THE WICKED WITCH OF DIRTON

THE WICKED WITCH OF DIRTON

The rural mail carrier had heard the stories of the witch who lived on his route. On the very first day on the job, the Postmaster warned him to be careful when delivering the mail to fire number W6666 Penny Hole Road. A retired former carrier who delivered mail to her address also warned him to watch out if she points her index finger at him. She seldom received mail, so he wouldn’t have to slow down as he passed the long dirt driveway with the old square mailbox propped up against a pile of granite rocks. He would often accumulate the advertising fliers and box holders that were to be delivered to everyone on his route, stuffing the entire bundle all at once in her mailbox.

When the dreaded day came that he would have to deliver a package requiring a signature, he nearly called in sick so his substitute would have to make the delivery. However, he was able to convince himself that he was just being silly and all the rumors about the witch were born out of superstition. As he approached her driveway, he hesitated. What if the stories about her were true? He thought but was able to shake the thought and proceeded to the house. Halfway up the drive, he was greeted by three mean-looking dogs. One German shepherd and two mangy mutts barking and flashing their canines. The mailman drove slowly, careful not to hit any dogs with his car, fearing he would be turned into a frog if he did. When he reached the house, he turned onto a small parking area next to the back porch. The porch had a roof extending from the side of the house with a railing running completely around except where the two steps led to the deck. He noticed a long straw broom leaning against the house near the back door. He imagined her riding it at great speed around the dilapidated silo and swooping low across the neighbor’s corn field. Another dog, resembling a huge mop, was lying on an old rag rug next to the back door. A calico cat was sitting on the railing near the far side of the porch. A smallish barn that hadn’t seen paint since the first coat went on over fifty years past. It stood one hundred yards from the back porch with the hayloft door open to the elements.

A medium size paddock held two riding horses munching on freshly cut alfalfa from a nearby field. They paid little or no attention to the mailman or the fiercely barking dogs. He was not about to get out of his car and be ripped apart by those vicious animals, so he tooted his horn once. The dogs barked louder and more viciously. No one came to the door. He tooted again, but this time, he did two long toots. The dogs went crazy, running and barking, even the mop on the porch got up and sauntered to his car. One of the mutts jumped up on the hood and barked at him just outside the windshield.

Suddenly, he noticed the door to the old milk house open, and a figure emerged. The mailman assumed it was the woman, but it was hard to tell for sure. She was wearing bib overalls at least two sizes too large and a flannel shirt underneath with the sleeve rolled up to her elbows. Her graying hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and her face, hands, and forearms were a dark tan.  As the figure approached, she pointed a slightly crooked finger at each dog and led them one by one as if she had some unseen leash dragging them to their designated place next to the porch. When all the dogs were in place, she snapped her fingers, and they all stopped barking and laid their muzzles flat on the ground. The cat moved only slightly to look down her nose at the obedient dogs.

“Do you have something for me?” she asked, motioning him to roll down the window. He obeyed without question.

Looking around her at the dogs, he answered, “Yes, Mame, there is a package for you in the trunk, but I need to get out to open it, and then I will need your signature.?”

“Don’t worry, Luv, my babies won’t budge unless I give them the command to attack, and I assume there will be no reason for that.” Her voice was not at all witchy sounding. In fact, it was soft, with a slight hint of a brogue not typical in this part of the country. “Forgive my overalls; they were my dad’s before he passed, and I wear them when doing chores.”

  The mailman hurried out of the car and quickly stepped to open the trunk. She had followed behind and was standing close, startling him when he turned to give her the package. When he handed her a pen to sign the receipt, he watched her face and thought she did not appear to be a witch. I bet she was rather attractive when she was younger.

Returning the pen and the receipt, she said, “You know, when I was younger, I wouldn’t be caught dead in bib overalls. In fact, when I was young, I was quite attractive.”

Nodding in agreement, he thought, “Did she just read my mind? ““Yes, Mame, I believe you were.”

He had one more stop on the opposite side of the dead-end road, which widened enough to make a complete U-turn. He had noticed the old wooden hand-painted sign before but didn’t think much about it. It only had four words; PENNY HOLE KEEP OUT! He wondered what it meant for the first time since he began his job. He assumed the road was named after the sign, but what was the story behind it?

The next day, he didn’t have mail for her, but he did have a letter for her neighbor across the road. As he approached, he saw her standing at the end of her driveway, waving him down. She had a letter in her hand for him to take with him. All her dogs, including the mop, were foraging in the ditch next to the road.

Taking the letter from her, she asked him if he ever wondered about the sign at the end of the road.

How did she know it was only yesterday that it crossed my mind? He thought.

Without answering her, she began to explain. “At one time, my grandpa owned the land all the way down to the Dirton River. An old trail leads to a widening of the river, creating a great swimming hole. Grampa would charge the town kids a penny to access the pool, but the nearby farm kids could swim for free. None of them had a penny to spare anyway, and it gave them the opportunity to wash off the sweat and hay dust. The town built a park with a swimming pool, and now the town kids no longer use the hole. Not many farm kids live in the area, so the penny hole is seldom used. Since there is no one to see me, I like to walk down there on hot summer nights and skinny dip.” Smiling broadly, she added, “It reminds me of my youth.”

He didn’t want to think about that, but he couldn’t help wondering what she looked like thirty years ago, skinning dipping in the moonlight. He then noticed that she was not wearing the bibs. Instead, she had on a pair of jeans and a knit shirt that attested to her slightly matronly figure. Her hair was also untied, letting the breeze flutter the locks around her face.

Looking at her mailman squarely in the eye, she asked, “So why have you never married?”

His head snapped back. How did she know I never married?

Before he could ask, she added, “Some of us just know those things. By the way, my daughter is coming up from Chicago for a weeklong visit. Would you like to join us for dinner some evening?”

As much as he wanted to come up with an excuse, he couldn’t think of one. He had to agree. After all, the witch hadn’t turned him into a frog yet, and her dogs don’t bother to bark at him anymore; it should be okay.

The mailman arrived for dinner at the agreed-upon time and was suddenly struck by the daughter’s bewitching beauty. As the evening progressed, he found her to be kind, intelligent, intuitive, and, most of all, enchanting. They were married six months later.

In the end, he was convinced that the woman who lived on his rural route near the end of Penny Hole Road was, in fact, a witch. But there was nothing wicked about her.