Witches Brew

The musty cabin glowed with the light of the fire blazing within the hearth. Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, making the old wood shift and creak; a small draft stirred the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, setting them swaying gently. In a corner sat a plump, well-worn armchair, its blue fabric frayed and stained with age. Curled upon the seat was a small black cat, its golden eyes wide and fixed on the door, waiting.

The cat’s ears twitched; its tail began to sway, caught between curiosity and caution. Heavy footsteps soon approached, and moments later, the door creaked open. A shriveled gray woman entered, coughing as she dragged a heavy burlap sack behind her. She closed the door and lingered for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire thaw her aching bones.

The cat sat upright now, watching as the woman shuffled toward the kitchen table. She dropped the sack onto the wood with a soft thud, then took off her jacket and hat and hung them on the back of the blue chair; her breath caught in her throat, a hoarse, broken sound that almost resembled words.

The cat leaped down and followed as she moved back to the table. With stiff fingers, the woman untied the sack and began to empty its contents. She laid out herbs in small bundles, then drew out several small creatures—newts, salamanders, even a bat—placing their limp bodies beside the herbs. The cat leaned forward to sniff, its nose brushing cold flesh.

Its tail flicked once, sharply. The woman seemed to understand the signal. She crossed to the cauldron that dominated the center of the room and kindled the fire beneath it. As she waited for the water to boil, she busied herself cleaning the dirt from the herbs, tying them into neat bundles for drying.

Meanwhile, the cat seized one of the newts between its teeth and carried it down the table. It mauled the creature’s face with relish, the blood matting its dark fur until it gleamed wetly in the firelight. Then, with practiced indifference, it padded back to the rest of the haul, dropped two beady eyes beside the herbs, and began to wash its paws.

The woman’s swollen fingers worked methodically, binding herbs and hanging them once more from the rafters. When the last bundle was secured, she turned to watch the cat. It was still mid-bath, licking away the last traces of red.

Another flick of its tail—first toward the remaining animals, then toward the far corner of the room. The woman obeyed, gathering the untouched bodies and placing them into the icebox to preserve them for another day.

The cat finished its grooming and climbed gracefully up into the rafters. It padded along the beams, sniffing at the bundles overhead as the woman looked on. Suddenly, it stopped and swiped a paw at one of the drying bunches. The string snapped, sending the herbs tumbling down to the table, scattering dust and brittle leaves into the air.

The woman stepped forward, unwrapped the fallen bundle, and crumbled the herbs into the boiling cauldron. A hiss of steam rose, filling the cabin with a bitter, earthy scent.

Above, the cat prowled along the rafters, eyes glinting in the firelight. It swiped down another bundle, sending it crashing below, but this time the old woman caught it midair, her movements unnervingly swift for her age.

Three more bundles followed, each tumbling into her waiting hands. She added them to the cauldron, which hissed and spat as the herbs met the bubbling brew. The cat sniffed the air, its pupils narrowing in fascination.

It leaped down from the rafters, landing lightly atop the tall cupboard, and tapped a paw against one of the doors. The woman shuffled over and opened it, revealing rows of bottles and vials—some clear, some cloudy, others shimmering faintly in the firelight.

The cat descended shelf by shelf, inspecting the glass containers. At last, it reached out and nudged a small bottle toward the edge. It wobbled dangerously before the woman caught it just in time, uncorked it, and poured its contents into the cauldron.

The cat slipped out of the cupboard and bounded back onto the table. It approached the cauldron’s rim and peered inside, whiskers twitching at the rising steam. Then it turned toward the table, where the newt’s eyes still rested. With delicate precision, it picked them up between its teeth and dropped them into the cauldron. A plume of gray smoke erupted, curling toward the rafters as the mixture darkened, swirling into a deep, vivid blue.

The cat’s tail flicked toward the wooden spoon lying on the table. The woman obeyed, taking it in hand and stirring slowly. Bubbles rose and burst at the surface, each exhaling a faint puff of smoke that drifted into the firelight. The cat sat back, unblinking. Its cold eyes followed the woman’s every motion. Then, silently, it jumped down and padded to its familiar saucer on the floor—a dish filled with fresh water. With a deliberate smack, it flipped the saucer over, spilling the water across the boards.

The woman turned, picked up the dish, and set it upon the table. Setting the spoon aside, she rummaged through a cupboard, glass clinking in her search, until she found a small ceramic teacup. She placed it beside the saucer, with the cat’s tail flicking impatiently as it watched her work. The woman dipped the saucer into the cauldron, filling it with the dark, smoky liquid. She did the same with her teacup, setting it next to the cat’s dish.

The cat stood and approached the table. It looked up at the woman with wide, knowing eyes before flicking its tail one final time. The woman raised her cup; the cat leaned toward its dish. Together, they drank.

Almost instantly, the woman began to cough. The black liquid dribbled down her chin, staining her cheeks. The cat convulsed on the table, claws digging into the wood as it gasped soundlessly. The woman collapsed, her body twisting and contorting—patches of coarse fur sprouting across her skin as her limbs shriveled and blackened.

The cat thrashed beside her, its paws clawing at its throat, the saucer spinning off the table and shattering on the floor. The cabin filled with the sound of their cries, human and animal indistinguishable.

Then, silence.

Where the woman had fallen now sat an old black cat, its fur graying, its thin body trembling amid a pile of tattered clothes. Its wide, frightened eyes darted around the room. From the table, two human legs hung motionless. Then came a sudden cough, and the feet dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

“We did it!” cried a young woman. Her long black hair hung down, covering her naked body as she bent to embrace the trembling cat. She pressed her face into its thinning fur and whispered, voice shaking with relief, “We’re back, Poncho. We’re back.”