The Trouble with Witches

Against my better judgment, I wrote this story based on a dream as silly as it is!

The Trouble with Witches

 

                “The trouble with witches is that they are sneaky infiltrators everywhere you go�"I wouldn’t be surprised if one of you in this seminar is a witch.”

 I was thoroughly bored and annoyed as the speaker went on and on explaining in detail how witches like to wander around and bother people while doing their dirty work in the dead of night and warned us of using utmost caution in darkly lit alleys, misty abandoned gardens, and foggy treed areas.

Recently, there had been a spike in witch-related crimes, but none of them were ever serious, mostly minor infractions like mysterious “out-of-thin-air” appearances, illegal herb gathering, and tufts of hair being inexplicably clipped from household pets.  I glanced around at my fellow policemen, Bobbies as you may here in Britain and saw that all twelve or so of us hardly paid any attention to this bloody boring speaker.

“All right, chaps!” The speaker enthusiastically said, breaking us from our doldrums. “Now we shatter the paradigms I’m sure most of you harbor.”

A groan oozed from my mouth and several others of my beat rank when the speaker picked up a box and started handing out art supplies in way of paper, markers, and tempera paints. Being the perpetual cynic in the group, I felt like piping up and asking if finger paints were in that box, but I held my tongue�"this time.

When I received my preschool-quality supplies, the speaker told us to doodle, draw, or paint our preconceived notions concerning witches. With a smirk, I began with fervent speed. First off, I drew an ugly hag of a woman with hooked nose complete with hairy warts while, of course, sporting a bent, tall pointed black hat. Adding the coup de grace to my juvenile work of art, I added a big yellow happy face on her chest. I smirked again knowing that the face resided on a very cold place indeed.  Eager to get done, I sketchily added a stereotypical bubbling cauldron, black cat, and knobby long-handled twig broom.

“All right,” the speaker said, stepping through the first row of Bobbies. “Let’s see what you believe about witches.” He went around adding various non-verbal comments like “hmmm, hmm,” “good job,” and “pretty unsurprising.” He glanced at my special witch and with a stern voice said, “You aren’t taking this exercise seriously, officer. I expected more respect than this,” he said, pointing at my special witch.

“Well,” I said. “What qualifications do you possess that makes you such an authority on this subject, Mister Potter?”