The Witch Who Came to Christmas

The town lay wrapped in Christmas's warm, glowing embrace, its streets alive with the mingling scents of pine, cinnamon, and wood smoke. Snowflakes danced like tiny crystal messengers in the flickering light of decorated trees while the sounds of bells and carolers wove through the air like a spell. It was a season of traditions, of joy and togetherness, yet beneath the soft hum of holiday cheer lingered the shadow of a recent tragedy—a loss so profound it seemed to cling to the snow-covered rooftops, refusing to melt away. And as laughter spilled from Clara’s festive living room, a figure appeared in the distance, cloaked in shadow and mystery, carrying with her the promise of something extraordinary.

Clara, a warm-hearted woman with a twinkle in her eye, had transformed her cozy living room into a festive wonderland. The walls were adorned with fragrant pine garlands, their needles releasing a woodsy scent. A giant evergreen tree stood proudly in the corner, its branches heavy with colorful ornaments and shimmering tinsel, creating a dazzling display. Like a constellation of tiny stars, the gentle glow of fairy lights flickered, casting a soft, inviting light throughout the room, their delicate shimmer dancing on the walls.

As guests arrived, their laughter and cheerful conversations filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the aroma of baked bread. A delicious wave of baked cookies, their sugary sweetness battling with the tartness of spiced cider and the nutty warmth of roasted chestnuts, filled the home, creating an inviting, joyful ambiance. Large, soft snowflakes danced outside, each one a tiny crystal blanketing the ground in a fluffy white layer that sparkled in the dim light, creating a magical winter scene.

As the holiday party unfolded, the atmosphere buzzed with laughter and the warmth of togetherness. Clara had meticulously crafted an enchanting setting that seemed to lift spirits and momentarily overshadow the recent tragedy that had befallen the neighborhood. Yet, beneath the festive façade, an unspoken tension lingered among the guests.

A fire had recently destroyed a neighbor's house, leaving the family homeless and with only the clothes they were wearing. Although the community rallied around them, a profound sense of loss and emotional trauma lingered. While the party provided a temporary escape, the shadow of that event was never far from anyone’s thoughts.

The fire that injured a lady and took the neighbors by storm was felt throughout the community. Not only were the neighbors affected, but nature also affected a lady who lived alone and in isolation because of who and what she was.

Onyx, the four-footed familiar, with his soft paws and gentle gaze, placed the invitation in the form of burnt clothing on the porch of Haddie's remote cabin. The familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke filling the air alerted her to her neighbors' urgent needs.

Haddie felt their pain ripple through the town like a shockwave. Living so close to nature heightened her sensitivity to the emotional and spiritual energy of others. When the Tanners’ house burned down, Haddie smelled the smoke even in her remote cabin. The scent lingered in the air for days, a grim reminder of the family’s loss. Through Onyx, Clara’s cat, who often wandered between the town and her home, she learned of the depth of their suffering.

Onyx became her messenger, bringing her small tokens and clues from the town, such as a scrap of fabric that smelled of smoke and ash. When Haddie held it, she felt the sorrow of the Tanner family as if it were her own. She saw visions of Shelly Tanner, her arm bandaged and her heart heavy with despair. Haddie’s magic allowed her to connect spiritually with Shelly, understanding her pain deeply and intimately. This connection stirred something in Haddie—a need to help, heal, and bring light to a family plunged into darkness.

What she was planning would also make her vulnerable to people who were narrow-minded and dangerous. Before arriving, Haddie performed a ritual of protection. She wasn’t sure how the townsfolk would react to her presence, and she wanted to shield herself from potential hostility. Yet, she also carried a quiet confidence, knowing that her intentions were pure. Her appearance at the party was calculated to be mysterious yet approachable. She wanted to intrigue the townsfolk, to make them question their assumptions about her without revealing too much.

Shelly harbored a genealogical secret, a hidden truth that would soon come to light.

