Hello there! It’s been ages since I’ve written here, but I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately—in fact I’m at a writer’s retreat right now! So this being Halloween, I thought I’d share a short story I wrote last year here, along with a coloured version of a drawing I did for Witchtober the year before, which inspired the story. So settle down with a nice bowl of candy corn, by the light of the Jack-o-Lantern, and learn how Griselda the witch deals with adversity…

Griselda dusted the flour off her hands, nudged Midnight the cat out from underfoot, and hung up her apron. Tonight she had outdone herself. The steamy kitchen was fragrant with spices from the world over. The counters were filled from end to end with ginger-pumpkin scones, apple and pumpkin pies, and artfully iced cookies in the shapes of pumpkins, ghosts, and bats. She couldn’t wait to share it all with the girls.

The phone rang. 

“Griselda?” Abby’s voice sounded rough. “I’m sorry, dear, I can’t come tonight. I’ve come down with a case of frog-throat, and I don’t want to give it to anyone else. I’m sorry!”

Griselda started to set the phone down, and it rang again.

Marta sounded frustrated. “Grizzy? I’m sorry, The stick is cracked in that old rattletrap of mine and I don’t trust it to fly me there.”

Griselda sighed. Well there were still a few more.

There was a tapping at the window. She opened it, and held out her hand for the scrap of paper Veronica’s raven was carrying. It was covered in raven spit. The raven cried, “Nevermore!” then perched on the refrigerator and said, “Sorry, it’s obligatory. Union, you know.”, then tucked his head under his wing and started to snore.

Veronica’s note said, “I had to take the kids to the Halloween party at their school. I don’t know why they never think to tell me these things in advance. Please give Rave a biscuit. Catch you later.”

Well, there was always Doris, she thought, as she set a doggie biscuit on top of the fridge. And of course—Midnight gave a low growl, and she turned to find a wavering cloud of damp ectoplasm hovering in the sink, speaking in an echoing voice which sounded like Doris shouting down a toilet bowl. Which was probably what she was doing.

“Griselda?” The pipes under the sink clanged a couple of times. Midnight puffed her fur up and stalked away. “Drat this thing! I can never get it to work right. Listen, can’t make it, the dragon just littered, and you know what it’s like with all those little untrained flames. Oops, gotta go, the curtain’s just caught!”

The cloud winked out with a splatter of drops, most of which fell in the sink.

Well, that was it. Griselda looked sadly at her laden countertops, and went to get the flour jar. She carried it out to the patio, under the draped cobwebs—the spiders had done such a nice job this year!—and the hanging bats she had hired for the evening. She stopped to admire her handiwork on the pumpkin lamps. It had been such fun carving all the different expressions.

She spread the flour on the paving in well-rehearsed patterns, humming quietly. There was an art to this, and she felt herself calming as she settled into the routine. Finally all was done to her satisfaction. She sat down outside her handiwork and began to chant. 

The garden reverberated with sonorous words in an ancient language remembered by few. Miniature thunderclouds grew in the centre of the design, sparking with lightning. A tiny peal of thunder erupted at the centre of the design, just as lightning bolts converged there, reducing one of the patio stones to a cloud of dust. Griselda flinched. Flagstones weren’t cheap.

The dust cleared. In its place hulked a massive, muscular figure whose green and warty head brushed the canopy of spiderwebs, sending the spiders fleeing. Mighty arms flexed inside armour of basilisk hide, claws clicking. A voice still echoing with thunder cried, “Who dares to summon the mighty Zeldina from her rest?”.

Griselda crossed her arms, looked up at the broad face and watched the tiny eyes focus on her.

“Oh! Griselda! Is it that time already?” The thunder was gone, and a grin formed around the paired tusks in the broad mouth. “Where is everyone?”

Later, when both had eaten more baking and drunk more tea than any demon or witch who was watching her figure really ought to, they both agreed that it had been a very fine Halloween party indeed.