It was a Wednesday, the day I usually set aside for laundry. I had just finished steeping my tea and sat down to go over my assignment list for the upcoming week. With the whirling noise of the washer on spin cycle soothing my senses and the wafting smell of peppermint rising from my teacup I began to unwind and relax. I sighed a long sigh of comfort in knowing that all was as it should be when suddenly I heard three loud thumps coming from the laundry room.
I had not remembered putting shoes in the dryer though I suppose it was entirely possible as I do tend to daydream while sorting the dirty clothes and loading the washer. I got up and went to the laundry room feeling annoyed at myself for not inserting the shoe rack into the dryer. As I approached the room I realized the banging had stopped, but how could that be?
I opened the dryer. No shoes. I opened the washer. No shoes. Hmm, I wondered, what could that noise have been?
BANG! BANG! BANG! I nearly jumped out of my skin the sound was so close. I now knew for certain the noise was coming from this room. But where? I glanced around the room but there was nothing obvious to be seen, no open window or banging shutters. I reached across the washing machine and grabbed the new 5-lb bottle of Downey fabric softner and then, ever so slowly, approached the wardrobe standing ominously across the room. It was, after all, the only place large enough to hide another human being.
Feeling self-conscious and silly yet still fearful of what I might find within, I reached for the handle. BANG! BANG! BANG! I jumped backward and tripping over an empty laundry basket found myself in a heap on the floor. From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of movement and could see that the wardrobe now stood wide open.
“Oh, my, did I do that?” she said as she stepped up to me, her tiny hands reaching out to me. “Here, let me help you.”
I must have bumped my head because I did reach out and accept the young girl’s hand, but as she helped me to my feet the little girl standing before me began to morph. The petite hands that held mine rapidly began growing, aging, and turning green!
I was horrified by this bent-over crone with the bulbous veins stretching and throbbing across her neck, down her arms and over her hands, the warts that riddled her chin and forehead, the dim glow of cataract over her right eye and the jagged black and yellow teeth that peeked through her lips as they drew back into a smile. She could see my horror, feel my fear, and it gave her delight!
Just as I opened my mouth to let out a scream the cacophony of her nefarious cackle overwhelmed my senses. I could feel the reverberations of that laughter pass through my body, chilling the blood in my veins.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Ding Dong! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
“Annie, Annie are you in there? Annie? Annie, let me in, Annie!”
The echoing of her laughter misted away from my mind as my neighbor’s voice filtered in. The wicked witch had vanished and I was safe, standing there, alone, before the cracked antique mirror that had belonged to my grandmother a long, long time ago.
Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Ding Dong!
I grabbed the Party City witch’s hat off of the dryer, popped it on top of my head and headed to the door, grateful that I was not yet that heartbroken, callous old woman hellbent on watching others suffer. I still had a chance at Happily Ever After.
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This little tale came as a result of checking out the writing prompt site Mindlovemisery’s Menagarie. They host a new and different type of prompt each day of the week. This particular prompt was #25 from the Tale Weaver series and explored the question of what happens When the Wicked Witch Visits.
My understanding from talking to others is that if you want it to be part of a linkup you have to get it in before the next prompt for that series (in other words you’ve got seven days). So, I am just doing the pingback.
If you would like to read more happenings of the Wicked Witch visiting people, here are their links: