Chapter IV - Entering Hell

Chapter IV

Entering Hell 

by Faith McCann 

Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate stood in his office. He was confused, as he stood before the grand, oversized mirror in his office. Who was the dirty, disheveled man looking back at him? Was this some trick? He suddenly felt hard hands grab his arms and then he was roughly dragged backwards, his heels leaving dirty marks on the carpet. He looked over his shoulder and recognized the security guards who were dragging him back out of his building. "Franklin, Davis! It's me! Me! Your boss! I demand you let me go, now! Let me go, I say! Unhand me!" 

"Haha, we're about to let you go, and we'll be happy to be gone of you. Boss? The Magistrate is our boss. Not a vagrant such as yourself." They looked at one another, and the look they exchanged as they shook their heads was obvious, 'this bloke was out of his mind!' The two guards dragged Dominic to the large fancy carved wooden doors which made up the entrance to the Town's Official Center Building. 

Before he could get more than shocked, flabbergasted sputtering out of his mouth, before it occurred to him that the security guards did not recognize him! Not even in the slightest! He was thrown out onto his back. He was laying there, on the sidewalk. Like a piece of refuse. He was so confused? What was happening? Why was this happening?  He sat up, feeling the anger overtake him. 

Dominic brushed himself off, trying to not take close notice of his threadbare clothing, his ragged and dirty fingernails. He had just had a manicure two days prior, hadn't he? Maybe he was sleeping and this was a dream. Ahh, yes! That's it! It was all a dream!  He would simply go home, go to bed and wake up in the morning and all would be right. That would explain it all! 

He hurried down the sidewalk, a few blocks until he came to the center town green.  It had a large central gazebo placed where wealthy locals could gather to chat while watching their children play in the park. It was a cold day so it was empty of people today. The park was surrounded by several large two and three storied, stately homes, more mansion than cottage. 

He quickened his steps, and crossed the street to cut across the green. A thick fog had settled on the vast green expanse of grass. He didn't notice a quizzical rabbit, nibbling on a blade of grass, enjoying the end of the afternoon sunshine. The rabbit watched Dominic rush past. 

Dominic felt confident with his plan.  He simply needed a rest. A goodnight's sleep and he would awake from this nightmare. He looked through the fog looking for his home. It was the largest, most grand one surrounding the green. There was the big blue house with white trim the Sellers' lived in. Mr. Sellers was the master jeweler in the town. 

The big yellow brick home, a three storied mansion was the home of the Stein brothers. They owned the large food market. The home was a family home which was large enough for both of their wives and children. It was separated into a two sided building allowing for one family to live on each side. His was larger still, being the Magistrate after all .  .  . wait.  .  .  where was it? 

He slowed, until he came to a stop. He slowly turned, around and around, a slowly spinning human top, with wisps of mist floating by. Where was his home? It was a big, three storied, red brick home with shiny black shutters and four entire chimneys on the top! A building that impressive didn't just disappear! or did it?  He slowly turned, the Sellers', the Stein's, and there was the Sulka's, who have the wooden clapboard home, very old and classic. They both serve on the town council, primarily running town events and overseeing the parks and recreation departments. But his home, was .  .  .  gone! 

It should be right between the big blue and the yellow houses. But all that was there was a large brightly colored flower garden. Large wraiths of fog floated by, he waved irritatingly at the mist in front of his face, with little affect. He felt lost, and suddenly, quite lonely. This . . . was all wrong. It had been a very long day. Would it never come to an end? 

He felt exhaustion come over him. His office staff doesn't recognize him. His home and apparently his house staff are gone.  .  .  somewhere? He felt dejected as he walked over to the gazebo, which appeared empty. He ascended the stairs and went to one of the benches and wearily sank down. He put his head in his hands as he let out a deep sigh which seemed to come from his very soul. How will he figure this entire situation out? 

"My goodness. what a deep, soulful sigh!"  a soft melodic voice said. 

His fingers parted and he glanced through the gap they made, and without moving another muscle glanced sideways to see if there was a corporeal person there or some floating devil spirit! He had had about all he could take of the 'woo woo' magical world and a green eyed witch! 

He saw an older woman, with light gray hair, it's considerable length wrapped into a bun on the back her head, with a braid making a crown on the top of her head. She had a light blue wispy shawl wrapped around her, which didn't seem quite warm enough for the chill he knew would be coming. 

She was seated across from him, her dark blue long dress hiding her shoes and her hands were wrapped in dark blue gloves. She looked, somehow 'nun like' though he knew that wasn't quite right. There were no convents for several miles from these parts and the nuns from those distant places never came this far. 

"It's been a .  .  .  difficult day, to say the very least." He didn't wish to bother a complete stranger with his troubles. 

"I know Dominic. It can be very, disconcerting to find oneself drifting through the veils. You will soon get your bearings, then you can focus on the work that needs to be done." 

He had been looking down, his elbows now resting on his knees. Peering at the wooden floor of the small gathering place. At her words he looked up at her, more carefully this time. Very few people called him by his first name. "Wait, do I know you? How do you know my name?' 

She smiled a gentle smile, and just looked at him, knowing that was not the question he needed the answer to. 

"One minute" he started to go over her few words. "Drifting through the veils?, who are you.?" He slowly got up, a look of fear crossing his face. "What do you know?" He backed away from the older woman until he was backed up against the farthest rail of the gazebo. He gripped the railing with both of his hands and felt his mouth go dry. 

"Sit down Dominic. You have nothing to fear from me. My name is Shermona. I am here, taking a brief respite before heading on my way to the Home for the Homeless. I go there as often as I can to give comfort, aid and any help that I can. But right now, you need my help, if only to help you get your balance. You seem to have many questions."

The older woman spoke so calmly, with such understanding in her eyes, and such compassion he had seldom experienced, that he carefully moved away from the railing and slowly made his way to a bench a bit closer to the woman. 

"Do you know what is happening to me? My house is gone! My office staff does not recognize me! It's that witch, at the Rag and Bone shop! She did this to me!! It's a trick, an evil spell I tell you! Can you help me? I'll pay you, I can make you rich." His voice trailed off in a wheedling whine. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" she calmly asked, sitting there as if they were discussing which type of cake to have with their afternoon tea. 

"Of course! I do! Want to know!! Also how I can reverse these evil doings! Can you see this?" He gestured to his threadbare clothing. Holding out his worn, calloused hands, the dirty, torn nails. "Look at what she did to me!"  

Shermona sighed, crossed her fingers in her lap and lowered her head a bit. Was she meditating, he wondered? Doing some magic of her own? He stayed quiet, not wanting to interfere with her mojo or whatever it was called. 

She looked up, with her eyes only, never moving her head, piercing his eyes with hers. He felt a shiver flash down his spine. The look she gave him was implacable and he knew it did not necessarily bode him well. At least, not an easy fix to his situation. 

"It's simple, Dominic. You are exactly where you choose to be." 

"What? I most certainly do not wish to be in this predicament!" 

"Ah, well. we all find ourselves in places, at times, where we are given a choice. You were in charge of this town, it's people. That means all of it's people. This is an opportunity for you to get to know, really understand what the majority of your town's people experience, day to day, who struggle to survive."

"What does that mean? Where is my house?" 

"You have no home, no job, no name but Dominic. All you own is on your body at this time. In your pockets. You will be welcome at the Home for the Homeless, which has suddenly received word that the closing has been rescinded. A very good thing, as you won't be subjected to sleeping out in the bitter cold this night. Do you have any coins on you?" 

