Short Story: Harriet The Forgotten

These short stories are written as practices in writing and all are unedited and are not proofread

The rain is pelting my umbrella as I walk down the dirt path; there is nothing interesting to see on either side. Just some grass with water droplets hanging from them. Still, it is better than looking ahead of me. For all the sound the umbrella makes as the rain comes pouring down, it does little to protect me from the water as I continue to walk. 

I am Harriet one of the last true witches in this country and I am walking down this dirt road with nothing but a bag and an umbrella. Why am I walking down it you may wonder, well let me tell you dear reader that not all magic is grand and almost no magic is convenient. 

According to many books; all I’d have to do to get dry was wave my wand and speak a few words in Latin. Fat lot of good that would do me, first, a wand is a one-time use thing, it can cast one spell and then ‘poof’ it disintegrates into ash. 

Which is a bit of a problem seeing as it takes nearly two years of work to create even a small one. Then there is the Latin for magic, do you know how long winded that language was? 

It would take me three days just to describe how I wanted to have only my clothes and hair dried out and not to have all the moisture sucked out of my body. No, instead magic is left to the language that you already know best and then hoping that you can muster up enough power to make even a drop of water change a few degrees in temperature. 

Which is why I am walking down this dirt road in the middle of what is rapidly becoming a rather worryingly large storm. The grass on the side has now turned to small rivulets of water, running together to make a river of water only a few feet away from me. 

You see, only yesterday I received a message that one of the old magics was returning and as one of the few remaining witches in this world I would have to go investigate. Never mind that I was in the middle of teaching my latest student how to brew a potion or that I really rather hate walking. 

No, I would have to drop everything and go see what some thousand-year-old beasty has to say for itself. The dirt road has now turned to mud and to my utter annoyance the clouds are turning darker, which means I can’t even see the damn rivulets of grass and water to the side of me. 

This, dear reader, is when I make the first proper decision of the day, I look at the time. 12:46 Well, that’s not right, it would have to be much later in the day for the world to be this dark just because of some clouds. 

You see, I had been looking steadfastly at the dirt, no mud, road ahead of me. There was only the sound of rain and this road wasn’t going to see any cars on it, seeing as it can only be accessed by those who can do magic. 

So, I do the first dumb thing of the day, I look up to see where in the blazing hell I am. And in front of me is what I can only describe as a man wearing what a toddler thinks a suit would be. He has short black hair, no beard, and from this distance that is all I could see. Now, a more sensible witch would have started casting her spell right about now, trying to talk to the ancient beasty. 

But no, you see, Harriet the witch doesn’t have time for that and she is hoping that at least one of the 3 wizards that she knows exists would come to help. So, I walk rather grumpily onwards, aiming for the man. 

“Oh, so you ignore everything in this world until an ancient awakens and now you’re going to tell me to leave? Fat chance, Harriet, me, I will be the one to talk it back into sleep!” I say, rather loudly and with exactly as scary a tone as you may think I can do. 

The man however simply looks at me and at this moment I realize that it is not a man, but the very ancient I had come to deal with. 

You see, ancients like being in human form but oh so rarely do they get the smiles right. He is grinning, or more, he is smiling but his mouth has stretched open to reveal jagged yellow teeth, and as it looks at me the mouth continues to split open. It was now reaching just passed its ears. 

“Oh frumperdoodle!” I say. “

Turn to sleep, turn to night, go back to where you once were from. This world is empty, this world is tired, go back to sleep, ancient of the Nile.” 

I try chanting it, I’d learned the words of that spell from my own master several decades ago. It was one of the ones she always insisted I learn until I could say it without thinking. However, I feel something twist and gurgle as I say it, grabbing my backpack I repeated the words. 

“Turn to sleep, turn to night, go back to where you once were from. This world is empty, this world is tired, go back to sleep, ancient of the Nile.” 

For all these words, the ancient seems rather perplexed by my behaviour. “Turn to sleep, turn to night, go back to where you once were from. This world is empty, this world is tired, go back to sleep, ancient of the Nile.” 

It stops smiling, closing its mouth, “You do not seem to have enough power to properly do this young witch.” 

“Turn to sleep, turn to night, go back to where you once were from. This world is empty, this world is tired, go back to sleep, ancient of the Nile.” 

It looks at me as I finish the last sentence, evidently waiting for me to finish. I also manage to grab the wand that I did bring with me, this one was elm, took me four years to make the damn thing. 

“Oh, you know that wands don’t work, I am curious, I feel few witches and wizards in this world.” It says, taking a few more steps towards me. 

“Turn to sleep, turn to night, go back to where you once were from. This world is empty, this world is tired, go back to sleep, ancient of the Nile.” I wave the wand right as I start speaking, pouring what magic I have into it. 

There is a cracking sound and the wand flashes bright white, the ancient looks at it with surprise and then I am blinded by my own magic, as usual. 

“Well, I really hope that worked” I say as the wand crumbles in my hand, where the hell am I going to find another ancient elm willing to give me a root, a twig, and a branch. 

“Dear, I would stop worrying about that imitation. Your magic is all wrong.” My vision clears, the ancient does not seem to have moved back a step. 

“But…”I try to say. 

“Do not fear young witch, I’ll be sure to go and wake the other ancients, this world has so few magic users left, I daresay it would be a grand old feast!” it says, taking a few more steps towards me. 

I want to try another spell, but you see, it has moved so fast it grabs my hands with a grip that breaks my bones and with its head opening ever further into a gasping maw it bites into me. 

Gruelling pain sweeps through my body as I feel each tooth dig into my skin, my body trembles as a massive amount of blood is sucked up. Its tongue lapping against me, my arms held tight, not even a shriek of terror escapes me. 

“I’ll leave you here to ponder, you witches always do taste just a bit muddled.” It has dropped me onto the dirt road, water now running over me. I expect it would be painful but I feel only numb, throbbing pain. 

“wait” I murmur. 

It turns to look back at me, horrible mouth closed, blood dripping down its mouth. “Wait? You witches and wizards are supposed to stop us, put us to sleep. Well, we never agreed to that. We just knew you’d die out, refuse to train others, thin yourselves out to such a point we could have it all!” It takes two steps and then bursts into the air, becoming larger as it rises up, turning into what I can only describe as a dragon. 

But everyone knows those weren’t real, fairy tales, like gnomes and elves. 

The rain is still pelting me.
I am getting drenched.
The throbbing is going away.
I am getting sleepy.
Reader, wake me later, won’t you? 

- Transcript of the last thoughts of Harriet the Old One, Last of the Forgotten Witches, Died before the world ended.