WITCH

~Witch~

My name is Wisteria Wanda Wix and I am a Witch. A powerful one at that. Call me Wisty. My mother was a Witch, her mother was a Witch. You get the idea. Let me dispel the biggest misconception about Witches right off the bat. We don’t worship Satan, or God, for that matter. Doesn’t mean that we don’t make use of them from time to time, if the need arises. No we worship nature. Mother Earth. That’s where our power lies. Are we clear on the whole Satan thing? Okay, let’s move on.

I’m getting dressed for a funeral and trying to decide if I should wear a veil. When I was growing up everything was so different. Women always wore veils to funerals. Then it sort of died out. But I think it may be making a fashion comeback. You see, I look about 40, but I’m actually 103 years old. One of the perks of my Witchy blood line. Young guys nowadays would call me a MILF. My body is rocking, my face is balanced and feminine, and my hair is long, black, and luxurious. Sounds too good to be true doesn’t it. Well it is. When people look at me, the first and sometimes only, thing they see is my hand. I have a congenital birth defect called symbrachydactyly. That is techno babble for missing digits. My right hand sports only a thumb and one finger. Father called it my albatross. Mother often referred to it as my cross-to-bare. I think of it more as a karmic manifesto. It’s never really been an issue except for my love life. By that I mean romance, not sex. Remember my rocking body? Sex is no problem. You know how guys are. But relationships? Forget it. All the romantic relationships in my entire life end up the same way. In the beginning it’s always, I love you. It doesn’t matter. We’ll be together forever. Blah, blah, blah. Then at some point, sooner or later, but usually right after the sex cools off, my handicap will materialize. Some group or click or situation or a relative or whatever will get in his head and convince him that it would be too much, not worth it. How would it look? What about the children? What would people think? Pick one. Luckily it’s always their fault and not mine. My first serious relationship was with a Cherokee Indian named Lozen. I worked with him and he pursued me like gangbusters. Reactions to my hand vary from sympathy to patronizing to even being repulsed. But there is always some reaction. Lozen never said a word, like it wasn’t there. I was blissfully young and he sucked me in. We quicky became engaged. In retrospect, a red flag. I had never felt so happy and loved. But our first trip to the reservation to meet his family was a catastrophe. Lozen’s mother was what they call a Two Spirit person in the tribe. In front of him and his relatives, she humiliated me and called me ugly, cursed, and a bad medicine. She demanded I stay away from her son. During the entire tirade, Lozen looked down and said nothing. I walked away from Lozen crushed. I decided then and there, no more. It was clear that love was a fool’s game and intimacy was weakness. This all has a point later on. I swear.

Now I’ll tell you my deep, dark secret. My raison d’etre if you will. I hate Hybrids and have dedicated my life to eradicating them. I love humans for the most part, and aliens are okay. They have their own life and purpose. But as soon as you start mixing alien and human DNA, it all goes to shit and here is why…wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. First, here’s some background on me. The long version, I’m afraid.

I’ll start with my father. He was a German named Wellington Wix. His friends called him Welly. Get it? Wisty Wix. Welly Wix. Cute, huh?

He was an Olympic athlete and in the 1912 games won a silver medal in the decathlon. The German government had him disqualified and the medal was stripped away. Apparently he publicly said some disparaging things about Kaiser Wilhelm II. The government initially charged him with war crimes but because of his family’s influence, they let him go. It’s still a controversy to this day. He felt betrayed and moved to the United States; knocked around mostly, but he did gain some fame as a professional boxer under the name of Whirlwind Willy. Back then the fighters would just swing these roundhouse blows and beat each other to a pulp.

Because of his mastery of several European languages, he was recruited by an overseas branch of the Secret Service during World War I. He rose quickly through the ranks to colonel. He’s even credited with cofounding the first incarnation of military intelligence. I’m very proud of him. After the war, he was smitten big time in a chance meeting with a civil service worker in Salem, Massachusetts named Wanda Poole.

They fell in love and on the day he asked her to marry him, she revealed her secret. She was a Witch from a long line of Salem Witches.

The two married and had a daughter. She was born with a congenital condition called symbrachydactyly. That’s right, yours truly.