"No home, no job? But I am the Magistrate!" 

"Well, not really. Remember that accident that happened a few nights ago, outside of your office? In the street?" 

"Yes, vaguely. my office manager, Ms. Peppercorn, was all teary eyed about vagrant being run down in the street by a horse and carriage. The driver, I heard, was inebriated and shouldn't have been handling any animal. Why? What does that have to do with me?" 

"That incident, was reported about in the local paper. Your generosity was the talk of villages and towns for miles!" She smiled. 

Dominic couldn't remember anything other than the screams from outside his office window and his simpering office manager. What had he done? He frowned at her in concern and a growing fear. 

Shermona handed him a newspaper. Where had she gotten that from? He took it and started to read the story. He read about the drunken horse and carriage driver, the man run down in the street, and the injured man being picked up and brought right away to the local herb woman who was able to treat the broken bones and heal the scrapes and bruises. The man who rescued the injured man was a Mr. Tanner, a rag and bottle man, who happened to be at the right spot, at that very tragic moment. If he hadn't brought the poor man right away to the herb woman, he wouldn't have survived. 

Yet, it was what the article went on to say? That he, Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate, was so humbled by the rag and bottle man's selfish actions to try and save someone he didn't even know in his community, that he awarded the title of honorary Magistrate to the destitute man, for the remainder of the winter months,, along with his salary! WHAT!?  Declaring that he, himself would be taking a much needed vacation, trusting the Magistrates position to the humble, quiet man. 

"How outrageous! I don't remember any of this! I wouldn't do such a thing.  .  .  " his voice faded away. 

"Ah, ah, ah, so it is written and it has now happened. Do you have any coins? For even a Home for the Homeless requires a nightly fee for lodging. A penny, two pennies, four pennies or if you are a traveler passing through town they have some upper rooms, much more, shall we say, luxurious, for a goodly bit more." 

He could tell by her face he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. He stood up, fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. He quickly did the math in his head, He could possibly afford a private room, if it wasn't too expensive. He was just so exhausted. Nothing was making any sense. If he could only lay his head down, for a night's sleep. This would all work itself out. 

He held out his hand for her inspection. 

"Good, that will do for starters. I'll walk with you. Help you get familiar with your new surroundings." 

Dominic felt suddenly out of his element. He followed the older woman, who walked with a regal gate down the stairs and across the green. He kept her in his sight as he was suddenly afraid she would disappear. He felt as if he had lost everything, he was feeling an urge to keep her close. As if she was the only grip on reality he had. 

They walked to the Home for the Homeless where men, mostly men were gathering outside. Some women and women with children. The older woman was greeted with friendly "hallos" from many. She was obviously adored by many. She reached out and grasped every hand that reached for hers, taking each into her hands for a warm grasp. He noticed she didn't flinch, no matter how dirty, or smelly the hand proffered was. She smiled into each person's eyes and called them by name. He also noticed she was called "Mother Mona" by many. 

She walked him by everyone, taking the time to introduce him to what seemed like hundreds of people. He forgot the names almost as soon as he heard them. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed.    .  

"Why would you feel shame?" she leaned close and said the words quietly to him, being careful none could hear. 

"Do you not think every man, woman and child here has felt those very feelings? Yet, they spend their time worrying more about survival. It is far more effective an emotion. It motivates one to make the best of every day." 

Shermona brought him to Mr. Smyth. They could see him arrogantly directing the crowds to this direction and that, taking pennies as the throngs passed him, and before they reached him, she whispered one last warning. "He will not recognize you. It will be futile to try and convince him you are the Magistrate. Mr. Smyth has little compassion for the mentally ill. It will be best for you to simply try to make the best of the situation, until your work has been done." 

"What work?" 

"Ssshhh.  Mr. Smyth, I have found another patron for you. This is Dominic. He has some coins. I hope you can find accommodations for him."

"Welcome to the Home for the Homeless, Dominic. We have several options for your consideration, but each one is a nightly fee. The rates range from a penny to ten pennies a night." 

Dominic didn't need to recount his coins to know he had enough for a room for maybe a week, a little more. Hopefully he could convince that evil witch to change his fortune back to where it had been before he met her before he ran out of coins. 

"A room, um please, .  .  .  sir" Simply deferring respect to another stuck in his throat. "Um . . .  food?" 

"Ten pennies first" the Director held his hand out. Once the coins were in his hand, he gave a twisted little grimace that was supposed to be a smile. 

" We offer along with the small pay for the sleeping accommodations, the patrons receive a meager meal of bread and water for morning and a hot vegetable stew at night." 

The staff will be going around soon filling bowls, you can get one for yourself at that side table over there. He gestured to the long side wall. Sit at any of the front tables and enjoy your meal. 

He nodded, unable to give thanks in his current position. He sat at the long table with his steaming bowl of a dark, murky swill that may or may not have contained some type of meat within. He ate and listened and learned that no one was ever brave enough to inquire as to what type of meat it was. He also started to sharpen his mind and pay close attention to the chatter around him. 

He learned if one timed the entire evening event right, one could enter at the right time and be seated far enough back or forward, depending on what direction they tended to start serving the bowls at the end of each row and get the start of a new batch of stew. 

The unfortunate ones could get pottage that had been sitting unheated, with flies and other vermin infesting it overnight, if not longer until it was reheated to a lukewarm sewer of diseased broth. That always made for a painful evening. He saw some, white faced, sweating and with pained expressions barely able to sip from their spoons, looking as if they were going to be sick at any moment. 

He looked around and saw more, it seemed like hundreds. Poor, sick, all without a home, some as young as eight or nine, some as old as ninety. Some women, without spouses, clutching a child or two close, eyeing the strange men suspiciously, but looking at the crusts of bread and weak stew being ladled into the tin bowls with the desire of a lover. 

With a slight turn of his head he saw the line, seemingly endless, coming through the doors. How could so many be so destitute? Whether people remember him or not, this was his town! His town was affluent, prosperous and sought after for people from over the hills to travel to, to relocate, to spend summers going to the festivals, to purchase the fresh vegetables and fruits more plentiful out here than near the cities. Instead all he saw was destitution, he smelled the smell of poverty, or societal neglect from the gathering of unwashed bodies as they started to congregate. No, indeed, the truth of the poor was not kind on the senses of the well to do. 

There were so many. Every face showed pain, misery and a weariness that only hardship could etch onto a face. 

He slowly placed his metal spoon down and found it difficult to swallow, no matter how hungry he was. What was this place? He suddenly had a sharp thought. 

My God, have I entered Hell? 

To be Continued. . . 'Angel or Demon?' 

From the Author:  I hope you are enjoying the story of the Rag and Bottle Shop. I am enjoying sharing the adventures of Catsandra and her familiars and the community of Castlewick with you. Please feel free to share this blog link to other fans of magical, fantasy fiction. 

I write my stories using the inspiration of the incomparable Charles Dickens who wrote and published his work during the 1800's in Great Britain in installments. Mr. Dickens was a strong social critic of industrialization and capitalism, as well as bringing to the public attention the need for social reform. 

 

JAnuary 2022

Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate stood in his office. He was confused, as he stood before the grand, oversized mirror in his office. Who was the dirty, disheveled man looking back at him? Was this some trick? He suddenly felt hard hands grab his arms and then he was roughly dragged backwards, his heels leaving dirty marks on the carpet. He looked over his shoulder and recognized the security guards who were dragging him back out of his building. "Franklin, Davis! It's me! Me! Your boss! I demand you let me go, now! Let me go, I say! Unhand me!" 

