Joyce McDonald Hoskins

Once upon a time when there were witches, there was also a witches school. Ronnella, the red-headed witch, had been in witches school for a very long time. Actually, she had been there since the beginning of time. Well, I might as well be completely honest; she had been there since before there was time.

In order to graduate she had to cast a successful spell. Ronnella had passed all of the other tests. She knew every brew, potion, chant, and all there was to know about spiders, frogs, and herbs. She excelled at broom flying, and she had the cackling laugh down to a science. She knew every spell by heart. She knew how to cast them. She just didn’t know how to make them work.

Every morning Ronnella would put her pointed black hat on her pretty redhead, wrap her black cape around her white shoulders, slip her tiny feet into her black spike heels, board her broom, and fly off to witches school. Her pet bat, Brasilio, always rode on the front of the broom.

Sometimes it seemed as if the ugly witches with their wart-covered-hooked-noses had all the luck casting spells. Ronnella knew she was a pretty witch. She could tell by the way men looked at her when she pretended she was a mortal. She knew the ugly witches—and there were a lot of ugly witches—were jealous of her. Sometimes the thought occurred to Ronnella that perhaps the ugly witches were casting counter spells to stop her from graduating, but she knew that wasn’t very likely because it was against the rules and punishable by expulsion from the coven.

“If only I could graduate,” Ronnella said out loud as she flew to school. “I would be free to roam the earth at will, and I would no loner have to ask permission to pretend I was a mortal, and best of all I would be free to marry.”

You see, witches were allowed to marry, and they could even marry a mortal if they wished. Unfortunately, the husband had to die young, before he noticed that his wife never aged. Therefore, some witches, especially the pretty ones, married many mortals. Witches had dominant genes so their children were always witches or warlocks. Ronnella wanted to graduate, because she had her eye on a mortal who she wanted to marry her, and she had to graduate before he grew old.

It didn’t matter whether the spell was good or bad. It could even be neutral. It only had to work. She definitely wouldn’t try to make it snow on the fourth of July fireworks in Miami this year. Hateful Hilda still ridiculed her about that one. Hilda was the prettiest witch in the coven, and had recently married a mortal who thought she was an angel. Mortal men always associate pretty with good, and ugly with bad. They are so stupid. They make wonderful husbands. Ronnella smiled as she thought about Hilda’s handsome husband. 

I know, Ronnella flew into the school parking lot and parked her broom, I’ll cast a spell on Hilda. Recently the coven had made a pact that they would no longer cast spells to cause nose warts on other witches’ noses, so that was out, but no such prohibition had been made about mortal husbands. “I bet Hilda won’t brag about how handsome her husband is when he has a huge wart on the end of his nose,” Ronnella said to Brasilio. She would have to be careful that no one found out. Ronnella knew witches who had vendettas with one another that had been going on for centuries, so she would have to cast two spells, one to turn in as her graduation project, and one on Hilda’s husband’s nose.

It would have to be of the variety that no counter spell could remove, and it would have to grow larger if a mortal doctor touched it. Hilda had many enemies so no one would suspect Ronnella.

“I know I can do it. I can. I know I can. Madam Gisselle said that believing was the most important part and I believe, I believe, I believe.” Ronnella spoke to the wind as she skipped to Madam Gisselle’s class.

That night she carefully consulted the volumes of text books that she had studied for thousands of years. She confirmed that her techniques were correct. It was just as she suspected, the only reason she failed was that she didn’t truly believe. Madam Gisselle said you had to believe with your whole being, and that there could not be even a tiny speck of doubt. Ronnella looked at Brasilio, who was perched on the window sill. “How would you like to be a puppy, dear? It is far nicer than being a bat. Mortals love puppies and treat them like royalty.” Ronnella’s eyes twinkled with pleasure as she thought about her spell. When she went on her date the next night she would find out what type of dog was her boyfriend’s favorite.

Ronnella had a wonderful time on her date. They went dancing and he complimented her and said he had never danced with anyone as light on her feet as she was, and that he would swear that she was floating. She asked him about his childhood and to her delight he had once had a collie which he had loved dearly.

The morning after her date, Ronella put Brasilio in a cage. She cast a spell over him. She knew it would work. She believed. She took the cage to Madam and explained the spell. Madam Gisselle gave her a hug. “It’s going to work this time, darling. I know. I can see belief all over your face. You may come back to pick up your puppy tomorrow.”

On the way home she flew three times over Hilda’s house, as she cast the spell on Hilda’s husband. “I believe. I believe. I believe.” Ronnella sang as she flew home.

It worked. Ronnella was no longer a novice witch. She had full witch’s privileges and she was getting married. Her husband thought twelve bridesmaids were too many, but he didn’t know there were thirteen witches in a coven, and that when one got married the others were always bridesmaids. Some of them were terribly ugly, but that just showed him what a lovely young lady he was marrying. Who else but his Ronnella would ask bridesmaids with hooked-wart-covered noses to be in a wedding? 

It was Hilda who caught the herbal bouquet.

“I thought you were married, dear,” Ronnella said.

“I was, but he died. It’s just as well. I never really cared much for him after that awful wart grew on the end of his nose. You know, dear, it started as a little speck, very much like that little speck I observed on the end of the groom’s nose. Do keep an eye on it.”

This story marks the beginning of the great witches’ feud which did not end until the last two living witches destroyed each other, and that is why there are no witches today.