The sun rose at the edge of the forest grove; its orange, early-morning sunbeams peering through the shade and illuminating a verdant field filled with scarlet poppies. The rays extended onto Mena’s face like a warm hand of light and gently awoke her. When her eyes blinked open, at first, it all felt like an insane nightmare; but as Mena touched the dirt and twigs below her and turned aside, she found a sparkling green message written to her in the air. Her voice groggily read it, “Burn your hat. You won’t need it where you’re going.”
“Burn…my hat?” Mena muttered and got up. The bluntness of the message shook her awake faster than a gulp of morning tea.
“Morning, Mena,” Straw-Woman said, straightening the bits of straw sticking out of her sack.
“Why does my auntie want me to burn my hat?” Mena asked.
“I dunno,” Straw-Woman said, “But you should probably listen to her. Your auntie’s never been wrong before.”
Mena picked up her slightly battered hat. Signifying the coming-of-age magic that bore itself in her body, Mena wore it everywhere; the frequently mended patchwork could testify to that.
Mena looked to the side reluctantly, grabbing her wand and then quickly muttered, “Fire fire, I will cast. Reduce this witch’s hat to ash.”
In seconds, the hat incinerated, smoldering in the dirt like a pile of trash. Mena gazed at the hat mourningly before Straw-Woman’s voice brightened her surroundings like the sun. “Mena, look what a beautiful day it is!”
Mena looked at the horizon. The white-blue sky, the scarlet poppies and the field of grass brightened with chlorophyl were the ripest shades of colors she had ever seen.
“Wow!” Mena exclaimed.
She picked herself up, fastened her knapsack around her shoulder and ran off across the stream into the field. Straw-Woman followed and when they reached the end of the grove, it was like she stepped into a vibrant painting where the artist used only the happiest, brightest hues.
As a warm ray of sunlight intermingled with the breath of the cool breeze, Mena forgot all about her hat and embraced her new sense of freedom. She hastily walked to the edge of the poppies and grabbed Straw-Woman’s hand. Without further hesitance, she sprang into a skip through the poppies, soaking up the shining orb in the sky. Her heart raced and she skipped faster and faster. In between wild laughter and silent wonderment, Mena asked Straw-Woman, “Straw-Woman?”
“Yes, Mena?”
“Why would Auntie Grizabella keep me from such a beautiful, wonderous, astounding worl…”
An ornery voice rang out cutting her off, “Not in my field you won’t!”
Mena let out a scream as a blast in front of her exploded in the flowers, slicing several of them to ribbons. Straw-Woman went limp, and Mena fell backwards into the poppies. She looked up and a man with no shirt, only a pair of light blue overalls stood blocking the sunlight. He was large with receding blond hair and a strange overbite that made his teeth stick out at peculiar angles. A curling silver musket smoked in his hands and his voice grew belligerent as he gazed at Straw-Woman. “I could have reckoned I saw a scarecrow skipping through my fields.”
Mena managed to close her trembling jaw long enough to ask, “Uh is there a problem with skipping scarecrows?”
The man slung the musket over his shoulder, “Of course there is. Figured it might be one of those accursed witches causing trouble all these years later. Haven’t seen one in fourteen years, but folks are still on edge from that dern witch Ostritch terrorizing em and killing em too.”
“Anguish, you mean?” Mena asked.
“That’s the one,” the farmer said, rage boiling over in his eyes. “I swear if good King Budaludicus hadn’t slain her, the whole kingdom would have looked like Lantern Valley.”
“Wait,” Mena said, her eyes widening. “The king killed Anguish?”
“Of course, but lately, there’s been rumors that witches that powerful don’t stay dead…and…” the farmer shivered as he spoke, his voice getting wavery, “There was a bad moon rising last night, and rain as red as a burst vein.”
Mena fell silent, but soon, the farmer’s expression turned right around. “But, it’s sunny and clear today! Perhaps it ain’t nothing. Anyway…”—the farmer gazed at Straw-Woman and let out a sigh of relief—” Seems my eyes were playing tricks on me, and it was merely you skipping with it!”
“Of course,” Mena said, regaining a sense of calm. “In what world would scarecrows skip…especially that one…?”
The farmer pointed his musket so close to Mena’s nose, her eyes crossed towards the barrel and widened in horror. “Though I must tell you,” the farmer said, his drawl becoming pointed again. “You look mighty witch-like to me. In fact, if you were wearing one of dem pointy hats, I’d blast you to tiny witch bits!”
“Me?! A witch?!” Mena gulped and laughed nervously. “I’m not a witch.”
A dim smile broadened on the farmer’s face and he lifted his musket. “I can see that now. But keep a lookout! Dem witches could be anywhere…or anyone.”
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“I w-will,” Mena said, rising to her feet, and putting Straw-Woman’s arms over her back.
As she walked away cautiously, she was endlessly thankful her auntie told her to get rid of her hat. As soon as they were out of range of the farmer, Mena whispered to Straw-Woman. “How did you know not move?”
“Oh,’ Straw-Woman said quietly. “Your auntie left a message for me while you were sleeping.”
“She really is looking out for me!” Mena said with utmost relief, but she bit her lip. “But what was that about the king killing Anguish?”
“Beats me,” Straw-Woman replied, bluntly as her creator sized up the situation.
“Anguish said herself that my auntie banished her to the Nightmare Void…”
Straw-Woman’s voice raised to its normal flighty pitch. “Ooh Mena, like in one of your books, the plot has thickened!”
Mena’s eyes sparkled with excitement and she pumped her fist in the air. “Ooh it does and we’re in the thick of it! Perhaps my life is the next romance novel waiting to be told!”
