The Familiar and His Not-So-Familiar Witch

Oliver darted over dead leaves and frostbitten grass, his heart pounding in his chest. He hissed and flicked his tail as a hand brushed it, but failed to grab hold.

Three humans chased him, smaller and younger than his Lizzie. They stank of rotten onions or some unpleasant meat. Their faces were hidden behind garish Halloween masks that glowed faintly under the moonlight. Despite the masks, he recognized them as teenagers, as his Lizzie would call them.

Oliver leaped effortlessly over the corpse of a pumpkin discarded on the sidewalk, the sweet, rotten scent filling his nostrils momentarily. He zipped between cars and through a narrow alley, following the familiar path home.

His paws barely made a sound on the crisp leaves, while behind him came the clumsy thunder of the teenagers. He was surprised—and mildly impressed—that his pursuers stayed so close on his tail. As long as they failed to catch him, he was content to lure them to his Lizzie. She would handle them, he was sure.

He turned down a familiar dead end before the woods. This last stretch was ideal terrain for the humans to catch up, so he knew he had to push himself to maintain his lead. He could hear the largest one yelling orders to the other two. Their noise made it easy to keep track of how far back they were.

He reached the end of the street unscathed and slipped into the woods. The teenagers were close behind. But now they were in his domain. As they fell behind, he slowed his pace, weaving through the trees. He felt light as a feather and silent as death, tail held high—cocky, he knew.

The humans blundered after him, snapping twigs and cursing. Even the younger humans were too big, clumsy, and stiff to really thrive in this world as he did. The woods belonged to creatures like him.

Oliver reached a clearing that revealed a dark, abandoned-looking cottage, shadowed despite the bright moonlight. The windows were boarded, and there was even a hole in the roof. He cocked his head, then slipped inside, feeling a familiar pulse of magic as he crossed the threshold.

The room was dark, and colder even than the crisp autumn air outside. Oliver padded forward, his paws leaving no tracks in the dust.

He moved to an old chair by the fireplace and recoiled; a haggard old woman sat where he expected his Lizzie to be. She regarded him with sharp eyes over a long, pointed nose. Grey, oily hair framed her face, lighter than his own grey fur. A shapeless dress ended above bare, bony feet.

He jumped into her lap, purring as she caressed his head and back. She didn't look like his Lizzie, but he knew it was her. Her fingers were gnarled and pale as dead-human flesh, with long, curved nails. They weren’t the fingers he was used to, but they found all the right spots. She petted him in long, slow motions. His chest vibrated happily in response.

Shouts outside halted his purring. His back tensed as the thudding feet and crunching leaves neared the cottage. The teenagers came stumbling in and stopped just inside the door, panting like dogs. A gust swept in behind them, scattering dead leaves across the wooden floor.

“Where is it?” barked the louder, bossier teenager.

“Are you sure it even came in here?” A more hesitant boy’s voice asked, barely above a whisper.

The room was dark, and Oliver imagined it was taking the teenagers time to adjust to it with their limited human vision.

“I'm sure,” the first boy replied.

“My flashlight isn’t working,” a girl’s voice said, shakily.

“Neither is mine,” said the nervous boy.

The chair swiveled to face the children, but they didn’t notice. They were busy surveying the dark room around them, without moving away from the door. Oliver was also curious about his unfamiliar surroundings. There were cobwebs in every corner, dust on nearly every surface. The furniture looked old and unstable. A few dead spiders and rats were scattered about, the stench of which he couldn’t smell.

Although they didn’t notice him yet, Oliver got a better look at the teenagers. Their masks were gone now. The larger boy who stood in the middle and further out from the others, Oliver decided, must be their leader. Another boy stood to one side, close to the exit. A girl on his other side also hovered near the door.

After bickering among themselves, the children moved farther into the cottage. The door slammed shut behind them, and they screamed, loud and startled. The leader recovered first, suppressing his fear. The girl tugged at the door, but it didn’t budge. The leader pushed her aside, tried it himself—nothing. The door still wouldn’t open.

Oliver’s tail twitched in amusement.

A fire blazed to life behind him, illuminating a large, glowing cauldron and filling the room with eerie light. The teenagers spun and flinched.

"It seems you’ve been pestering my Oliver," the old woman rasped, her voice sounding rough as if stones clogged her throat. He looked up and chirped, amused.

The teenagers eyed each other—except for the leader, who locked eyes with the old woman. He scanned her with open skepticism, a sneer crawling onto his face.

“So what?” he asked dismissively. Oliver was impressed with his bravado, foolish as it was. He sat up straighter, too, chin up as he stared the boy down.

“So, you have to be punished.”

“We were just checking this place out. We didn’t think anyone was here,” the female teenager interjected, taking a step back.

The leader glared at the girl, then sneered again at Oliver and the old woman. "Think we’re scared?" he asked, smirking.

The old woman grinned, and Oliver looked up at her. Her teeth were broken and browned. She rose, Oliver shifting aside, and floated toward the children, her back bent and her feet dangling just above the floor. The other two looked terrified, but the leader kept his smug smirk.

