The Witch, The Wolfman and Me by C.S. Edwards #FlashFiction #ShortStory #HalloweenStory

The old Victorian home on the corner of 5th and River Road in Covington was bathed in fall decorations. Two large clusters of dried corn stalks flanked the extra wide front door, while hay bales and pots of colorful mums filled in the empty spaces, making the old white house the most festive one on the block. On the broad covered porch, that went all the way around each side of the stately place, a giant black iron pot full of dry ice sat bubbling, with a big broom leaning up against the handle. The front steps that ambled from the home to the street, donned glowing pumpkins of all shapes, sizes, and colors each carved, in its own unique way. If you didn’t know better, any old passerby might think the police tape strapped from column to column on the porch, was the picture-perfect Halloween touch to such an elegant array of fall décor. The tape was not décor. It was real. And what happened on the corner of 5th and River Road that Halloween would go down in history as one of the scariest nights in Covington. I should know, I was there. 

As with most creepy stories, it was cold, and dark. Even though a full moon hung in the sky, its only purpose was to cast shadows in all the right places. Despite the ominous ambiance, River Road was bustling with tricker-treaters. Rightly so, it was Halloween. The old Victorian welcomed many ghosts and goblins, superheroes and villains. There were cats and dogs, dinosaurs and storm troopers. For two hours an endless stream of tiny to tall treaters came up the walk, past the bubbling pot and rang the doorbell – all in the name of candy; which is exactly who answered the door. Miss Candace Milford Palmer – Candy to her friends, family, and neighbors. The elegant old widow was dressed in her best witches’ garb, from the wide-brimmed back hat to her long black dress and pointy boots. She’d let her grey and white hair down, and it hung around her shoulders like a curly scarf. Candy had done her very best to paint her oddly smooth porcelain skin with wrinkles and even a wart. She was a goodwitch. 

When I got to the corner of 5th and River Road, I marched up the brick path, climbed the front steps, strode past the bubbling pot and put my finger on the golden circle to ring the bell. At thirteen, it would be my last year dressing up and parading around the neighborhood for candy. That fact made me a bit sad, but I had a pillow case full of treats, a sheet over my head, and I was determined to make the most of my final Halloween as a kid. The doorbell chimed three notes. I readied my white sack by curling back the edge of the case and holding it wide open. But the door did not budge. Instinctively, I looked back over my shoulder. The street had cleared. It was close to nine, and all the small children were safely back in their homes. I’d passed a group of unrecognizable teens on my way from the Blakes’ house, just two doors down. They’d buzzed by me running down the street, whooping and laughing. But I didn’t hear them now. They’d vanished into the darkness of the night. And River Road stood still and silent, except for me. I swallowed, and turned back to the bell, pushing it again. The bells three notes rang out. “Hello. Misses Palmer?” Letting the pillow case slide to my feet, I put my knuckles up to knock, and let them hoover over the wooden surface of the black door. I thought better of it, and leaned to the side of the door to peer through the window and into the house. That’s when I saw it. The eyes were glowing a golden hue, and its head was covered in matted and disheveled fur.

I thought I took a step backward. In my mind I did. But before I could run, the door swung open and I was pulled inside the old Victorian. My ghostly cover got caught in the door, as it slammed shut, and slipped away from me. There I stood, no sheet, just me in the middle of Candy Palmer’s foyer with a monster. He stood at least eight feet tall, on legs like a wolf. His whole body was furry, but a mix of human and animal parts. His arms were manly and his hands gigantic. I tried not to breathe, as he towered over me panting. A few drips of saliva slid from his fangs, exposed by what appeared to be a broad smile on his lips. I needed help and thought, “where is Candy Palmer?” 

Out of the side of my eye, I peered to the left. The dining room was undisturbed. Then I looked right. The library was dark, except for the light of the full moon streaming in, which hit the oriental rug, and what lay on it. Candy Palmer, I presumed. The wolfman lowered himself to just above the top of my head. He sniffed and let out a low growl. Somehow, I knew what was coming next. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume once a wolfman has sniffed you, he’s going to kill you. I really don’t know what possessed me to duck when I did, but that’s what happened. I bent my knees, just as the wolfman went to wrap his gigantic hands around my shoulders, and scurried through is legs. Falling face first to the floor, I heard a scuffling and turned over on my back to see the most magical and magnificent sight. Candy Palmer had risen from the dead, and with a wand in hand was blasting the wolfman with a stream of what looked like electricity. It only lasted for a few seconds, and the monster fell to the ground. She rushed over to me. 