“I’m not sure about that,” Straw-Woman responded. “Unless you think lying kings are romantic somehow…”
“Right…” Mena said, reality hitting her hard, before she pumped her fist in the air again. “Looks like my life is a mystery novel then!”
“But we already solved the mystery,” Straw-Woman said with another candid response.
Mena’s arms dropped low, and she sighed, “Straw-Woman, I wish you weren’t my precocious side. You wouldn’t spoil things for me.”
“Hey, look at the bright side,” Straw-Woman responded. “At least we don’t know why he lied.”
Mena’s eyes beamed again. “Yep, and looks like we’re here!”
Mena arrived at a large wooden sign in front of a thick castle wall, complete with steel drawbridge and moat. The sign was painted in elegant white lettering over the cedar wood. A white and yellow daffodil was painted at the center. “Welcome to our proud castle town of Growden,” Mena read, and her eyes flicked to the small red lettering underneath. “Witch Population: 0.”
When she saw how the rest of the world viewed witches, Mena realized that burning her hat was the best thing she did all day. Feeling a lot safer, she walked over the lowered drawbridge and onto the cobblestone streets of Growden.
Trekking through a horse manure and mud-stained alleyway, Mena emerged in the central square. Taking a deep breath, she realized she had come into a vast world far different from her little country cottage.
The buildings that lined the square were all attached and traveled the full distance of the square except for alcoves that lead to other parts of the city. Tiny shops were in the first story of the buildings, selling everything from freshly sliced meat to fragrant and colorful flowers to beautiful watercolor paintings to leather bound books of parchment. The second story housed people who sat outside on balconies observing the activity in the square or lounged in the sun that shined brightly on their red-brown roofs.
The people in the square were equally colorful. With bakers in white aprons, butchers in blood-stained aprons, squires in pink and white page boy outfits, entertainers in checkered jester clothes, minstrels performing outside for a few jems, cobblers selling shoes and old maids traversing the square doing their daily chores, the colorful cast of characters that appeared before her were almost like one of her fantasy books come to life.
Unfortunately, a dire sight distracted the young witch from everything else. Smack dab in the center of Growden, much to Mena’s dismay, was a fountain of a grinning, bearded king in a regal robe beheading Anguish with water shooting from her neck. Beside it, up on a stage, was a haggard old woman in a barracks. Mena quickly pushed through the crowd to further observe the woman. She was quite sorry looking with a large pimple on her nose and only a few teeth left in her head. Next to her was a portrait of a youthful beauty with curly blond hair, bright blue eyes like large marbles and red and full lips. She sat politely with her arms folded on her violet dress. The only trait the portrait shared with the old woman were the same beautiful eyes.
A man in a green hat and apron stood nearby with a cartful of vegetables calling loudly, “get your Anti-Witch Produce here!”
People were buying the vegetables, ranging from purple eggplants to ripe tomatoes to fresh cabbages and pelting her. Mena slowly approached the sad old lady and asked her quietly, “I hope you don’t mind me asking this. But why are you up there?”
Swinging her head to avoid the incoming produce, the old woman chuckled, “Well isn’t it obvious, dear. They think I’m a witch.”
“But why would they think that?” Mena asked, inquisitively.
The old woman’s eyes turned to the portrait and her voice creaked sadly. “On their desperate hunt for witches, the people of this town said, ‘How could a lass as fair as this become such a repulsive crone.’”
The old woman’s voice raised bitterly and angerly towards the mob. “It ain’t witch craft, I tell you. It’s a magician far more devious: The unyielding flow of time! But alas, they won’t listen to a poor old hag.”
Mena frowned. She immediately was sorry for this poor old woman, but a dark look came over the old lady’s face that chilled Mena to the bone. “I feel sorry for an actual witch who gets caught. This is nothing compared to what will happen to her.” And the old woman burst into a creepy cackle, causing Mena to walk away briskly.
How in the world was she going to find a school that taught magic in a town that despised, outlawed and executed those who were thought to practice it?
“Down here, young girl, down here,” a high, but proud voice whispered causing Mena to halt.
She looked down and saw the most colorfully dressed man she had ever seen. He wore a purple suit with an enormous collar--each panel of the collar was a rainbow of colors--and a top hat with a pinwheel circling the same colors around on it. Orange fluffy hair curled out from underneath it and he had a curly orange beard to match. His suit was fitted with the insignia of a lollypop with a rainbow spiral at the center of it. Mena had no idea what to make of him until he whispered, “Come with me, away from the crowd.”
The man briskly waddled away and Mena, having no choice, followed him to a shady alcove where he stuck out a cuffed hand. “Laurence Pops at your service, Lol Pops for short, and pardon the pun,” he chortled.
Mena was hesitant, until Lol gestured with his head and added, “I represent the Lollypop Labor Union.”
Curiosity dotted Mena’s eyes until she sputtered, “What are you…?”
Lol seemed a bit taken aback by her answer, but quickly responded, cutting Mena off. “People in this town call me a ‘munchkin’ but that’s not right. I prefer the term ‘small person,’ even though, there’s nothing small about my stature!”
Lol Pops laughed again at his own joke.
“No no no, I can see that,” Mena said, frantically shaking her head, not wanting to offend the only person in town who was being friendly to her. “I mean what are you talking about. What is the Lollypop Union?”
“Oh,” Lol Pops said, getting a lot more comfortable and equally bold. “Well, young girl, I can tell your new in town and that you came from a long way away.”
Mena was silent again. How did he know that? And a twinkle appeared in the dapper dressed man’s eyes, “And, I know you are a witch!”