As guests mingled and enjoyed the holiday cheer, conversations occasionally drifted to the tragedy that had occurred. What could they do to help? How could they bring back the joy that had been snatched away? Despite their best intentions, no one could quite figure out how to mend their neighbor's broken spirits.

Lights twinkled above them when the door swung open, revealing a silhouette against the backdrop of windblown snow and the reflection of holiday lights adorning the large tree outside the door.

The figure stood at the threshold, cloaked in a dark coat that concealed her features. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed her face, adding to the aura of mystery. The music softened, and conversations paused as the guests turned their attention to the newcomer.

Haddie, a solitary outcast, emerged, eyes like the shadowed depths of her woodland home, her clothes a tapestry of earth and decaying leaves. The townsfolk had always shunned the hermit, clad in clothes the color of dried leaves and bark, their cheerful chatter a stark contrast to her solitary existence.

Haddie’s presence at the party was as much a personal journey as it was an act of kindness. For years, she had hidden from the world, convinced that her difference made her unworthy of connection. The Tanners’ tragedy forced her to confront this belief. By stepping out of her comfort zone and offering her gifts to others, Haddie began to heal the Tanners and herself.

With each passing moment, whispers filled the room. Was this a disguised friend playing a trick or a dangerous foe? A question loomed large. With her mysterious smile and secretive air, was this stranger truly someone to be trusted? A charged silence hung heavy, punctuated only by the rustle of fabrics and nervous coughs, as curious eyes met across the room.

After she made herself at home, the music returned, and a few who remembered her stepped forward to greet her.

Lost in the swirling music and the low hum of chatter, the mysterious guest charmed the partygoers effortlessly as the night progressed. A smooth, calming voice spoke perplexing words that hinted at mystery. She spoke of places far away and untold adventures, recounting tales that felt familiar and foreign.

When she came to the lady whose house had burned, the young woman smiled when she peered into her eyes. Haddie caressed the bandaged arm, leaving a healing, magical touch unbeknownst to Shelly Tanner. The connection, on a spiritual level, formed as if by magic.

Something familiar about Shelly caught Haddie’s attention. Shelly had the untapped potential of the magical kind. Not ready to broach the subject, Haddie bid her time while assessing the person, the people, and the times she found herself.

Sipping the warm, spiced cider, Haddie savored the sweet apples and comforting cinnamon. Haddie also infused the cider with a touch of magic, a subtle way to lift the spirits of everyone at the party without drawing attention to herself.

Though oblivious to the unique enhancement, the brew's delightful taste and aroma enchanted Clara's guests.

Lost in the murmuring crowd, she was surrounded by the chaotic sounds of a dull roar. She stroked Onyx, Clara’s sleek black cat, finding solace in the softness of its fur. Clara approached her, noting that her normally elusive feline was comfortably seated in the lap of the stranger, as if this were an everyday occurrence.

“Haddie, how come we never see you at the store or the local park?”

Her smile seemed almost magical as she glanced at Clara. “Sometimes,” she mused, “the most intriguing stories are those left unfinished.”

She wanted the townsfolk to see her as more than the mysterious hermit in the woods, but she wasn’t ready to fully reveal herself. Haddie knew they would never accept her for who she was. Church bells were a constant reminder that those charged with loving their neighbors were of the same ilk as those who murdered her ancestors.

Superstitions had caused her ancestors to be tortured, hanged, and burned at the stake only a few hundred years ago on that very piece of hallowed ground. Had they known ‘do no harm,’ was part of who she was, they might have dealt with her kind differently, or maybe not. Could the current-day townsfolk be trusted with her secrets? Newspapers would lead any sane person to know the answer. Much like poker, hold your cards close to your chest. The herd mentality of leaving the unique out of the pack worked just as well then as it did today.

Unnoticed, the town had spread around her. Her land was off-limits to anyone who dared come close, as enchanted wildlife in the area would keep anyone with any sense away.

“Shelly is staying with us until we find her an apartment while her home is rebuilt. Do you have a place to stay tonight? The storm is picking up.” Haddie picked up on the subtle hint that it was time for her to leave.

