Haze - Trick or Treat (Patreon)

“We call upon the dark forces. We gather you into our arms and home and bid you to do our… bidding. We offer you this humble offering of last year's candy and this year's left over pumpkins from the garden. And we call upon you for your protection. Love. Security. And humbly request at least four more chickens this spring.”

I raised my brow at my son, his little cherubic face staring back at me hopefully. “I like it,” I told him.

He pumped his fist in the air, jumping up and down. “Yes. I knew it. It’s got a ring to it for sure.” He was dressed in his finest. Patchwork pants made by Hazel and a long sleeve shirt that he had stolen from his uncle and then made his own. It was too big for him but he had been on a kick of being a grown up lately and so we decided it couldn’t do much harm. Especially since he belted it around his waist with one of his multicolored scarves.

“Do you think mama will like it?” he asked, that bit of trepidation crossing his face like it always did when it came to magic.

“I think your mother is going to be proud of you no matter what.” I pulled him forward, wrapping my arms around him. He was still so young and yet his childhood was disappearing from Hazel and I in a blink of an eye.

“But more importantly,” he asked, head buried in my shoulder. “Will it bring more candy tonight?”

“I don’t know about that one,” I told him seriously. “You asked for more chickens. Not candy.”

“Drat,” he giggled.

We could hear Hazel before she entered the room, the chiming sound of Mr. Billows’ collar ringing in the stairwell. The door to the upper floor opened and I did a double take. It turned out it wasn’t Mr. Billows that was ringing after all.

“Are we ready?” Hazel asked.

Hazel was dressed in a baggy, furry grey cat onesie. Topped with fluffy ears and a nose that she had cast upon herself to mold against her actual face. With her, she carried a disgruntled Mr. Billows in her arms. A cat who was obviously the inspiration for such a costume.

“Is Billows coming with us?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she chided, putting him down on the counter. When she looked towards our son, she beamed. “Look at you! You look like a true little warlock.”

He bounced on his feet, running towards Hazel and flinging himself in her arms. “I even created my own spell,” he told her excitedly. “I’m going to call upon the dark forces for all the candy tonight.”

Hazel looked at him solemnly. “We must do our dark forces dance then.”

“Oh,” he stated with big eyes. “Yes please.”

Knowing that there was no stopping it, I went to go sit by the hearth while they took their place in the middle of the apothecary. With a wave of her hand, Hazel cleared the way. Shelves and barrels of herbs were all flung to the side of the room, sending the shadows scattering and singing towards the rafters.

The two of them faced each other, hands crossed like an x and held out before them. Slowly, they began circling each other with intensity, chanting in a language that I was positive they had made up. Though, I had never once asked. Most magic was about belief anyway. So who was I to say it wasn’t real?

It was a ritual they had done from the time that our son was born. Something silly and unique to them alone. Because Hazel was healing. The birth of a boy in the Albright family had never been looked upon favorable, and when both him and Hazel had nearly died during childbirth, she thought it to be a sign that this was the curse. That our first born would be taken from us. Born without magic and too weak to survive in the world.

I woke up two days later to her doing this ritual with him in the middle of the apothecary. And when I asked her if there was any actual magic to it, she told me no. But she wanted to make sure that her child understood that while magic was to be respected, it was never something to fear either.  And even if he had no magic in him himself, he was not going to be ostracized for it. He was going to be strong. He was going to know the ancient traditions. And he was going to grow to see the world thrive.

Little sparks lit up the corners of the shop as thy finished their ritual. I saw the way Hazel’s fingers twitched. Candy began to ran down from the rafters, the wisps swooping in from the trees outside to bring him more.

I watched our son giggle as he began gathering his spoils. Hazel came over to me, wrapping herself around me, the whiskers from her nose tickling mine as she kissed me softly.

“Don’t you think he’s going to get enough candy during trick or treating? You know Malcolm has saved the good stuff for him.”

Hazel leaned against me, the fur from her costumed tickling my bare arms. “I think that as long as he is interested, I’m going to make sure every moment is magical like this.” She paused, staring at him with a small frown. “Though, we may have to give him a new set of teeth one day.”

I laughed, looping my arms around her. “I love your costume.”

She grinned. “You can’t trick or treat in something skimpy, as much as Belladonna disagrees. I’ll be all snuggly warm. Which is a must seeing as we are not going home until the jack o lanterns burn out.”

“That could be days,” I reasoned.

She looked at me over her shoulder. “Better get your walking shoes then.” Stepping away, she clapped her hands, gathering all the candy in a giant bowl that sat next to Mr. Billows on the counter. “Come along, baby warlock. To the Uncles!”

“To the Uncles!” he shouted.

I sighed.  Somehow, I knew that tonight would end with me carrying our son home, dead asleep in my arms.  Meanwhile, Hazel would continue to collect candy for him, gathering a haul so he woke up to a mountain in the morning. And I would watch her, not saying a word. Because finally, Hazel was content in the world, and the world welcomed her back. I wasn’t going to ever take that for granted again.