Bridget's Fame, March week one entry
Gen found the book quite by accident. She and Peter had been poking around the stalls at the Derry flea market, looking to kill a couple of hours before lunch. Peter had taken off upon spotting a table full of old planes and other woodworking equipment, leaving Gen to wander about, rooting in boxes of old table linens and glass doorknobs.
She almost missed the book; it was stuffed into a dusty old fruit crate with a bunch of ancient, filthy kitchen equipment that looked like it had been stored in with the chickens. It was an elderly copy of War and Peace and it had been a beautiful book once, bound in red leather with the title stamped in gold on the spine and the cover. Now the covers were spattered and cracked, and there was a nasty coating of grime on the top edge.
Gen blew on the cover, coughed in the cloud of greasy dust that resulted, and riffled through the pages to check the book’s condition. The text seemed more like a cookbook or a handbook, and there were lots of illustrations, which didn’t illustrate scenes from War and Peace. Gen frowned, and flipped to the title page, which read Granny Montagne’s Practical Guide to Useful Household Magic. She closed the book, and, sure enough, the title on the cover was War and Peace. She looked at the title page again, and there was the other title, along with an illustration of a wizened old woman smiling toothlessly off the page.
Gen thumbed through to the preface, which began: "Congratulations! If you can read this, you are one of a rare few who can put the information in this book to use. Contained herein are a wealth of useful spells, simples and other basic preparations that, when applied properly, will ease the burden of your housework immeasurably." She paged through the book more carefully; it was divided into sections, with headings like "Witchery for Washday" and "Preserves the Very Old Fashioned way".
“Can I help you, Miss?”
Gen jumped a mile; there at her elbow was old an lady who looked very much like the one from the illustration on the title page.
“Um, yes, uh, how much for this book? I’ve, uh, always wanted to read it. War and Peace.”
“Oh, dearie,” the old woman shook her head. “I’ve been watching you; we both know that book is not what it appears to be.” She smiled, her face becoming even wrinklier. “I’ll sell it to you for twenty-five dollars.”
“Um, well, don’t you need it? For your house?” Gen held the book out to the old woman, who chuckled and held up her hand.
“No, no, dearie, I learned everything there is in that book years ago; I don’t need it any longer. It needs to be passed on; someone else should get some use out of it, now. ”
The ancient lady waited patiently while Gen fished around in her purse and produced the twenty-five dollars. She wrapped the book up in spotty brown paper, tied it with twine, and handed it to Gen.
“Be careful with this, dearie. Read it through before you attempt any of it, don’t do it inside your house at first, and don’t try it on anything you value until you get the hang of things” She laid her hand on the book, “Please, be very careful with this, and always remember: the devil is in the details; it’s easy to make mistakes with these things if you're careless.”
Over the next few weeks, as soon as Peter left for work each morning, Gen read the book. It was filled with strange instructions: “if you see a neighbor approaching and don’t wish to visit with her, hide. If this doesn’t work, put a mixture of Mint and Cayenne Pepper in her tea; it will shorten the length of her visit.” And there was the truly outlandish: “For getting rid of mice, snakes are best, but they come with their own inconveniences and are hard to control. Pots of rancid oil with apples, lemons, and cinnamon floating in them work well, too. Place them behind the stove, amongst the dry goods, etc. Make sure they are deep enough for the mice to drown in.” Snakes! Gen was beginning to see how witches had gotten their evil reputation. She could just imagine what Mrs. Dearborn next door would think if she were served peppered tea, while snakes slithered about hunting after mice.
The first thing Gen decided to try was a simple ironing spell. She took her least favorite blouse out to the backyard and laid it on the grass. She focused her mind, concentrating on her breathing until the yard slid away, leaving her with nothing but the blouse. She spoke the nonsense words of the spell, and waved her hands as if she were smoothing cloth. The blouse burst into flames, producing a foul smelling bluish smoke.
Gen yelped, and stamped on the blouse until it was nothing but a mass of blackened goo, the remains of the polyester in it, smeared all over the grass and her shoe. She sighed; that was her favorite pair of sneakers. She poked at the melted poly with her toe; it was already cooling into a hard mass. Well, at least it would be easy to get rid of.
The phone rang while she was trying to pry the cooled plastic out of the grass. It was Mrs. Dearborn next door.
“Hello, Gen, how are you today?”
“Fine, thanks, Mrs. Dearborn, and you?”
“I am well, thank you. I just saw smoke coming out of your backyard; is everything all right over there?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Dearborn had seen! Gen grabbed the first excuse that came into her head. “I was burning papers. Old tax documents and such. In the barbecue. You know, you’re supposed to destroy that stuff after seven years.”
“Yes, I suppose you are. Isn’t burning a bit - extreme, though? Don’t you have a shredder?”
“Well, you know, those identity thieves are getting pretty clever. I read somewhere that they took some man’s garbage and taped his shredded documents back together. I just feel safer burning them.” Gen winced at her lame excuse, but Mrs. Dearborn seemed to buy it.
“Goodness! I guess you’re right. Well, don’t burn too many papers at once; you wouldn’t want the fire to get out of control. Have a nice day!”