"Haha, we're about to let you go, and we'll be happy to be gone of you. Boss? The Magistrate is our boss. Not a vagrant such as yourself." They looked at one another, and the look they exchanged as they shook their heads was obvious, 'this bloke was out of his mind!' The two security guards dragged Dominic to the large fancy carved wooden doors which were the entrance to the Town's Official Center Building. 

Before he could get more than shocked, flabbergasted sputtering out of his mouth, before it occurred to him that the security guards did not recognize him! Not even in the slightest! He was thrown out onto his back, he was laying there, on the sidewalk. Like a piece of refuse. He was so confused? What was happening? Why was this happening?  He sat up, feeling the anger overtake him. 

Dominic brushed himself off, trying to not take close notice of his threadbare clothing, his ragged and dirty fingernails. He had just had a manicure two days prior, hadn't he? Maybe he was sleeping and this was a dream. Ahh, yes! That's it! It was all a dream!  He would simply go home, go to bed and wake up in the morning and all would be right. That would explain it all! He hurried down the sidewalk, a few blocks until he came to the center town green.  It had a large central gazebo placed where wealthy locals could gather to chat while watching their children play in the park. The park was surrounded by several large two and three storied, stately homes, more mansion than cottage. He quickened his steps, and crossed the street to cut across the green. A thick fog had settled on the vast green expanse of grass. He didn't notice a quizzical rabbit, nibbling on a blade of grass, enjoying the end of the afternoon sunshine. The rabbit watched Dominic rush past. 

Dominic felt confident with his plan.  He simply needed a rest. A goodnight's sleep and he would awake from this nightmare. He looked through the fog looking for his home. It was the largest, most grand one surrounding the green. There was the big blue house with white trim the Sellers' lived in. Mr. Sellers was the master jeweler in the town. The big yellow brick home, a three storied mansion was the home of the Weinstein brothers. They owned the large food market. The home was a family home which was large enough for both of their wives and children. It was separated into a two sided building allowing for one family to live on each side. His was larger still, being the Magistrate after all .  .  . wait.  .  .  where was it? He slowed, until he came to a stop. He slowly turned, around and around, a slowly spinning human top, with wisps of mist floating by. Where was his home? It was a big, three storied, red brick home with shiny black shutters and four entire chimneys on the top! A building that impressive didn't just disappear! or did it?  He slowly turned, the Sellers', the Weinstein's, and there was the Sulka's, who have the wooden clapboard home, very old and classic. They both serve on the town council, primarily running town events and overseeing the parks and recreation departments. But his home, was .  .  .  gone! It should be right between the big blue and the yellow houses. But all that was there was a large brightly colored flower garden. Large wraiths of fog floated by, he waved irritatingly at the mist in front of his face, with little affect. He felt lost, and suddenly, quite lonely. This . . . was all wrong. It had been a very long day. Would it never come to an end? 

He felt exhaustion come over him. His office staff doesn't recognize him. His home and apparently his house staff are gone.  .  .  somewhere? He walked over to the gazebo, which appeared empty. He ascended the stairs and went to one of the benches and wearily sank down. He put his head in his hands as he let out a deep sigh which seemed to come from his very soul. How will he figure this entire situation out? 

"My goodness. what a deep, soulful sigh!"  a soft melodic voice said. 

His fingers parted and he glanced through the gap they made, and without moving another muscle glanced sideways to see if there was a corporeal person there or some floating devil spirit! He had had about all he could take of the 'woo woo' magical world and a green eyed witch! 

He saw an older woman, with light gray hair, it's considerable length wrapped into a bun on the back her head, with a braid making a crown on the top of her head. She had a light blue wispy shawl wrapped around her, which didn't seem quite warm enough for the chill he knew would be coming. She was seated across from him, her dark blue long dress hiding her shoes and her hands were wrapped in dark blue gloves. She looked, somehow 'nun like' though he knew that wasn't quite right. There were no convents for several miles  from these parts and the nuns from those distant places never came this far. 

"It's been a .  .  .  difficult day, to say the very least." He didn't wish to bother a complete stranger with his troubles. 

"I know Dominic. It can be very, disconcerting to find oneself drifting through the veils. You will soon get your bearings, then you can focus on the work that needs to be done." 

He had been looking down, his elbows now resting on his knees. Peering at the wooden floor of the small gathering place. At her words he looked up at her, more carefully this time. Very few people called him by his first name. "Wait, do I know you? How do you know my name?' 

She smiled a gentle smile, and just looked at him, knowing that was not the question he needed the answer to. 

"One minute" he started to go over her few words. "Drifting through the veils?, who are you.?" He slowly got up, a look of fear crossing his face. "What do you know?" He backed away from the older woman until he was backed up against the farthest rail of the gazebo. He gripped the railing with both of his hands and felt his mouth go dry. 

"Sit down Dominic. You have nothing to fear from me. My name is Shermona. I am here, taking a brief respite before heading on my way to the Home for the Homeless. I go there as often as I can to give comfort, aid and any help that I can. But right now, you need my help, if only to help you get your balance. You seem to have many questions."

The older woman spoke so calmly, with such understanding in her eyes, and such compassion he had seldom experienced, that he carefully moved away from the railing and slowly made his way to a bench a bit closer to the woman. 

"Do you know what is happening to me? My house is gone! My office staff does not recognize me! It's that witch, at the Rag and Bone shop! She did this to me!! It's a trick, an evil spell I tell you! Can you help me? I'll pay you, I can make you rich." His voice trailed off in a wheedling whine. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" she calmly asked, sitting there as if they were discussing which type of cake to have with their afternoon tea. 

"Of course! I do! Want to know!! And how I can reverse these evil doings! Can you see this?" He gestured to his threadbare clothing. Holding out his worn, calloused hands, the dirty, torn nails. "Look at what she did to me!"  

Shermona sighed, crossed her fingers in her lap and lowered her head a bit. Was she meditating, he wondered? Doing some magic of her own? He stayed quiet, not wanting to interfere with her mojo or whatever it was called. 

She looked up, with her eyes only, never moving her head, piercing his eyes with hers. He felt a shiver flash down his spine. The look she gave him looked implacable and he knew it did not necessarily bode him well. At least, not an easy fix to his situation. 

"It's simple, Dominic. You are exactly where you choose to be." 

"What? I most certainly do not wish to be in this predicament!" 

"Ah, well. we all find ourselves in places, at times, where we are given a choice. You were in charge of this town, it's people. That means all of it's people. This is an opportunity for you to get to know, really understand what the majority of your town's people experience, day to day, simply to survive."

"What does that mean? Where is my house?" 

"You have no home, no job, no name but Dominic. All you own is on your body at this time. In your pockets. You will be welcome at the Home for the Homeless, which has suddenly received word that the closing has been rescinded. A very good thing, as you won't be subjected to sleeping out in the bitter cold this night. Do you have any coins on you?" 

"No home, no job? But I am the Magistrate!" 

"Well, not really. Remember that accident that happened a few nights ago, outside of your office? In the street?" 

"Yes, vaguely. my office manager, Ms. peppercorn, was all teary eyed about some child being run down in the street by a horse and carriage. The driver, I heard, was inebriated and shouldn't have been handling any animal. Why? What does that have to do with me?" 