She glanced at her and nodded. “Thanks, just the same.” Haddie didn’t need the modern convenience of a car. Magick was her transportation.

Vibrant, hand-embroidered stockings with names in festive script hung above the crackling fireplace, its warmth spreading through the room like a comforting hug.

The heat from the crackling fireplace radiated onto Haddie's face. The scent of pine filled the air as she carefully placed a small, glittering trinket into Shelly's Christmas stocking.

Shelly wouldn’t get a lump of coal, and the gift-giver was not St. Nick. The golden nugget she left in Shelly’s stocking was not just a token of wealth but a piece of her family’s sacred land, imbued with protective and healing energy. The small and glittering trinket was meant to bring hope and good fortune.

The wind howled as the crowd grew still when Haddie stood, allowing the cat to return to its usual spot in front of the fireplace.

Other than the howling wind, the crowd grew silent as she walked toward the door. Shelly walked toward her as snow and cold wind blew into the crowd.

Just as quickly as she arrived, the mysterious guest slipped into the night, leaving only the faint scent of cedar, pine, and a lingering sense of wonder. The neighbors exchanged puzzled looks, each silently agreeing that the evening had taken a turn into the extraordinary.

As the door closed behind her, the room buzzed with questions, stories, and theories about the stranger. They had finally met Haddie, but what drove her out of her reclusive home? What brought her here?

The mysterious guest, cloaked in an air of intrigue, not only arrived at the party but also wove herself into the tapestry of their memories; their presence, a whisper of sandalwood and old books, a reminder that life is full of unexpected encounters and untold stories.

As the guests were leaving, Shelly's burned arm began to itch. The room fell silent as the bandage came off. Her arm had fully healed. While the partygoers praised Jesus, Shelly had a hunch that another spiritual creature might have helped with the miracle. She looked outside to see if Haddie was still around. Her footsteps in the snow vanished as soon as they passed by the large tree. Shelly smirked, realizing that their guest was no normal guest.

With trembling hands, Clara and Shelly opened their Christmas presents the next day, only to discover the most astonishing surprise nestled inside at the bottom of the Christmas stocking.

The nugget's origin was clear to Shelly; it had to be from Haddie.

Clutching the nugget, Shelly’s magical roots began to grow. Had she not been in the bloodline, the gold would have been nothing more than gold. As a witch, the nugget was much more.

The mystery deepened when she decided to search for the person she wanted to thank.

Days after the snow had all but melted, Shelly headed into the forest. Despite hours of trudging through the woods, neither Haddie nor her cabin could be located. She found only the damp earth and the decaying scent of fallen leaves.

A weathered sign, barely legible, warned, "Posted, No Trespassing," its paint peeling in the sun.

Later that spring, Shelly watched as Onyx crossed the street and entered the well-worn path made by deer and other wildlife toward the forest at the edge of the town.

Week after week, Onyx made the trek.

Shelly fastened a note to the collar.

Dear Haddie,

With gratitude bright as a full moon’s light, I thank you for your kindness and magic. Your spells have healed our hearts and mended our troubles. You’ve brought hope when we needed it most.

May your days be filled with joy!

Love, Shelly.

Later that evening, Onyx returned and jumped up on Shelly’s lap.

She saw the note, assuming Haddie hadn't noticed it until the distinct texture of the paper caught her eye.

Much like parchment, a note from Haddie appeared.

Dear Shelly,

When the Blood Moon casts its crimson glow

And shadows stretch where the wild things grow,

The veil will thin, and the forest will call;

A path awaits, where secrets fall.

Follow the cat; it will lead the way,

Through whispering trees and the dance of the fey.

Step soft and true; let your heart guide your feet,

For beneath the moon, our spirits will meet.

Bring with you no fear, no doubt, no pain,

Only the will to let go and reclaim.

The ritual begins when the clock strikes late,

Under the moon, aligned with fate.

You alone are chosen to walk this trail,

To mend the wounds and lift the veil.

Come, and let the night weave its spell,

Where the past is healed, and the future dwells.

Until then,

Haddie