Like my mother and her progenitors, I was trained from birth in the ways of Witchcraft, and apparently I was a prodigy. Mother said that by my mid-teens I was more knowledgeable and skilled in the mystical arts and the arcane sciences than any witch she had ever known. Life couldn’t have been better. Well, maybe if I had three more fingers. I was just sixteen when I found out that aliens were among us. My parents were approached by military intelligence. The aliens known as the Greys were recruiting for their very first United States sponsored hybridization project. My parents were promised longer lives and power beyond their wildest dreams if they joined. Thinking I was wise beyond my years, they shared the news and sought my counsel. I encouraged them to do it. With my blessing, they entered the program. It went badly from the start. We couldn’t have known this, but as often happens when being pumped full of multiple alien DNAs, the mind and body may quickly degenerate. One day, two men dressed in black suits showed up and told me my parents weren’t coming home. They said there was no hope and all they could do was keep my parents comfortable until their demise. They rejected my request to bring them home to try and heal them myself. Their logic was if anything could be done, it was already done. Besides that, the Greys still wanted to study them to the very end. I wrangled an audience with the Assistant Director of the experiment. He told me to go home, that there was nothing I could do. I became very angry and threatened to expose their organization. Considering me a child and of no consequence, he laughed in my face and had me removed from the building. It would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life. I went home beside myself. Partly because I felt responsible. I told them to do it. There had to be way to save them.

I’m pretty smart. Actually my I.Q. is embarrassingly high. My knowledge of herbs and spells was extensive, but I needed more. Mother had often spoken to me about Dark Magik. With it came great power, but also great consequences. The thing she impressed on me the most was never use it. The price was grave karmic debt that could extend over many lifetimes. Fuck karma. With a hammer from the garage, I broke into Mother’s locked library of forbidden Demonic texts. I spent three days reading. No sleep, no food. Ever look back on a time in your life when everything changed? This was it for me. First I cast a generational curse on the Assistant Director. Not only would his life now turn to shit, but it would be passed down through his offspring. Then I came up with a risky but doable rescue plan for my mother and father. An incognito spell to change my face, sleeping potions for the guards at the gate. A spell of submission for the Seargent Major at the front desk. For the rest of the building, insanity. I also retrieved my father’s Army issue 1911, .45 caliber pistol from his night table. Better safe than sorry. Two days later I had stollen Welly and Wanda away to a secret place deep below the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts. A place known only to Witches.

Other outcast Witches surreptitiously occupied the witch haven for their own reasons, but they welcomed me and my parents. Using alchemy and the healing arts, we all worked together to bring Mother and Father back from the brink of insanity and death. My skills did not go unnoticed. We bonded as sisters and decided to form our own coven with the express purpose of helping other witches in need. In a rare breach of convention, the eldest of the new coven declared me a third degree by virtue of my exceptional skills, courageous acts, and spiritual energy. With unanimous agreement and despite my tender years, I was initiated as the High Priestess of the new coven, The Sisters of Remedy. Pretty cool, huh? My life unexpectedly had new purpose and my future was compelling.

But I couldn’t possibly conceive of the limitless resources of the Men in Black. One day, two of the shadowy figures showed up with a Human/Drachonian/Insectoid Hybrid. I and my sisters fought to no avail as the powerful mongrel assassin cut a swath of death through our once secret and peaceful stronghold. Desperate, I summoned my most potent dark spell. The ensuing magical fire of Amon confined to such a limited space consumed all. The enemy, my sisters, and my parents were gone. Only the protective power of the sanctified bloodstone I possessed allowed me to survive. So much loss burnt a hole through my soul. On that day I vowed to rid the world of the disease that was called Hybrids. You may be thinking that there is a ton of irony here. I know, but I just ignore it.

I had spent many years as a bounty hunter. It allowed me to hunt Hybrids and make a living at the same time. My success was such that the OSS recruited me to hunt and neutralize Nazi spies as Germany became more and more brazen in their attempts to infiltrate our government.

In 1943 the United States Alien Response Team or USART, was created. Partly in response to Hitler’s Alien technology programs and partly due to the upsurge in Hybrid related crimes. Twenty years of successful hybridization programs had created hundreds of Hybrids with enhanced faculties that had escaped the system and become liabilities. Dangerous enough on their own, they would sometimes band together and wreak havoc.

When USART approached me about tracking rogue Hybrids, it was dream come true. Being paid good money to pursue my life’s obsession full time. Eradicate Hybrids.