"That incident, was reported about in the local paper. Your generosity was the talk of villages and towns for miles!" She smiled. 

Dominic couldn't remember anything other than the screams from outside his office window and his simpering office manager. What had he done? 

Shermona handed him a newspaper. Where had she gotten that from? He took it and started to read the story. He read about the drunken horse and carriage driver, the small boy run down in the street, and the boy being picked up and brought right away to the local herb woman who was able to treat the boy's broken bones and heal the scrapes and bruises. He man who rescued the boy was a Mr. Tanner, a rag and bottle man, who happened to be at the right spot, at that very tragic moment. If he hadn't brought the boy right away to the herb woman, he wouldn't have survived. But, what did the article go one to say? That he, Dominic Diffyc, the Magistrate, was so humbled by the rag and bottle man's selfish actions to try and save the boy, that he awarded the title of honorary Magistrate to the destitute man, for the remainder of the winter months,, along with his salary! WHAT!?  Declaring that he, himself would be taking a much needed vacation, trusting the Magistrates position to the humble, quiet man. 

"How outrageous! I don't remember any of this! I wouldn't do such a thing.  .  .  " his voice faded away. 

"But, so it is written and it is now done. Do you have any coins? For even a Home for the Homeless requires a nightly fee for lodging. A penny, two pennies, four pennies or if you are a traveler passing through town they have some upper rooms, much more, shall we say, luxurious, for a goodly bit more." 

He could tell by her face he wasn't going to get anywhere with her. He stood up, fished in his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. He quickly did the math in his head, He could possibly afford a private room, if it wasn't to expensive. He was just so exhausted. Nothing was making any sense. 

He held out his hand for her inspection. 

"Good, that will do for starters. I'll walk with you. Help you get familiar with your new surroundings." 

Dominic felt suddenly out of his element. He followed the older woman, who walked with a regal gate down the stairs and across the green. He kept her in his sight as he was suddenly afraid she would disappear. He felt as if he had lost everything, he was feeling an urge to keep her close. As if she was the only grip on reality he had. 

They walked to the Home for the Homeless where men, mostly men were gathering outside. Some women and women with children. The older woman was greeted with friendly "hallos" from many. She was obviously adored by many. She reached out and grasped every hand that reached for hers, taking each into her hands for a warm grasp. He noticed she didn't flinch, no matter how dirty, or smelly the hand proffered was. She smiled into each person's eyes and called them by name. He also noticed she was called "Mother Mona" by many. 

She walked him by everyone, taking the time to introduce him to what seemed like hundreds of people. He forgot the names almost as soon as he heard them. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed.  .  .  

"Why would you feel shame?" she leaned close and said the words quietly to him, being careful none could hear. 

"Do you not think every man, woman and child here has felt those very feelings? Yet, they spend their time worrying more about survival. It is far more effective an emotion. It motivates one to make the best of every day." 

Shermona brought him to Mr. Smyth. They could see him arrogantly directing the crowds to this direction and that, taking pennies as the throngs passed him, and before they reached him, she whispered one last warning. "He will not recognize you. It will be futile to try and convince him you are the Magistrate. Mr. Smyth has little compassion for the mentally ill. It will be best for you to simply try to make the best of the situation, until your work has been done." 

"What work?" 

"Ssshhh.  Mr. Smyth, I have found another patron for you. This si Dominic. He has some coins. I hope you can find accommodations for him."

"Welcome to the Home for the Homeless, Dominic. We have several options for your consideration, but each one is a nightly fee. The rates range from a penny to ten pennies a night." 

Dominic didn't need to recount his coins to know he had enough for a room for maybe a week, a little more. Hopefully he could convince that evil witch to change his fortune back to where it had been before he met her before he ran out of coins. 

"A room, um please, .  .  .  sir" Simply deferring respect to another stuck in his throat. "Is it possible to get any food?" 

"Ten pennies first" the Director held his hand out. Once the coins were in his hand, he gave a twisted little grimace that was supposed to be a smile. 

" We offer for the small pay for the sleeping accommodations, the patrons receive a meager meal of bread and water for morning and a watery, but a hot vegetable stew at night." 

The staff will be going around soon filling bowls, you can get one for yourself at that side table over there. He gestured to the long side wall. Sit at any of the front tables and enjoy your meal. 

He nodded, unable to give thanks in his current position. He sat at the long table with his steaming bowl of a dark, murky swill that may or may not have contained some type of meat within. He ate and listened and learned that no one was ever brave enough to inquire as to what type of meat it was. He also started to sharpen his mind and pay close attention to the chatter around him. 

He learned if one timed the entire evening event right, one could enter at the right time and be seated far enough back or forward, depending on what direction they tended to start serving the bowls at the end of each row and get the start of a new batch of stew. The unfortunate ones could get pottage that had been sitting unheated, with flies and other vermin infesting it overnight, if not longer until it was reheated to a lukewarm sewer of diseased broth. That always made for a painful evening. He saw some, white faced, sweating and with pained expressions barely able to sip from their spoons, looking as if they were going to be sick at any moment. 

My God, have I entered Hell? 

 

Chapter III - The Home for the Homeless by Faith MCCann

Chapter III 

The Home for the Homeless 

by Faith McCann 

The Home for the Homeless was all a bustle since early in the day. Mr. Smyth, was standing along the railing which ran along the entire second floor balcony, hands stretched out on the railing, overlooking the vast open floor room below. It was built more like a one room auditorium, or meeting area than a rooming house. Men and women were scurrying about, cleaning everything that could be moved and then everything under that which was moved. 

It had been ordered that the long pine boxes, just long enough and wide enough to fit a moderate to slender man, be washed out of the bodily sweat of the different bodies sleeping in them night after night. They eerily resembled coffins, hence their name 'four penny coffins', which reflected their nightly cost. Mr. Smyth had just been informed late yesterday, that the Magistrate was closing the Home, and that everything must be washed out and removed from the building. 

The Magistrate demanded that every inch was to be scrubbed and sanitized as he might choose to reuse the wood from the boxes. Also the wood from the long plank benches, called 'two penny hang-overs'. Where a nightly client of the Home could pay to sit and hang their upper body over a rope strung taught.  

It sounded horrid but it was better than risking freezing to death trying to sleep in a cold, wet doorway. Even then, death was not always an option, as many were roused by the authorities when discovered and shacked off to walk the streets until a dark shadow provided cold solace, until again discovered, once again.  

Many preferred the crude Home for the Homeless's accommodations when compared to the dangers of the outside, nightly world. Some of the more brave ventured out into the wilds of the surrounding woods, risking other types of danger from murderous criminals hiding from the law to feral, wild, hungry wolves, big cats, and other unknown furry animals whose eyes glowed bright, evil, orange in the night. All were predators, looking for prey. 

So intent on watching the activity below, looking for the slightest error in his worker's assigned jobs, Mr. Smyth failed to notice a tiny gray mouse scurry up the stairs and along the back wall behind the director. The tiny rodent, dressed in a corduroy brown traveling jacket and brown breeches with a royal blue bow tie, stopped for a moment, glanced at the thin, dark haired man with the sharp profile and a grim mouth, and stern look.

Pressed against the lower wall's floor trim, tiny arms splayed out against the wall as if pressing as thin against the wall as possible, he could remain invisible.  Realizing he remained unnoticed, the stealthy, afternoon messenger passed slowly and carefully behind the director. 

