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 .  .  .