The witch looked down at the body on her good kitchen table and wondered what was wrong with it.
She’d fed it the herbs, drew the sigils, chanted the spells, and even spent five minutes cursing it out, but the boy still remained resolutely dead, which she considered very rude.
The heath fire collapsed into a pile of ashes behind her. She threw on a couple more logs and unhooked the bellows, then stopped.
She’d be forgetting her head next.
The witch leaned over the boy and kissed him, giving him back the breath of live. He sat up gasping.

“SK Fall Festival, Hearth Cooking” by vastateparksstaff is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Everyday Drabbles © 2019-2026 Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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