her father and this fae. Becky remembered, the day her father opened a rift into the faery’s world, using some old chart he had found. Her sister, Mel, had taken its picture. Life was not the same in their household since. She knew he was up to something.

“Do you remember,” the old wizard asked, “the proper definition of a spell?”

“Of course, I do,” Becky returned, “It’s a period of time, where certain influences are brought to bear, to accomplish a specific goal.”

“Very good,” the wizard applauded. “Your great grandmother would be so very proud of you. That’s it for today’s lesson. I’ve got an appointment further along in the woods, in the Emerald Tunnel.”

“That’s IT?” Bex asked incredulously. “I was just beginning to enjoy this.” as her father turned to walk up the trail from the brook, she noticed a sign, embroidered in the fabric of his fine, white robe. It read:

Beware of D.O.G
(Deadly Old Geezer)

     Sundog was smiling back at her, so broadly, she thought his face might split. He so enjoyed his own pranks, but God help the misguided soul that dared to cross her father. Sundog was his fiercest friend. They were inseparable companions.

Her father stopped on the trail for a moment, and turned to speak to her once more.

“It wouldn’t do to stay longer,” the wizard said. “You have visitors coming. It’s really too bad, she doesn’t have better taste in boyfriends,” and he proceeded up the trail towards the Emerald Tunnel and out of sight.
Becky wondered after him for a while. He even comes off enigmatic in my daydreams, she thought. She awoke to a knock on the door. The fountain was merrily bubbling away as she left it. She crossed the room to answer the door. Her friend, Rhonda was standing there, with an armload of textbooks. A vision of American manhood, in ill fitting clothes, was standing behind her, eyeing a girl walking further down the hall.

“Hi Becca, this is my boyfriend, Ronny,” Rhonda announced cheerily, “May we come in?” Ronny turned to look at Bex, and did a double take, eyeing her up and down. Becky’s tall, willowy figure, with her mother’s Cherokee features, combined with her father’s height and elfin features gave her raven hair and dark eyes an exotic appeal, hinting at untold depths. The boy was clearly captivated, and Bex was irritated that he would disrespect Rhonda with such behavior. She stood aside and motioned them into the dorm.

Rhonda was excitedly babbling on about plans for an upcoming Native American social. They were going to have a live band, maybe the Deer Clan Singers. It was going to be over the top. Ronny was busy looking about the room at all the pictures and mementos Becky personalized her living space with. When he came to a framed picture of her father, he paused.

“Hey, I know this guy!” Ronny exclaimed, “I met him in one of those freaky, New Age, Paranormal conferences in Toronto a couple years ago.”

“That guy, would be my Dad.” Bex observed.

“He was probably the coolest lecturer in the place.” Ronny babbled on, “They said he was a hereditary witch. He talked about practical magic and spells and stuff, did some hocus pocus and lit up a huge crystal. Hey, you must be a hereditary witch too.”

     “That’s my Dad, and it’s a family thing, for sure,” Bex quipped, anxious to hear what Rhonda had to say.

Ronny wasn’t making a very good impression on her. It was funny about the comment her father made in her daydream about the people knocking on her door. Dad’s spells always seem to reach levels within levels. But Ronny rambled on with his remembrances.

“There was this blue ball of light, he shot around the room,” he went on, “I figured he had an associate with a blue laser or something. The lady after him was a serious nutcase. She talked about discovering your own divinity. We should all be putting crystals in our water bottles and drinking our own urine, and stuff like that. I made it a point, not to kiss anybody at that lecture. So, a babe like you is a real witch, huh? You can put a spell on me any time.” He laughed at his own humor, but Becky was becoming a bit more than rankled.

“If I put a spell on you,” Bex warned, “you are not going to like it. There’s a particularly good old charm, for out of control boyfriends. It’s called the ‘Wee Willy Winky Spell.‘ I could give you a demonstration.” Bex grinned maliciously.

