Epilogue 062 - Toil and Trouble

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...previously...




The door to the archives creaked as it opened. The two girls crept down the stairs, which appropriately also creaked. Winifred Pale and Shelley Debunkle never agreed on much, but they agreed on three things:

•There was a lot of strange activity occurring in the archives after school.
•None of the students or faculty seemed to notice.
•Neither of them had seen their friend Angela for the better part of the week.

They crept on, with a mixture of hope and fear that they would find the connection among their three points of accord. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, all they found was a basement full of dusty bookshelves.

"Well, this is disappointing," Winifred muttered, peering down each row of ancient tomes. "If I knew this was all that was down here, I'd've just walked instead of doing all that creeping."

"There's got to be something down here," Shelley insisted. "Some kind of clue to Angela's--"

"We agreed not to use the word clue," Winifred snapped. "Nor investigate. We're not in some young adult novel, so-- UGH!"

Both girls began coughing and held their hands over their faces. Their eyes watered.

"What is that smell?" Shelley shouted over Winifred's hacking.

Just then, the sound of raspy laughter echoed softly off the stone walls as the room was bathed in a sickly, green glow. Steam rose from an iron cauldron and pooled around a gaunt, haggard face. "My dears, you've finally come," the old woman croaked. "I was wondering how long my beckoning spell would take."

"Who are you?" Winifred shot back, wiping away some spittle from her coughing fit.

"What have you done with Angela?" Shelley added.

The crone rolled her eyes. "We're not going through this tired old scene, are we? I am Angela, the greatest witch in all of Underborough! I like it this way and I'm not going back to being a weak little girl, so the two of you had better just get used to it!"

Winifred meant to hide her disgust, but decided not to bother at the last moment. "Get used to... this? Ridiculous!"

"Is it?" Angela cocked her brow to the point that her eye nearly bulged out. "You've already gotten used to the delightful aroma of my witch's brew."

The girls grew silent. Angela was right. The stench was all around them, putrid as ever. But it was no longer choking them. It was almost familiar.

"How..." Shelley started.

"...Does it taste?" Angela interrupted, cackling. "I thought you'd never ask!" She waved her palms over the bubbling concoction. Two tiny spheres floated from it and followed the path of Angela's spotty hands. Flicking her bony-thin fingers outward, the green glop shot across the room and into the mouths of the stunned girls! It burned their throats as it slithered down. They doubled over, hacking and spitting in protest. But soon enough, their low, throaty coughs gave way to high, shrill laughter! Their bodies stretched as they rose, their spines popping. Shelley's hair began to flap about and turn white, like a small blizzard started just below her neck. Warts sprouted across her face as her stitched features drooped. Winifred's dark hair was streaked with white as well, becoming shorter, save for her tight curls which now hung limp from her ears down past her shoulders. Her chin, nose, and ears (which were getting a bit hairy themselves) elongated, tapering severely.

"So..." Winifred said, smacking her lips. "That's why they call it witch's brew!"

"But what else does it do?" Shelley asked eagerly. Her mouth hung open slightly, showing where many of her teeth had suddenly gone missing.

"It does whatever we need it to do, with the right ingredients," Angela shrieked gleefully. "Now grab a stick and get stirring!"

The coven shared a good cackle as the green steam filled the room. As it dissipated, so too did the laughter. The witches and the cauldron were gone from the school archives, but certainly not from Underborough.