“Thanks, you too, Mrs. Dearborn.” Gen hung up the phone and sagged against the wall. She was going to have to be way more careful with her experiments. Granny Montaign’s warning had not been idle; with magic, the devil really was in the details.
She almost missed the book; it was stuffed into a dusty old fruit crate with a bunch of ancient, filthy kitchen equipment that looked like it had been stored in with the chickens. It was an elderly copy of War and Peace and it had been a beautiful book once, bound in red leather with the title stamped in gold on the spine and the cover. Now the covers were spattered and cracked, and there was a nasty coating of grime on the top edge.
Gen blew on the cover, coughed in the cloud of greasy dust that resulted, and riffled through the pages to check the book’s condition. The text seemed more like a cookbook or a handbook, and there were lots of illustrations, which didn’t illustrate scenes from War and Peace. Gen frowned, and flipped to the title page, which read Granny Montagne’s Practical Guide to Useful Household Magic. She closed the book, and, sure enough, the title on the cover was War and Peace. She looked at the title page again, and there was the other title, along with an illustration of a wizened old woman smiling toothlessly off the page.
Gen thumbed through to the preface, which began: "Congratulations! If you can read this, you are one of a rare few who can put the information in this book to use. Contained herein are a wealth of useful spells, simples and other basic preparations that, when applied properly, will ease the burden of your housework immeasurably." She paged through the book more carefully; it was divided into sections, with headings like "Witchery for Washday" and "Preserves the Very Old Fashioned way".
“Can I help you, Miss?”
Gen jumped a mile; there at her elbow was old an lady who looked very much like the one from the illustration on the title page.
“Um, yes, uh, how much for this book? I’ve, uh, always wanted to read it. War and Peace.”
“Oh, dearie,” the old woman shook her head. “I’ve been watching you; we both know that book is not what it appears to be.” She smiled, her face becoming even wrinklier. “I’ll sell it to you for twenty-five dollars.”
“Um, well, don’t you need it? For your house?” Gen held the book out to the old woman, who chuckled and held up her hand.
“No, no, dearie, I learned everything there is in that book years ago; I don’t need it any longer. It needs to be passed on; someone else should get some use out of it, now. ”
The ancient lady waited patiently while Gen fished around in her purse and produced the twenty-five dollars. She wrapped the book up in spotty brown paper, tied it with twine, and handed it to Gen.
“Be careful with this, dearie. Read it through before you attempt any of it, don’t do it inside your house at first, and don’t try it on anything you value until you get the hang of things” She laid her hand on the book, “Please, be very careful with this, and always remember: the devil is in the details; it’s easy to make mistakes with these things if you're careless.”
Over the next few weeks, as soon as Peter left for work each morning, Gen read the book. It was filled with strange instructions: “if you see a neighbor approaching and don’t wish to visit with her, hide. If this doesn’t work, put a mixture of Mint and Cayenne Pepper in her tea; it will shorten the length of her visit.” And there was the truly outlandish: “For getting rid of mice, snakes are best, but they come with their own inconveniences and are hard to control. Pots of rancid oil with apples, lemons, and cinnamon floating in them work well, too. Place them behind the stove, amongst the dry goods, etc. Make sure they are deep enough for the mice to drown in.” Snakes! Gen was beginning to see how witches had gotten their evil reputation. She could just imagine what Mrs. Dearborn next door would think if she were served peppered tea, while snakes slithered about hunting after mice.
The first thing Gen decided to try was a simple ironing spell. She took her least favorite blouse out to the backyard and laid it on the grass. She focused her mind, concentrating on her breathing until the yard slid away, leaving her with nothing but the blouse. She spoke the nonsense words of the spell, and waved her hands as if she were smoothing cloth. The blouse burst into flames, producing a foul smelling bluish smoke.
Gen yelped, and stamped on the blouse until it was nothing but a mass of blackened goo, the remains of the polyester in it, smeared all over the grass and her shoe. She sighed; that was her favorite pair of sneakers. She poked at the melted poly with her toe; it was already cooling into a hard mass. Well, at least it would be easy to get rid of.
The phone rang while she was trying to pry the cooled plastic out of the grass. It was Mrs. Dearborn next door.
“Hello, Gen, how are you today?”
“Fine, thanks, Mrs. Dearborn, and you?”
“I am well, thank you. I just saw smoke coming out of your backyard; is everything all right over there?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Dearborn had seen! Gen grabbed the first excuse that came into her head. “I was burning papers. Old tax documents and such. In the barbecue. You know, you’re supposed to destroy that stuff after seven years.”
“Yes, I suppose you are. Isn’t burning a bit - extreme, though? Don’t you have a shredder?”
“Well, you know, those identity thieves are getting pretty clever. I read somewhere that they took some man’s garbage and taped his shredded documents back together. I just feel safer burning them.” Gen winced at her lame excuse, but Mrs. Dearborn seemed to buy it.
“Goodness! I guess you’re right. Well, don’t burn too many papers at once; you wouldn’t want the fire to get out of control. Have a nice day!”
“Thanks, you too, Mrs. Dearborn.” Gen hung up the phone and sagged against the wall. She was going to have to be way more careful with her experiments. Granny Montaign’s warning had not been idle; with magic, the devil really was in the details.