Once he was a good, few feet down the hall, he came to an open doorway. Quickly, with all the mouse speed he could muster, the tiny creature scurried across the floor, over the rug and up the chair leg of the desk chair in the director's office. Inherently feeling the need for speed, the tiny mouse shoved his little paw into his pants pocket. Out came the smallest of scraps of paper. The size of a miniature postage stamp, folded over and over and over again. 

He placed the folded bit of paper on the desk. Reached into his other pocket and pulled out a tiny fist full of what looked like an iridescent powder. He held out his hand and the light coming through the window made the pile of pretty powder sparkle with a rainbow of colors. He sprinkled it onto the paper and it shimmered, and started to flutter and grow! It unfolded and unfolded and got bigger and bigger! Soon it was the size of a full sized person letter. It sat on the desk, right in the middle, as if delivered by the Grand Post Master herself! Proud of a job well done, he started to scurry across the desk then heard a foot step right outside the door!

"Oh My!"  'PoP' 

Mr. Smyth entered his office and stopped. Had he heard a squeak, then a loud popping sound? He looked around but saw nothing unusual, all looked typical. . . wait. . . was that a letter on his desk? He hadn't seen a delivery boy. How unusual, it hadn't been there a few moments before.  

Well, let's see. Probably a coupon for the new pub, opening down the street. He walked over, hmm . . . Was that a shadow that moved in the corner? No, he shook his head as he picked up the letter. He skimmed the letter, then sat down and read it over slowly, again and yet again. A sly smile twisted his thin, merciless lips. Well, well, apparently his job was not over yet. 

He got up and went quickly back out to the balcony, having grabbed a large brass hand bell as he exited his office. 'Clang' ,CLANG!,  CLANG!' The bell pealed. The harsh ringing demanding everyone's immediate attention. 

Mr. Smyth looked down to the chorus of faces looking up at him expectantly. He felt elation, where just a few moments before he felt disappointment that the job of cleansing and emptying out of the Home had been so close to finishing. He saw it had been finished except for the floors that were drying. They would be dry and clean as a whistle in an hour or so. He counted the faces and knew each expected to receive a few coins for their labors that day. Ah well, it was of no matter. The money would come from the Magistrate's pocket not his. 

"Everyone! Attention!! Everyone!"  The room had remained silent, as everyone was still watching and waiting for him to say something. "Harrumph!" He cleared his throat, "His excellency, The Magistrate has ordered that, due to his grand generosity" he took a deep breath, wait .  .  .  did he hear a snicker? He looked around the floor below carefully. All he saw were expressions of hope, expectation and some tearing up of eyes as prayers were being said. , "that the Home for the Homeless will remain open! Every piece just cleaned and removed will be replaced to it's original position, right away!" A loud cheer rose up from below as if someone had just threw out handfuls of gold to each and everyone. 

Smyth watched as the benches were brought back in from outside. Benches for sitting up were lined up towards the front of the large room. Benches for sleeping upright, while hanging over the ropes were secured back to the flooring. Finally, the long pine boxes were placed on the floor, tight against each other, only this time with a cleaned tarpaulin placed into each box. 

There was a system of higher benches set up in front of the sitting benches where the patrons could sit on the lower and place their tin plates and cup on the upper as if it were a table, when eating their meals. Mr. Smyth was trying to contain his excitement, because he had enjoyed his position as Director and having ultimate power over so many lives, whom without him. . .  'Well, let us be honest, he thought to himself, so many would be dead and Godless at that! Giving them shelter, a meager meal and Salvation, what more could any man ask for?' 

Also, it was an improvement that the place smelled better, at least for a moment in time. By this time tomorrow it would smell of the despair of humanity forgotten once again by their brethren. Those unfortunate ones, left alone in the cold. Those hungry and disdained by those whom the world deemed more fortunate and blessed.

Mr. Smyth again failed to notice one of the shadows slowly moving along the base of the darkest part of the upper hallway. A shadow with a furry tail attached to it! The shadow slowly creeped down the stairs and along a forgotten wall to a back entrance. unseen or rather unnoticed. 

The truth about magic is, most times, it hides in plain sight. The eyes see it, but the brain fails to recognize anything is there. It would rather believe in imagination, blame a speck in the corner of the eye, perhaps the light playing tricks, rather than the truth. 

Mr. Smyth continued ruminating on his mission. To bring his understanding of God to the wretches that would soon fill the benches when the sun started to fall. He looked down into the bustle of activity taking place in the bottom floor.  "Hey you, boy! BOY! You there!" A young boy looked up at him, and pointed to his chest in question. "Yes, yes! Go out among the town and let the street folks, those who frequent this place know the Home for the Homeless is again open, as of this night. The same rates apply! Quick now, before the sun goes down. When you get back I will give you a copper coin." 

A crafty look crept into the young boy's eyes. "Well, now Mr. Smyth, it's a big town for a small lad like myself. It could take the entire rest of the day to do the job proper like. I can't think, that you would want it done poorly?" The boy looked up with an expectant, shrewd twinkle in his eye. 

"What are you getting at boy? Oh! Of course, I'll make it two coins! Now get to it, before they all wander too far away looking for a place for the night." Smyth knew how resourceful a desperate man or woman could be. 

Mr. Smyth glanced down again and saw the young orphan remained and stood below with his arm upstretched as long as he could stretch it, his palm as flat as a platter. He stood with his stance rock solid. It was obvious to both the thin, aging man and the younger, that the young man had no intention of moving a muscle, until he was paid. 

Mr. Smyth looked directly into the young boy's eyes, and received in return a direct gaze as straight and serious as any 50 year old banker. Knowing he was quickly running out of time as the days were shortest this time of year, since it was just passed the Solstice, he sighed a deep breath of resignation and nodded his head. 

"What is your name boy?" As he fished in pocket for a couple of coins. 

"Davie, um . . . David Sir"  his arm still outstretched. 

"Yes, you negotiate like a man, a man's name you should use. David." He threw the coins over the railing and the boy deftly caught them both with one hand and turned and ran across the floor to the door. He turned to flash a bright smile at Mr. Smyth before disappearing into the out of doors.  

Now to prepare his sermon to those who needed to find salvation this evening. 

To be continued .  .  .  next Chapter 'Entering Hell' 

From the Author:  I hope you are enjoying the story of the Rag and Bottle Shop. I am enjoying sharing the adventures of Catsandra and her familiars and the community of Castlewick with you. Please feel free to share this blog link to other fans of magical, fantasy fiction. 

I write my stories using the inspiration of the incomparable Charles Dickens who wrote and published his work during the 1800's in Great Britain in installments. Mr. Dickens was a strong social critic of industrialization and capitalism, as well as bringing to the public attention the need for social reform. 

Chapter II - A Yuletide Visit Part II by Faith McCann

Chapter II 

A Yuletide Visit Part II 

by Faith McCann 

Dominic Diffyc was a vain man. He didn't think it was obvious. He had his shirts and suit coats tailor made. He went for a brisk walk a few times a week. He thought it was to keep looking good, in good health and all that rubbish one spews to others. It was really to keep the ladies interested. His self esteem was not as strong as one might have believed from simply meeting such a successful, and arrogant man. 