Ronny suddenly developed a nervous tick, but he was quiet as Rhonda finished telling Becky all the news, and enlisting her aid for the social.

* * *

     It seemed that Bex could go nowhere on campus, where she didn’t hear some kind of buzz on Rhonda and Ronny. Rhonda’s dorm room was in the same building, but on a different floor than Becky’s. Ronny shared a frat house, off campus, with a notorious group of party animals. Rumor had it that Ronny was the number one animal, allegedly, he could get you anything you wanted to make your party happen. It was not the kind of thing Bex wanted to happen at the Native American social. A wild bunch of drugged out Indians were not going to win any education or cultural grants. Now she was even more stressed about what to do. Maybe it was all just hearsay, she hoped. She promised herself that after, at least two hours of book work, she’d use her wizard’s fountain again. Maybe the enchantment could give her some insight on the problem. If nothing else, it relieved stress.

Not two, but four hours of book work later, a severely fatigued Bex crawled into her bunk and fell fast asleep. Dreaming of drugged out tapeworms that dissected her biology professors wasn’t the best way to rest, but there was no help for it. Bex had to go to work, first thing in the morning as a store clerk at ‘The Fabric Barn,’ a few blocks away, off campus. It was strange working in fabrics, for someone other than her mother, but then, this was Buffalo, and Mom’s store was in Rochester. She had to make ends meet. If only she could get those ends close enough to introduce them to each other.

The Barn was only six blocks away, Bex thought it would be worth the walk today, so she grabbed her coat and started off. She was only two blocks into the trip, when a road repair construction site made her detour to a side street. Another block down, and then a left and she spotted Rhonda and Ronny, arguing loudly in front of what must have been Ronny’s frat house. Ronny pulled back his open hand to slap and Rhonda cringed, as Bex walked up.

“Hey! What’s this?” Bex demanded, staring hard at Ronny.

“None of your damned…” Ronny snapped and stopped when he got a look at who was talking. He just put his head down and stormed back into the house, leaving Rhonda and her, alone outside.

“You wouldn’t happen to know a good animal control spell, would you?” Rhonda inquired.

“I know several,” Bex growled, “but sometimes a good old jab in the chops works miracles.”

“He’d kill me if I hit him,” Rhonda said worriedly. “You couldn’t just teach me a spell or something, now could you? I could be a witch.”

“I think my great grandmother,” Bex replied, “would tell you something like, you don’t become a witch to cast spells, you cast spells because you are a witch. Let’s go for now. I’ll find a way to deal with him later. I have to be at work.”

“Can’t’ you just make money come to you?” Rhonda asked. “A spell to win the lottery, maybe?”

“Rhonda, leave it be,” Bex pleaded. “We can’t proceed with this conversation on information based on Disney movies and TV sitcoms, any more than you can base your knowledge of Native Americans on John Wayne movies and westerns.”

“Well, since you put it like that,” Rhonda started.

“It’s very much like that,” said Bex. “Though, I think we’re still years away from Wiccan socials and scholarships for young witches. We’re not just a minority. We’ve been an endangered species for the last dozen centuries or so.”

Rhonda walked the rest of the way to The Fabric Barn with Bex. On the way, they discussed her relationship with Ronny. They had met at a Christmas party, of course, as parties are Ronny’s domain. They hit it off well at first, but Ronny is as jealous, as he is possessive. That would be problem enough, but Rhonda walked in on a drug deal between Ronny and some inner city thugs. Rhonda sank from the rank of “my sweetheart” to “my bitch,” in the space of a single argument. There would likely be more problems to come. Ronny was never known for parting with personal property easily.