“My dear child. Are you okay?” Candy Palmer said. 

“I think so.” I gave myself a once over with my eyes and hands. “Yep. I’m fine. But I don’t think he is.” 

Scrambling to my feet, I walked with Candy to the heap that lay dying on her foyer floor. What was a wolfman, was now just a bloody naked man. 

“Poor thing.” Candy said. “I’m sorry it happened this way Earl.” She bent down and patted the man on his head. “But you can’t expect me to let you eat the children.” 

The man blinked, and took in a labored breath. 

“Earl? You mean that’s your son, Earl Palmer?” I looked between Candy and the body that had stopped moving. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But not anymore. Come now, let me get you some tea.” Candy wrapped her arm around my shoulder and led me away to the kitchen. 

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” I said.

“Well, yes. About that, we’ll need to get our story straight. You see. I can’t have you telling everyone what you saw here tonight. You understand?” Candy reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand. Before I could say a word, she’d zapped me with a bolt of light. 

I’d like to tell you it was one of those bolts that just erased my memory, but alas, here I am telling you this story. She was trying to do to me what she’d done to Earl, but failed. You see, I saw the sparking silver knife on the table the moment we walked into the kitchen. And I’m pretty quick. So, while Candy Palmer thought she was zapping me, I grabbed the knife and… before that bolt hit me, she was dead on the kitchen floor, with a knife in her heart. That’s the only way to kill a witch, you know. 

Crazy Witch
The Witch Doctors 
Book Three
C.S. Edwards

Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: C.S. Edwards
Date of Publication: October 31, 2022
ISBN: 9798215161517
Number of pages: 142
Word Count: 36,382
Cover Artist: C.S. Edwards

Book Description:

What does Bart Babington’s love life, a legendary key, and the Goddess of Death, have in common? Well, Bart is about to find out.

The not-so-famous witch doctor cosmetic surgeon is sick and tired of his two meddling sisters trying to mate him up at every annual Samhain celebration for the last ten years. So, Bart enlists his two best wingmen to help him find a fake date to take to Rabbit Hash for the party.

In his grand plan to get his sisters off his back, what he didn’t count on is falling for a pigeon raising, southern witch on a moped. Nor did he expect to lose her during the couple’s championships for the Loving Cup. But he’s on a ghostly trip to sort out his past and make room for true love in his life.

Will Bart find his witch, or will he never unlock his heart?


The Townhouse in Mt. Adams

“Bart, this is your mother.” Blanche’s disembodied voice seeped through the speaker system embedded in every room of the three-story townhouse. Echoing throughout the sparsely decorated spaces, her tone was calm and rational with a tinge of caution—which sounded pretty normal for Blanche Babington. “Your sisters and I are planning on seeing you this weekend for the Samhain festivities in Rabbit Hash. Let me know when you expect to transport. Seems Betsy and Betty have some big plans for you again. You better call me back.”

Bart stepped out of the shower, wrapped a bath towel around his waist, and strode to the sink. Tussling his auburn hair with his hand, he spoke to his reflection in the mirror. “I know what my sisters are up to. They do this shit every year. No more.”

Bart tapped the left corner of the mirror and a ripple of waves moved from the corner of the mercury backed glass across the once still and solid surface, “Amelia, call Reggie and Sparky.”

The mirror answered in her distinctive AI rhythm, “calling Reggie and Sparky,” and emanated an old-fashioned ring of a corded phone. With a plop, Reggie appeared in one corner of the mirror and Sparky in another. Amelia displayed the trio of friends in a single line across the elegant mercury backed glass, which hung above a sleek marble double vanity in Bart’s master bathroom and doubled as a smart screen. “I have your BFFs, Bart. What else would you like me to do?”

“That’s all. Thanks Amelia.” Bart dismissed his smart assistant and smiled. “If only all women were like Amelia.”

“Yo, brother, why you got to be showing up on my Copy Reveal screen half naked?” Reggie grimaced.