He became magistrate not to help the people in his community, as was the common assumption, no, but to line his pockets. To make himself rich and to become powerful in the meantime. A nasty combination. He was very good at being nasty. At this very moment, he had papers on his desk he was working on, regarding turning the Home for the Homeless into a cultural arts theater/museum. What better idea for Castlewick than to give the one percent a place to mingle amongst rare pieces of art and to see plays and lectures while at the same time pushing the poor and destitute out! It was a win win, if you asked him. The best part is no one had the nerve to ask him! "Haha" he let out an evil chuckle, as he was the magistrate after all!! 

He got up from his desk, in his opulent office in the town's Official Center building. He walked over to the grand mirror on the wall in his office.  He admired his full head of hair, lightened blond with a wash from the apothecary. He enjoyed how he looked a bit larger in this mirror. It was a bit of an optical illusion he had paid dearly for.  

Suddenly the door to his office swung open sharply and slammed shut with a sharp report! Mr. Diffyc jumped, and was so startled he exclaimed "Yo!  WHAT!"  He quickly looked around his office, he ran over to the chair near the front of his desk and looked behind it. There was nothing, no one there. He went to the door. He grasped the door handle and opened it. He peered out into the work area to find his staff staring, some mouths agape at him. He realized they thought HE had slammed the door! He left his office and walked out into the staff bull pen. "Ms. Peppercorn!" he bellowed, see that maintenance is called to check this door. I can't have such interruptions. See that I am not interrupted again this morning. I have very important work to do!" He let out a "Harumph" and straightened tie, and turned on his heel.

"Yes, Sir right away"  a voice piped up in the silence of his staff bull pen. 

He went back into his office and closed the door glad to be back alone with his thoughts. He walked over to look out of his big office windows, his hands clasped behind his back, as the sight of the multitudes scurrying below him always made him feel all was right with his world. As he slightly rocked back on his heels lost in his thoughts he heard a soft chuckle resonate in the air around him. A woman's laugh, low, soft, sultry. Yet, it wasn't a shock, nor unwelcome. Had a forgotten appointment entered while he had been distracted with his staff?  It was a sound he wanted to hear again. He slowly pivoted and turned to survey his office. Hmmm? There was no one there. Could he have imagined it?

"No, you didn't imagine me. I assure you I am very real." the voice again, low, soft, very female resonated throughout the room. "Where are you?"  he asked. "Come out now. Where are you hiding? I don't bite." he was feeling a bit flirtatious. She did have a pleasant voice. 

"I do. And when I bite, I draw blood. But we don't need to go there, quite yet" Catsandra said, clearly right behind Dominic Diffyc. He quickly turned, and took a quick step backwards! A woman was floating in the air! In his office!! Not only was she floating, but she was doing so, while laying on her side as if lying on a chaise. Completely relaxed, only missing a bowl of grapes to complete the picture of bored interest in him. Why did he get the impression she was only here because she had a job to do and would rather be elsewhere? He was the magistrate! People are always honored and awed to get an audience with him! 

"Who are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?" The little man was sweating and getting more flustered by the moment. How was she actually floating in mid-air? He looked up but saw no wires. 

With her chin propped upon her fist, she calmly waited for his sputtering to come to an end. "Are you finished? I have cleared my schedule, so I have plenty of time." She took her time looking around his office. Taking in the bookcase with lots of legal books, a shelving unit with shelves of what appeared to be special items of nostalgia and personal significance. She reminded herself to have a closer peek at that shelf unit at a later time. No need to be rude and intrusive on her first visit. Plus she had more important business to attend to. 

"As to who I am," she continued, when the sputtering little man fell silent, " I am a member of this community, Mr. Magistrate and I have some serious concerns regarding the imminent closing of the Home for the Homeless, and my name is Catsandra. I haven't yet decided if it is a pleasure to meet you yet, or not." 

"YOU have serious concerns? MS. PEPPERCORN! COME IN HERE IMMEDIETLY!!" he bellowed completely at the end of his patience. They both looked at each other in silence. He, with a look of expectation on his face as his glance went from the floating witch to his office door and back again. She, as she looked at him and then at her fingernails, as though thoroughly bored. After a full minute went by with nothing happening, her smile getting bigger as if amused by a secret joke, the magistrate quickly walked to his door and grabbed the door handle and jumped back with a yelp! "Owww" 

"Oooh does that burn? I did that. We need to finish this very important discussion without any interruptions. And your guard dog Peppercorn, is it? She can't hear a thing. Your office is now completely sound proof. You're Welcome!" she purred sounding suspiciously like a cat. 

Diffyc walked over to his desk, placed both palms down on the top of it and hunching his shoulders, hung his head and took a few deep breaths trying to gain his composure. He could not believe he was being treated this way! And in his own office! She chuckled "You okay there? Take your time, as I said I have all the time .  .  ." 

"WHAT!? what do you want from me?, No, Let me try again. Cassandra is it? How may I help you, my dear?"

She adjusted her floating stance and floated over to sit cross legged in the air, above the brown leather chair in front of the desk. She spoke quietly, deliberately and softly. "Firstly, my name is CATsandra. Secondly, if you call me your dear again, well.  .  . we might see how accurate those fairy tales about witches turning hateful humans into toads really are!" 

"I thought those fairy stories saw handsome Princes turned into frogs?" 

"Whose the witch in this office?"  she countered.

"Ahhh" He paled considerably at the word 'witch'. "Ummm, granted, I may have mis-remembered, no offense intended" his hands raised as if to ward off any spell coming at him. 

"Hmmmm, How dare you!! The Home for the Homeless! Ae you really such a monster that you would close that place and deny the most desperate for a place to sleep at night? It's not even that you provide them a place for free. You charge for even the crudest of sit-ups."

"What do you know of the workings of the Home for the Homeless? Are you a frequent visitor? You seem to be quite capable of snapping your fingers and popping up a warm, cozy abode anywhere you want. So why do you torment me?" 

I know all about your Home. And what you charge. 1 penny for a sit up, and you are so hard of heart you begrudge those from even sleeping sitting up. Just a hard wooden bench, crammed as full with desperate, cold, down on their luck people as can fit on a slab of wood." 

"Here now, here now. It's for their own safety! If we let them sleep, sitting up in such a way, they could fall over, possibly hit their heads and hurt themselves. They can purchase a two penny hang-over or a four penny coffin box for better accommodations if they wish." We even provide food, we do. He walked around the front of his desk, and leaned back with a smile, his hands in his pockets. Looking quite pleased with himself, as she couldn't find fault with that. Why, .  .  .  he practically fed the homeless out of his own pocket, as the food costs came out of the sleeping fees. 

Catsandra, crossed her arms and slowly shook her head. She carefully looked him up and down, from his shiny black shoes to his expensive trousers, his gold watch chain, expensive suit coat and silk tie. 

She set her feet gently onto the carpet, and moved over to the big windows over looking the village below them. She saw the poverty stricken people starting to gather in small groups, a few blocks away from the existing Home for the Homeless. No doubt to discuss the upcoming changes that would rock their world. 

"What do you see when you look down? When you see all of those whom will be displaced." She felt him come to stand near and look down at the streets below. "Knowing you, and you alone will be the cause of so much misery?" 

"The only one causing me misery, right now, is you!" He snarled. Suddenly she was shorter than he and did not look that imposing, with the sad look in her eyes as she looked deep inside, feeling the abject misery of so much humanity. Feeling the vibrations as they flowed through the world. As each city, each town, each village held more than their share of those down on their luck. Those needing at one time or another, the generosity of others. Finding themselves relying on the charity of others. Some trying to hold on desperately to what little pride they had remaining, with some having thrown any pride away long ago, as useless as utters on a bull. 