* * *

     It was a long day, with work and with school. Bex just wanted to hop in the shower, maybe an hour at the books, and then to bed. What she found, was a note on her door, indicating she should see Rhonda as soon as possible. She dropped her books on the chair and headed downstairs to Rhonda’s room. She was shocked to find Rhonda, crying on her bed, with the grandmother of all shiners, not to mention the whole left side of her face was black and blue. Bex was determined to give that man some healthy fear. She comforted Rhonda as much as she could, and then went in search of that hot shower. She was so stressed out, she forgot about the book work for tonight and plugged in her wizard’s fountain. The runes and her father’s face appeared as before, while the fountain burbled merrily. Bex lay back on her bed and sought the brook.
This time Bex found her father was waiting for her when she arrived. He was not wearing the white robe and staff either, but dressed in his usual black on black with his carved ebony walking stick. He was sitting on a large rectangular stone.

“I’m sticking to my own clothes today,” he said, “to curb that little blue imp’s jokes with bad embroidery”

“Daddy, I’ve really got problems,” she said, “there’s this jerk, and…”

“I know,” said the old wizard, “I told you, she should have had better taste in boyfriends. You still remember the proper definition of a spell?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Bex replied, “But please don’t go taking off just yet. I need help with this. I want to curse his socks off, but I don‘t want to invoke the witch‘s Law of Three, and have it return on my own head, threefold.”

“I’m here to help.” Her father reminded her, “Do you remember that book where the author said that ’magic works, because people either believe it will work, or are afraid that it just might?’”

“I think that was Terry Goodkind,” Bex said. “But that was a fantasy novel, called ’The Wizard’s First Rule,’ that won’t help me here.”

“Don’t be too sure,” her father lectured, “It’s a believable story because it has many elements of truth to it. That rule is a good one. Ronny fears you for what you might do.” Her Dad pointed to the ground at her feet. “Do mind that poison ivy, won’t you dear?”

“That’s okay,” Bex looked down at the patch of green at her feet. “Us kids aren’t allergic to anything out here, just like you. But, you know that.”

“Nature and human nature,” the wizard responded, “are VERY powerful forces for any witch to work with.” Sundog appeared at his shoulder, as her father stood up to leave.

“That’s the lesson for today, I suppose,” Bex said. “I’ll find an answer in the things you gave me?”

“You know your stuff, little witch,” her father smiled. “Why don’t you just lay back and sleep on it tonight.” Sundog had that look on his face again. Her father turned to walk up the trail, and Bex noticed a prehensile, lion’s tail switching from the seat of his pants. The faery looked like he might die of mirth. Bex lay back in the green patch and just looked at the sky and the trees and rested well that night.

Bex awoke early, with a mission. It was Saturday. She had to be to work by nine thirty to work a half day, so she had plenty of time. First, she dressed in a nice pressed pair of black slacks, with a black turtle neck sweater. On top of that, she wore her clan medallion, and her long black overcoat. Next, she grabbed a couple sandwich bags, and headed for the grove of trees at the edge of the campus. It was a warm forty degrees, for a winter day, and there was hardly any snow. She quickly found the poison ivy she was looking for, and filled both bags. It was still very early when she got to Ronny’s house. His car was parked in the driveway, which meant he was home, and probably still asleep. She went up to the car door handles and smeared them liberally with the poison ivy in her bags. She also rubbed the handrail on the front steps and the door knob. She was a little concerned that the oil from the waxy leaves would leave a telltale, oily sheen. But then, what do men notice, anyway? Having done the first part of her spell, she went to work.

It was a little after one in the afternoon, when Bex returned by Ronny’s house, and stood on the corner, across the street and quietly watched the house. The house was active, and guys were pulling up in cars and going in for a few minutes or more, and then leaving again. From time to time, they would glance nervously in her direction. At one point, Ronny came out of the house, to get something from the trunk of his car. He got his package, and looked up at Bex, standing across the street watching him, and he ducked back into the house, without saying a word. A moment later, the curtains in the main window, parted a bit from somebody peeking out at her. This was Becky’s cue. She then raised her left hand, with the index and pinky finger extended to the person in the window. The curtains jerked shut again, and Bex left for the dorm. Her spell would take a little time to work.

