Part IV




Night fell, and I was not anticipating running around headless in the woods. I spent my time in front of the fireplace puffing my pipe. The pumpkin at my side mocking me. When I would touch it, nothing would happen, but if my head were off it would create its dancing fire.

John sat in his chair sipping wine. His chair was just as mine and it sat next to mine.
“Try not to think of it as,'shoving your head in a claustrophobic sack', as you so pleasantly put it.” John spoke trying to make me feel better, “Think of it as...placing your head in a protective comfortable bag.”
“Say it as you will, “ I argued, “I am the one who must shove my head in a bag and go out meandering through the woods looking for someone who most likely will try to put a spell on me.”
“Is she not your grandmother?”
“I doubt she'll know I am related.”
“She's a witch! Of course she'll know who you are.”
I paused my next words, to search to change the subject. The thoughts went through my head danced around one phrase, “How could she have loved my grandfather, and yet deprive him of his head?”
John chuckled, “she's a witch.”
I scoffed and stood, “Well I do believe its dark.”
John stood as well and finished his wine, “Then we better get started.”

We made our way to the woods by a lantern. We ventured until John feared to go further, “I-I-I feel the cold. Your g-g-grandfather is near. You must go alone.”
“John, I thank you for helping me through. If I do not return....” I stopped to take a breath, “You may have the full bank.”
John patted my back, but not hard. I took one last look at him and then I took my head.

I slipped it in a side-sack and as I figured, it was very uncomfortable. My body drooped its arms and prepared for the new head. John took the pumpkin and placed it on my neck. I blacked out.

Time had no clutch on me. It was as if I blinked and it was over. I gasped for air but was constricted by the sack. Soon my grateful hands freed me and removed me from the back to see a cottage.
The pumpkin still sat upon my neck but its flame was gone. All was dark and I couldn't see where I was. I placed the back of my head against my breast, and I spun around looking for a sign as to where I was. The light from the cottage wasn't enough to see where I was, but it seemed I was on a bridge. I heard water pouring underneath

I tucked my head underneath my arm and uplifted the pumpkin. Following that, I took a step back off of where the bridge seemed to end and the pumpkin lit up again. Curious. I thought to myself. I stepped forward onto the bridge and the pumpkin's flame dissipated.


I set the pumpkin down and placed my head back on. It felt as if I ventured for hours, and my neck was sore. I had to continue.

I took a breath and walked toward the cottage. Every step I slowed my pace as emotions of fear overwhelmed me. The cold air grew colder, and yet my shivering was not of chill. The door was old, as old as the rest of the cottage. On the frame was a wicker made figure. It was curiously more frightening then the rest of the house. A trembling hand of mine reached for the handle.

A voice shrill and aged spoke out and caused me to leap back, “Come in.”
I clutched my scalp to check if I still had my head on. The voice came again, “I said, 'Come in!'”
My trembling hand grabbed the handle and I opened the door.

Inside was as though the cottage were a well kept house. The walls on the interior were of white wood. The ceiling was wood on the inside as well, even though the roof was of straw outside. To my left was a table and not far from it was a bedroom. In front was a kitchen, of modern style. On the stove was a short and pudgy old woman. She was of German Shepard breed, and she wore a plain dress with an apron, plus a bonnet that her ears poked out of.

“I don't get much guests out here you know.” She spoke, never turning to face me. All this seemed homely and sweet, an unexpected thing from a witch.
I hesitated to speak, “Uh...I-Is this....”
“You found me.” She interrupted.
“How do you...”
She finally turned to me. She had mitts on her hands as she held a pot of soup, “I saw you coming from a mile away.”
Her face was soft and motherly like. She walked over to me to get to the table. I shuddered and stepped away from her.
“Don't be afraid.” She said as she placed the pot on the table, “I won't cut your head off.”

She chuckled at her jest and went back to the kitchen area.
“I-I-I was...”
“Expecting a witch? An ugly looking creature hovering over a pot spouting out spells?” She interrupted again, “Well I am hovering over a pot, but I am not making a potion.”

“Then you are a witch?” I finally managed to finish a sentence.
“Yes.” She retorted, “And I will swallow your SOUL!!!!”
Her voice suddenly boomed and echoed an unnatural sound. I tripped in fear and fell over. My back hit the floor and my head rolled off out the opened door.

I could her hear monstrous laugh as I rolled outside. It sank back to her homely voice as she stepped outside, “Don't be so tense my dear. I am only jesting.”
She bent over and picked me up. My head shivered and I was embarrassed as well. She placed me on the table next to the soup then proceeded to help my body up, “You were just like your father.”

My eyes widened in amazement as she led my body to the table, and I sat in the chair where she guided me.
“You knew my father?” I spoke as oblivious to anything I was told before.
“Of course! He was my son.”
She picked me up again and placed me back in the right place. I rubbed my head and looked at her, “I wish I knew him.”
She forced a smile, “He didn't want this for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
She took off her mitts, “Have some soup!”
“But....” My senses came back to me, and I thought it not wise to argue with a witch.
She poured me a bowl and I stared at it cautiously.
“It's not poisoned dear! Go! Eat!”
I took a sip and the flavor was brilliant. It filled my sense of taste like nothing ever before. I began to take more and more until I found myself mannerliness.

“Oh! Sorry. It was just so...”
She smiled, “ I know dear. I made it just for you. Its made especially for your taste and no one else.”
“What does that mean?” I inquired.
“That soup recipe I made the day I found you existed. I knew exactly what you would crave.”
“How is it you know me, and yet I know not of you?”
She smiled much more, “I'm a witch.”

I finished the soup and wiped my muzzle. I paused to choose my next words carefully, “Then you know why I came.”
She nodded.
I continued, “And you won't give it to me will you?”
She shook her head.
“Where is it?”
“Over there.” She pointed to a chest next to the oven.

I glanced at it and then produced my next question, “Will you at least let me see it?”
With a smile she stood up and motioned me to come. I followed as she opened the chest. She reached in and pulled out the head.

It was a jackal, but a leather strap bound his muzzle, completely covering it. Upon his eyes was a single yet odd strap that shaped the exact size of his eyes. His ears twitched in her hands, and he heard everything.

It was the same Jackal in my reoccurring dreams. And that made her his dearest love.

She petted him and kissed his brow before she put him back in the chest.
“That's my Grandfather!” I shouted uncontrollably, “Why do you treat him as such?”
She shook her head, “You wouldn't understand right now.”
“You, woman, are cruel!”
Her smile faded to a scowl, “You are just like your father.”
I stopped speaking to hold my anger. She Glanced at the chest, “ I still love him. But he is so much worse then you believe.”

“I can't say anything. Even he doesn't deserve this.”
She looked back at me, “We are done for the night.”
“No we are n...”
Before I could finish she opened her palm and blew a powder in my face. Everything went dark.


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