She pushed away the cloying sadness and misery of humanity because she needed to rise above it so she could help whomever she could, even if it were one soul. She slowly turned her head and her green gaze seared into his eyes, rooting him to the spot. Her eyes narrowed and he could feel an unearthly heat flow over him. Was she setting him on fire? He found himself unable to move. Her eyes were so green, he waited .  .  .  for what, he didn't know, only he knew he wouldn't like it. 

"For each innocent soul, 

For every night in the cold

Your head will drop a hair 

Until your pate is bare.

For vanity is your Mistress

And she will show no interest

For all you allow to suffer

your world will only get rougher   .   .  "  her voice faded away.

He heard a distinct 'pop'!  He quickly looked around, where did she go? He quickly ran to his desk, and looked behind, even pulling the chair out to look underneath. He ran to his door and just as he was ready to grab the handle, he stopped, quickly pulling his hand back, as if he could feel the burn! He looked at his hand, and then gingerly reached out a fingertip and slowly, creeping closer, closer, .  .  .  closer, touched and pulled back! He waited for the shock .  .  .  nothing. Wait .  .  .  no, nothing. He felt the cool metal, not like hot molten lava. He reached out again, with another finger, just .  .  .  to  .  .  . be  . .  .  sure and whew! "Thank Goodness!" He threw open the door of his office and ran out into the bullpen. 

"Sir?" The women were all looking up at him, concern, surprise and expectation on their faces. 

"Uhhhmn, nothing. Proceed, back to work. Back to work." He picked up some papers on the nearest typists desk and started to scan them, to cover his unusual behavior. There was no way he could possibly explain what had just happened. There were those who did, indeed, believe in magical folks, witches and faeries, and elementals and the like, but most highly educated fellows such as himself were above such superstitious nonsense. 

'Then how do you explain what just happened?' his inner voice taunted him. He threw the papers back on the girl's desk and snapped "type them over, and look out for grammatical errors!" 

Diffyc went back into his office and closed the door. He pressed his back up against the door and scanned the room closely. Looking up towards the ceiling extra carefully. 'Can't be too careful'. he thought. Satisfied he was alone, he walked over to the window. The sun was already creeping close to the horizon. The days light was brief as the Solstice was nigh. He could see the line of homeless being turned away from the Home for the homeless, as the familiar line that typically disappeared into the large building was now starting to return back down the street. People walking much slower, some standing, huddled in groups. Some leaving the street and heading into the woods to try to find a place to set up a rude camp for the night.  It would be time for him to go to dinner soon. He was meeting with some potential investors for his theater/ museum. 

The destitute soon out of his mind, he went to look at his countenance in the overly grand mirror on his office wall. He looked as he had earlier this day. What was it, she had said? " For each that sleeps in the cold, something, something, hair, pate, Mistress, Suffer, blah, blah' Well, it's over. He hoped never to see her again. Little did he know, he would soon be seeking her out. 

----------

'POP!' Catsandra appeared back in her kitchen. Balthasar was sleeping on the table next to her crystal ball, and he woke up by opening one eye. 

"All done?" he purred. 

"It's a start, time will tell. but I have a feeling it will take more than a cursory chat, with the Mayor of Meanness! In the meantime, let us whip up a spell to help our fellow villagers who will be adversely affected by the Magistrate's decision until he has a change of heart."

"What say you?" squeaked a tiny voice. and scurried up the table leg, to the table top, wearing a ruby red vest and blue breeches, Sir Pip, wanted to know more about such a spell. "What sort of spell could you do to help so many?" 

"Hmmm", Catsandra walked over to the big fireplace, with her large cauldron hung by the chain with a bubbling mixture, sparkling red and green bubbles popping in the sir above. She stirred it contemplatively.            

"That's it!" she said loudly and whipped around  holding the stirring spoon and a rainbow of colored sparks flew in a ribbon around her as she spun to face her audience. "I've got it! I will do a weather spell! It should hold for at the most three days and nights. The weather shall remain mild, and warm enough for those to find a place to sleep outdoors and survive. As rude as it is, until I can convince him, one way or another, that nasty badger, to do what is right for the people of this community!." 

"Ahh a weather spell, oooh. That's good, yes, it is." The mouse looked at the cat, who looked at the mouse with a gleam in it's eye, thinking what a tasty snack the little Pip would make. But Balthasar went back to licking his paws. Not nice to upset the witch and she liked the little rat, for some strange reason. No accounting for the reasoning of witches. His tail flicked hard, thwapping hard on the table top, thwap, thwap, thwap! 

The door to the kitchen swung open with a slight creak. Abramelin came in. "Greetings all. You're back, good! We've had a few sales, nothing earth shattering. But you will have an issue with one woman who will come back another time. She has .  .  .  as you say .  .  .  issues." 

"What sort of issues?" Catsandra said, offhandedly as she reached for a jar of herbs and uncorked the top, sprinkled a handful into the cauldron. She reached for a bunch of herbs hanging from strings near the fireplace, hung there to dry properly in the fall. More herbs added to the potion brewing. A few crystals, after each a glowing mist of changing colors emanated from the cauldron. A large dose of mountain spring water, deep from the center of the large mountain, Castle Crag, which overlooked the small town of Castlewick was added. It has been reputed to carry faerie magic. As it stirred into the brew, the cauldron suddenly shook, the fire flared up around the sides of the black pot, the liquid inside bubbled up and instead of over the rim, it shot up into the air and up the chimney flue! It went straight up the chimney, and out of the top of the chimney and straight up into the sky! 

For miles around the town, people stopped for a few moments from their hustle and bustle of their busy day and looked up! They saw a rainbow that instead of arching over the town as after a rainstorm in the sun, it flowed among the clouds. and sparkled and shimmered for a few seconds before dissipating and everyone thought for . . . just a moment, .  .  .  but no, it must have been their imagination. Everyone soon went on their way, errands to run, things to do. Not realizing right away how warmer the air had become. 

Reaching for a cloth, Catsandra dried her hands and brushed her skirts off. "Issues?, You mentioned a customer? Coming back with issues? What is that about? Pip?" 

"She came in with a broken statue. Seems to think something was living within it. She has some very strange ideas about what you are and what you do. Just wanted you to have a head's up, as they say." 

"Well, I have more important things to worry about than broken statuary. Let's take a glance in our crystal ball, shall we?" 

With excited squeaks from Sir Pip, and a few chirps and mews from the cats. they all gathered around the ball in the center of the table. They looked at the witch expectantly. She, leaned on the table and peered into the clear crystal. A rare piece she had had for a few centuries. 

The room became very quiet, the crackle and slight pops from the fireplace the only sounds. Catsandra allowed her gaze to fog over and she felt her hands ground her to this place, as she did not intend to travel at this moment. 

Then the center of the ball filled with a smoke. As it filled, it completely obscured the inside. When it finally cleared she could see within, a tiny scene. A man standing in front of a mirror in his dressing room, wearing a rich silk robe. Yet the redness of his angry face was what brought a satisfied smile to her face. In each of the tiny man's tiny hands in the clear ball, he clutched fistfuls of his blond hair. His head had gaping patches of bald spots all over his scalp. He threw down the handfuls of hair and grabbed a brush, but with each gingerly attempt at combing his remaining hair back over the bare spots, even more fell out. 