“He’ll say it was unintentional, but we all know the truth. He didn’t get enough attention as a child.” Sparky chimed in.

“Shut up. It’s go time. Are you boys ready for The Lemon?” Bart stretched on his shirt.

“I’m not sure The Lemon is ready for your look, bub.” Reggie grimaced and looked away.

“What?” Bart looked down to see his emerald green towel still tightly wrapped around his waist, topped off with a navy-blue pima cotton, boutique brand, polo. “Oh hell. I’m going to grab some jeans.”

“Don’t forget your tightie-whities, Marky-Mark.” Sparky yelled.

“Rightfully so. Who wears tightie-whities, ever? Even back in the day, when he dropped his drawers to impress Miss Mona Lisa Giorgio—who was not feeling the vibrations—the tighties were not a good look.” Sparky grinned and straightened his ball cap.

Reggie nodded. “True. No matter how good the package, sometimes it’s all about the wrapping.” The two friends gave each other a virtual high five that spawned an undulation of swells in the mirror.

Bart returned clad in jeans and his polo. “Fuck off, both of you. I looked good. It wasn’t my choice of underwear she didn’t like. Miss Mona Lisa was into rich Italian guys. She wasn’t into young, just starting out, witch doctors.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, man.” Sparky waved him off.

“I’ll feel better when I pull this weekend off. I’m ready to get this plan started. I’ve got to find a witch worthy of hanging out with for the next three days, and that’s willing to play along like we’re a real couple. I’m determined to put an end to the ‘set-up Bart’ bullshit my sisters pull every Samhain. It ruins the whole weekend. Besides, it's gone on long enough. Time to move on. I've moved on. Everyone else needs to, too.”

“No shit. Last year was ridiculous. I thought Betsy was never going to quit introducing you to all those models.” Sparky shook his head, and his silver and black hair dangled over one eye. “It was like a line of Wictoria Angels walking the catwalk just for you.”

“You poor asshole.” Reggie scoffed. “You could help a brother out and throw some of your misfortune my way, you know. I am a single warlock now, too.”

“Trust me, none of those witches were your type. They weren’t my type either. Besides, you and I are not the settling down kind. Not anymore. That’s why your three-year shit-show with Brigette didn’t work out Regg. I mean, how the hell did you expect to settle down with a hippie witch? You’re mister conservative?”

“She wasn’t a hippie witch.” Reggie rubbed his chin. “She was crazy.”

“Crazy witch. Definitely.” Sparky agreed.

“Well, whatever. Good riddance. You’re better than that, man. We don’t do crazy because crazy witches just up and disappear for no reason what-so-ever.” Bart leaned on the counter and eyed both of his best friends. “We do this. Us. Brothers.”

“Yeah. But don’t forget Misty.” Sparky’s eyes lit up at the mention of his wife.

“Of course, I always include Misty in our crew. Hell, she’s a better wingman than you are Sparky. Just something about a female fox Shifter that witches love.” Reggie waggled his bushy eyebrows, licked his thumb and forefinger, and slide them across both unruly strips.

“Is she coming out on this little manly adventure to get Bart a weekend play date? Or are we rolling with the homies only?” Reggie asked.

“She’s sitting this one out. Something about getting all our crap together for the Samhain festivities. I think she’s been plotting and planning with your sister’s, Bart. So, frankly, we need to keep your plan to trip up their matchmaking on the down low Or, Misty might blow your cover.” Sparky looked over his shoulder toward a shadowy door in the distance. “Hence, why I’m hiding out in the basement? I didn’t want her to sniff us out.”

“Good luck with that. Misty’s got a better sniffer than you do, man. And I’m bummed she’s not coming out with us. Like Reggie said, she’s the best wingman we got.” Bart thrust his hands in his pockets to straighten his jeans

“You lookin’ to find the next Mrs. Darington, Regg?” Sparky asked.

“Could be? You know, the third times a charm.” Reggie mussed his dark hair and smoothed his pale green button down.

“Charm my ass. I never believed in that crap. The two previous witches should have taught you a lesson. Love and Reginold Darington don’t mix. You’re free and clear, bro. Enjoy that freedom.” Bart bobbed his head and stuck out his chest.

“Don’t do that. Whatever that ‘trying to look badass’ thing you’ve got going on there. You look real silly.” Sparky laughed.