“What should we do with the children, my sweet?” she asked Oliver, even though she kept her eyes on the teenagers. She hmmed and touched her chin, “Should we eat them?”

Oliver enjoyed stinky fish and most stinky meats, but he wrinkled his nose; these teenagers had a stench that was entirely unappetizing.

“No? Maybe we should burn them like that would have done to your fur,” she said with a wicked, toothy smile directed at the children. She pointed at something the leader was holding.

Oliver’s hackles raised as he spotted the firecracker in the leader’s hand. He was familiar with those and how they were used on his kind on nights like this.

The leader only scoffed. “Wow. An old witch cooking kids in her cauldron. So creative,” he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “This is a pretty lame haunted house. Way too over the top. Not scary at all.”

Oliver found it a bit over the top, too. He wasn’t sure himself where she was going with this, but he hoped it would be good.

The cottage was silent for a long moment; the only sound now was of leaves blowing outside.

“Oh, fine, you win,” his Lizzie huffed suddenly and backed down, her voice returning to the smoothness Oliver was familiar with. Her feet met the floor, and she stood up straight.

Oliver let out an undignified yowl, shocked and confused that she was giving up so easily without even trying.

His Lizzie, who still looked like a haggard old woman, reached past the frightened girl and flipped a switch on the wall, the girl shielding herself as if she were about to be attacked. A chandelier lit the room. “Some people just can’t be scared.” She said, throwing her hands up.

The other two teenagers relaxed a little and grinned uneasily. The leader’s grin was smug and satisfied. “I knew it,” he said.

“Were you scared at least?” his Lizzie asked the other two teenagers. They nodded slowly, unsure at first.

“I thought it was pretty cool,” the boy follower said, shrugging, as if he hadn’t almost wet himself.

“I thought it was very scary,” said the girl.

“Good!” exclaimed his Lizzie, and two of the teenagers jumped, “At least someone appreciated my efforts.” She turned to her left and picked up a skull-shaped bowl from a table, neither of which Oliver remembered seeing there before. “Here, have some candy,” she said to the teenagers, offering the bowl out in front of her.

They dug through the bowl for a little too long, and he felt his Lizzie’s annoyance. After they made their selections, she pulled out a full-sized candy bar and handed it to the leader. “Here, you get this one. You are the winner!” he seemed as confused as to what he had won as Oliver was, but he took the candy without saying thank you.

The other teenagers at least said thank you as the three of them left, this time finding the door unlocked. Oliver heard one of them let out a deep breath as it opened for them. They all gave one more look over their shoulders as they left, and his Lizzie gave an excited little wave back. As if she were enjoying herself.

Oliver let out a low growl as he watched them leave, unharmed.

His Lizzie closed the door behind the teenagers and turned to face him. He narrowed his eyes at her, his tail flicking back and forth in annoyance, ears held back.

She scoffed at him. “Oh, don’t worry!” She gave a dismissive wave and came to pet him, but he didn’t purr and kept his back stiff, as if he didn’t enjoy it.

“That wasn’t actually Halloween candy I gave them, silly,” she grinned down at him mischievously.

His ears perked up a little.

She barked a laugh. “Why would I have Halloween candy?” she laughed harder, as if the idea was utterly ridiculous.

Oliver perked up and mewed at her, winding back and forth as she pet him. He knew she wouldn’t let him down.

Her laughter escalated until she was bent over, barely able to contain herself. Oliver wondered what she had given the teenagers.

She finally sighed loudly and composed herself, wiping tears from her eyes. She reached for her face, grabbing at the skin of her nose and pulling as if it were a mask. As she pulled away, the image of the haggard old witch melted away, and the familiar face of his Lizzie returned. The grey hair gave way to long, sleek black hair that swung just past her shoulders. Her face was young now, though not nearly as young as those nasty teenagers. Her ugly, unflattering dress was replaced by a familiar baggy sweater covered in unknown cats, which hung past her hips, with black sweatpants beneath the sweater, and plush pink slippers on her feet.

With a wave, the inside of the cottage returned to normal, also. The rats and spider webs disappeared, and he was back in his warm, comfortable cottage. An old, well-used piano sat against the wall where the fire and cauldron had just been. The furniture returned to its cozy, clean normalcy.

“Anyway,” she said to him, hands on her hips, “Come on. Let’s go have some fun,” She switched to shoes, put a jacket on, and moved to the door, waiting for him.

In response, Oliver paced once in a circle on the soft recliner he was now on and flopped into a perfect position for a well-deserved nap.

“Don’t you want to make sure no one else gets the bright idea to mess with some poor cat tonight?”

Oliver opened one eye lazily.

“I’ll let you decide what we do to them,” she prodded, grinning wickedly and waggling her eyebrows.

Oliver bounced up and followed her out the door, his tail curved over his back.

Outside, the house still looked like an abandoned shack. Oliver heard screams in the distance, and his tail twitched joyfully. This was going to be a fun night indeed.