"Oh my! Hmmmm, tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems more people than we anticipated were turned away from the Home for the Homeless." 

"Can you make it so we can hear?" Balthasar asked. 

"It's called 'un-mute'" Sir Pip squeaked up. 

Everyone at the table stopped looking into the ball and shifted their gaze to the littlest member at the table. 

"What!" Sir Pip shrugged "I know things!" 

Catsandra waved her hand over the ball and suddenly they could hear the foul words spewing from the magistrate. "Hateful, vile, vicious, evil, nasty woman!  What did she mutter during her hellfire and brimstone incantation? All I know is this is her fault! Look at me! My glorious hair is falling out, like straw! Useless and I look terrible!"

He went to his dressing table and picked up a large brass bell, and angrily rang it in the air. His dressing room door swung open and his attendant came rushing in "Yes, sir! How may I assist you?" 

"Here, man, help me with my suit coat for this evening. And tell me, do you know of where there is a witch in this town? One with brown hair, green eyes, about this tall," he put his hand out, chest level to himself. 

"Why, yes sir, there's the woman who owns the Ol' Rag and Bottle Shop, she's said to be a witch." The younger man, a bit sweaty and thin, taller than the magistrate with red hair, helped the older man into his evening coat and took a brush and brushed his coat front and back until he simply reeked with affluence. 

"Uh oh kittens! Looks like we need to reinforce the spells around our little shop here. I'll need to chalk out fresh sigils of protection and banishment, to keep the rats away." 

"Awww, but mistress, we love rats!!" her two cat familiars meowed with gleeful enthusiasm as she grabbed up a thick piece of chalk and headed out to the front porch. They looked pointedly at Sir Pip, and with a loud squeak, Sir Pip ran down the table leg "I'll go help Ms. Cat, as she may need my expertise!" he exited the kitchen as both cats slowly followed. 

--------

The Magistrate walked briskly down the walk to the old Victorian mansion and went up the walk to the porch. He was wearing a hat pulled low on his head. He was going to set that witch straight! And she had better restore his hair in the process. He was about to reach for the door handle, an old brass ornate, molded handle, when he felt a force stop his forward momentum. It felt as if he had slammed into a solid wall. 

He looked down, and saw strange chalk marks. Odd shapes and squiggles. What was this witchcraft? He gently placed his foot onto the chalked design and let out a tiny sigh when nothing happened.  

He then attempted to step closer to the door. A purple door with hand painted images of grass, bees, magical sigils and pretty images. Who paints pictures on their door? He thought with derision.  A hard, invisible yet solid wall seemed to stop him. "What??!!" He exclaimed out loud. 

"Hellloooo, in there! Is . . . SHE . . . Here?" What was her name again? Cat . . .something. He tried again in a more wheedling manner "Excuse me, Ms. Cat!! I need to speak with you,  it's very important! It is I, the Magistrate!" 

"Meooooowwwwrrrr" The Magistrate jumped back, and trying not to stumble down the stairs, found himself back on the sidewalk.  Where did those two cats come from? And a mouse, who, he couldn't be sure, but looked as if it were wearing a itty bitty blue scarf!  Sitting on the porch as if they were tiny bouncers. 

Suddenly the door opened and she stood on her porch. A purple shawl wrapped around her, partly covering her long red and black dress. 

"What did you do to me?"  He wasted no time getting to his point.  

"Why, Good day to you . . . Mr. Diffyc. Can I help you in some way?" She smiled pleasantly, folding her hands and waited patiently. 

"Yes! You can take the spell off of me! Whatever you did, undo it!" He swept the hat off his head with a flourish, displaying his bald head to her. 

"Ah, I see. What a pity." Her voice was like ice. Her expression even colder. "Is the Home for the Homeless back open?" 

"What? What does that have to do with anything? Just restore my hair, now!" He wiggled his fingers in the air, in front of her face. She tilted her head and looked curiously at him.

"And . . . what is this?" She mimicked him with her fingers. Wiggling them in the air at him. 

"Well, bppt, tph, uh! Your MAGIC! YOU INSUFFERABLE.  . . " he cut off his tirade as she stood as tall as her 5ft few inch frame allowed and regally pointed to her finger at him. 

"Careful what you call me. You remember the fairy tales we discussed? About witches turning hateful creatures like you into toads? Those spells work in many different ways. Why, insulting a witch could get you turned into a pile of ashes, which could be blown away in a brisk wind. Or, perhaps you might enjoy becoming a smelly puddle of sewer run-off?" 

He paled and felt the cold for the first time. Catsandra fell into her own thoughts, slowly pacing back and forth across the porch. "What say you Balthasar? Abramelin? Sir Pip? Any suggestions?" 

A chorus of tiny voices filled the air " Toad! Turn him into a toad!!" " No! A pile of ashes, that the wind can blow away!" " A dish of tuna! meeeooowww" 

She felt her lips twitch at their enthusiastic suggestions. 

"Thank you, all for your input." She turned to face the balding man, her eyes narrowed. 

He looked confused. Was she actually talking to her cats and a mouse? She must be crazy. 

"Very well, your hair is that important to you? Then you shall have your hair, and precious little else. Be gone from here and remember, your uncaring attitude of those in our community will be that which keeps you warm at night." 

The Magistrate looked up at her, as she stood on the porch above him. Her look stoic as if it were any ordinary day. He was a bit uncertain, was it, could it have been that easy? "Um, that's it? No, more spells? No funny words, no . . . " he wiggled his fingers vaguely before his hand fell to his side. 

She didn't say a word, just slowly shook her head, thoroughly saddened by such a man who was so disconnected from any sort of empathy for his fellow man . "Good!, I'm glad you finally saw sense." He turned on his heel and marched smartly away, already planning his day. Except as he walked, Catsandra and her little furry band of familiars watched a fascinating thing happen. With each step he took away from her shop, his hair started to grow, longer and longer, his beard grew out and his clothes started to wrinkle and fade. His hems frayed, his pockets tore, his suitcoat became threadbare and his tie became a mere wisp of cloth tied around his neck. Stains of body sweat appeared under his arm pits and on the seat of his trousers. By the time he rounded the corner he looked as if he were any of the other down and outers that frequented the Home for the homeless. 

"Well, my fine friends, we will need to send a message quickly to the manager of the Home for the homeless saying the Magistrate is keeping the home open until further notice. Our friend the Magistrate will no longer have the ability to control anything in his life for a while. We wouldn't want him to be deprived of his wonderful accommodations and the experience he affords so many.  

"Hee hee", chuckles and gleeful laughter peeled about the porch. They all went into the shop and the witch bells on the door rang as the door shut behind them. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

Dominic Diffyc felt the breeze blow cold through his clothing and thought how bitter the winter breeze was getting. He failed to notice his clothing changing as he walked quickly back to his offices. He failed to notice many things. He walked into his office building and swung open the door to his office suite with a typical flourish. As he strode in a scream was heard from his office manager Ms. Peppercorn. 

"Get out! I will call the constable, right away and have you arrested!! Go! GO! NOW! We do not allow your kind in here!" She looked down her long, pinched nose at him through her spectacles.  

"Ms. Peppercorn! What has overcome you? It is I, Mr. Diffyc! Have you gone batty? Are you in need of new glasses? What's the meaning of this?" He strode right past her and into his office. He would really have to look more closely into Ms. Peppercorn's afternoon lunch habits. Perhaps she had taken up drinking as a pastime? 

To be continued .  .  .