“Shut the fuck up, Sparky, before I ask Amelia to vape you out of this conversation.” Bart blew out a long breath. He was already worried enough about this whole fiasco he'd cooked up. But he was so tired of everyone trying to make him forget Samhain was associated with the worst day of his life.

“Go ahead, buddy. I’ve got my woman. I don’t need to help you one bit.” Sparky crossed his arms and leaned back in his desk chair.

“Alright you two, just cool it with the machismo shit. Time’s a wasting, and I don’t even know what that plan is for this hairbrained scheme Bart’s got us doing. But we better get to doing it before the evening gets away from us.” Reggie looked at a glowing watch-like contraption on his wrist.

“You’re right, Regg. We need to get a move on. My plan is to start out at The Blind Lemon here in Mt. Adams. I’m thinking there’ll be a healthy crowd of witches there on the eve of the two biggest nights in the witch world. Samhain always brings the ladies out. So, all I have to do is find the one that will be cool with playing a little game of pretend with me.” Bart shrugged. “Easy peasy.”

“The Blind Lemon. Don’t you go there all the time, man?” Reggie asked.

“Sure. But never around the holidays. It gets stupid crazy with crowds.” Bart said.

“I’m not so sure The Lemon is the best place, either. But what the hell? Let’s give it a whirl. If that’s a bust, we’ll trot back on over here to my neck of the woods. The Rhine is always hopping.” Sparky got up from his chair and put his face close to the screen. “We transporting now?”

“Give me twenty minutes,” said Reggie.

“Twenty minutes. What the hell, dude?” Bart barked.

“I gotta do some stuff. Lock up the place, settle Max in for the night. You know. Just stuff. Besides, I’m coming all the way from Indian Hills. You know, it takes me a bit longer to transport from way out here. You and Sparky can light it up in a few minutes and be at The Lemon’s passageway. Hell, Bart, you can walk quicker than you take to transport.” Reggie puffed.

“Max will be fine. He’s the coolest Shepard familiar ever. I’m sure Barty needs to tuck little baby Pricilla piggy in, too.” Sparky said in a mocking baby voice.

“Don’t you worry about Cilla. She’s with Blanche and my sisters. They’re doing all the girly things for the party, and she couldn’t miss that. Besides, Cilla is the baddest bitch flying pig familiar around.” Bart loved his little pink flying pig and doted on her. She'd come into his life at a very dark moment, and he'd never forget the joy and love she showed him. Priscilla was the reason Bart stayed the course to become a witch doctor.

“Exactly, dude. She’s a flying fucking pig. Seriously, I was just teasing you. Literally, you couldn’t ask for a cooler familiar.” Sparky threw a cap on his head.

“I know. Okay, enough. I’m giving you guys thirty minutes. Under the garden sign on Hatch Street.” Bart pointed first at Reggie, then to Sparky. “Thirty minutes.”

“Cool.” Sparky nodded.

“Should I wear a hat? A ball cap like Sparky. Is that a thing now?” Reggie pulled a faded maroon and off-white hat, accented with a beer label patch on the front panel, from a hook on the wall next to him and slipped it on his head.

“Dude. It doesn’t matter. Just get your ass moving.” Bart rolled his eyes and tapped the mirror, which rippled again like water washing away the images of his two friends.

About the Author:

C.S. Edwards is a southern author of small town adventures sprinkled with romance, mystery, and occasionally some paranormal and fantasy. Her newest release, Crazy Witch, The Witch Doctors Book 3, is a saucy, fun, romantic romp. In her catalog, you’ll also find the darker small town mystery Welcome to Lovely, that shows a spicier side of crime and romance.

C.S. Edwards lives with her family on the Kentucky side of Cincinnati, where they are all just doing their part to make the world a little more interesting and entertaining.

“My kids, all five of them, swear I talk to myself way too much. What they don’t know is, I’m not talking to myself, I’m talking to my characters. Sure, that makes me a little crazy, but come on, it also makes me super interesting—right?! Probably not, but a girl can dream.” — C.S. Edwards

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  1. Great excerpt and post, Crazy Witch sounds like a 'glued to the pages' read for me!

    Thanks for sharing it with me and have a sunshiny day!