By Monday morning, a very panicky, and hardly recognizable Ronny was waiting dolefully on his knees outside the dorm building. His hair was a mess, and around his eyes and nose were raw looking leathery patches of skin. Bex knew that anywhere they touched themselves, after touching the ivy infected door handles and railings, would be hot spots by now.

“I know you cursed our house,” Ronny whined. “I saw you do it. I even know why, and I’m very, very sorry. The whole house is sick with this,” he gestured to his mottled features, “and our customers think they caught something from our product. We’re ruined. I never should have crossed you and your friend. I just got a little crazy is all.”

“The real insanity won’t hit you,“ Bex explained, “until the withering starts.”

“Withering?” Ronny gulped, wide eyed, “What’s going to wither?”

“You know, ..things,” Bex looked thoughtful, “Has anyone’s scrotum started shriveling yet?” Ronny looked like he wanted to bolt for some secluded spot to check his package. Terror was plainly written on his rash ridden features.

“Please, take off the curse,” he pleaded desperately. “I’ll agree to anything you say.”

“Well, it’s a pretty powerful hex,” Bex appeared to calculate. “I don’t think I can make something like that disappear over night, you know.”

“Anything you say!” Ronny begged, “Just don’t let the withering or shriveling start.”

“Okay, but you’re going to have to help with the counter spell,” Bex said. “Even then, it‘ll probably take a couple weeks for the effects to fade. Can you remember these three little magic words?”

“I’ll write them down,” Ronny blurted out, plainly relieved.

“But, I’m warning you,” Bex glared hotly at him, “If you so much as remind me or my friends of your pathetic existence, your testicles will shrivel to raisins, and your mind will go with them.” Ronny had no doubts. He was a believer.

“I promise. I’ll even transfer if I have to.” He pleaded, “Just give me the incantation to help reverse this.”

“The first word is ‘OWAH,” Bex recited, “the second is TODGER, and the third is KAIYAM. Got that?”

“OWAH, TODGER, KAIYAM… got it.” Ronny asked, “How do we use these, again?”

“You must stand outside the cursed area,” Bex instructed, “and recite this at the house, starting slowly and building up speed until you’ve said it thirty times. This is to be done all three nights of the full moon, this week. Now, I‘ve got classes, and you‘ve got to make me forget you exist.”

* * *

     Rumor had it that the party animal house had all gotten a new religion. It was called “humility”, as they seemingly repented of their wicked ways by standing outside chanting: “Oh what a jerk I am.” for three nights in a row. Some of the animals moved away. Rhonda was doing well again, and the social went off nicely. She was dating a fine looking Seneca lad. Bex visited the wizard’s fountain just to share the moment with her father.

“That’s my girl,” her father exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes, “Sundog could take a few lessons from you. Not that I’d want him to.” The blue fae, was rolling and shaking with laughter at Bex’s recount of the spell. As her father got up to leave this time, he pointed a wand at Sundog.

“Bipitty, bopitty, BOZO!” the old wizard incanted.

Bex shrieked with laughter as the pixie crossed his eyes in surprise at the big blue clown nose on his face, and then stumbled over the big blue clown shoes on his feet.

* * *

     There was only one more instance involving Ronny. He was downtown, hanging out with some of his friends, making fun of a large friendly mutt. He didn’t see Rhonda and Bex walking up the sidewalk behind him.

“Boy, I wish I could do that!” Ronny guffawed, pointing at the dog that was licking himself noisily.

“You probably should try petting him first,” Bex retorted.

“Oh, that’s just disgust…” Ronny started, and went wide eyed when he recognized Bex. He then bolted down the street in the opposite direction.

“OWAH, TODGER, KAIYAM!” he chanted all the way. Rhonda looked at Bex, who just shrugged her shoulders.
“

It’s GOOD to be a witch!” she said.

The End

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.12.2009

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