That’s what I have been doing these 80 or so years now. As you can well imagine, I’ve become quite good at it. Two things to remember about exterminating hybrids. Don’t fight them hand to hand. And always burn the bodies. It’s the only way to be sure. Last year a missing Hybrid popped up in the data base. Very powerful and also fertile. The powers-that-be do not want Hybrids out there reproducing on their own.

Finding her was easy enough. Marjorie Major. She lived a quiet, unobtrusive life in a suburb outside of Springfield, Ohio. Married with a 13 year old son, Devon. That was a problem. The kid would also have the alien DNA. I placed hidden cameras and bugs all over their house. I spent a week watching them and shadowing her. She was low key. Stayed busy with the kid and volunteering for the Red Cross and a homeless shelter downtown. Kind of boring really. I would give her the choice to go in on her own, with the kid of course. Would almost be a shame to have to kill her. Almost. Her husband, on the other hand, was fascinating. Daniel Major, retired Army, combat veteran and special operations. Then many years at Edgewood Arsenal Army Base doing top secret shit. MkUltra and Remote Viewing. Mental note, this man is dangerous. Now currently working for UUAGS. Ufologists United Against Government Secrecy. Interesting dichotomy in careers. Looking for redemption perhaps? His hobby was investigating the paranormal. And good looking too. In a manly, jarhead kind of way. Just my type actually.

I followed Daniel from his wife and son’s funeral. She refused to go back so I had no choice. The freak car accident claiming the lives of Daniel’s wife and son left them burned beyond recognition. It broke him. I felt sympathy for the first time in decades. He sat all that afternoon despondently fingering a 9mm Colt. I would’ve bet money he was going to blow his own brains out. But when the sun set, he left the house. I followed him to a sports bar. After watching him drink down 3 shots of whiskey, I couldn’t help myself.

           “Hello handsome. How about I buy you a drink?”

           “Piss off,” he said. Then saw my hand and backpedaled. “Sorry. I guess you catch enough shit without me piling on. I’m in a bad state right now. I buried my wife and son today.” His eyes watered up and a single tear rolled down his left cheek.

           “I’m sorry.” He looked down at the drink dismissively. “No, really. I lost both of my parents and my sisters on the same day.” Even after all those years, it was still a gut wrenching memory.

           He turned towards me in his stool. “What did you do?”

           “I just kept going. One day at a time. Actually I’m a psychic. I could tell by your aura that you are on the edge. Don’t do anything, you know… self-destructive.”

           That got his attention. “What happened to your hand?”

           Straight up. No judgement, no attitude, no bullshit. I really liked this guy. “Bartender. Two more whiskeys.” Daniel reached for his wallet and I stopped him. “On me.”

I guess you could call that our first date. We were together for almost a year when Daniel took me out to a fancy-dancy restaurant. I knew something was up because that was not his MO. After some small talk he came out with it. He needed to tell me something and he didn’t know how.

I suddenly realized, here it comes. It felt like a blow to my chest. In the back of my mind, I had had been expecting it. I didn’t know the exact question yet, but I knew where it would go. All the romantic relationships in my entire life always ended up the same way. He was breaking up with me over the hand. Brought me here so I wouldn’t make a scene. Better to skip the games and just end it.

           “Okay, Daniel. Just say it.”

           “So…This is awkward for me, but I need to tell you something.”

           I turned to stone. “Because you care for me in spite of this?” I held up my deformed hand. “You love me but you’re having second thoughts, and it’s you, not me. I get it, Daniel. You can go. No harm, no foul.” I turned away, fighting back tears.

           “No, no, Wisty. Where did that come from?”

           I looked up at him a little confused. “Yeah? And?”

           “I love you and I think we should get married.”

           I pulled him out of his chair, put my arms around his waist and gazed deep into his eyes, suddenly beguiled. I finally managed to say, “You’re not leaving me?”

           “Of course not. Why would I leave you? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I was laughing and crying at the same time. Of course I’d marry him. While the tables around us were clapping I whispered to him that I had a secret. I told him that I was a Witch. It excited him. He whispered back that we should find a motel room and get started on the honeymoon. Yes. Yes! I never thought I could be so happy. I told him that we would have a big, church wedding and live life to the fullest. I would retire and give him another son. But karma is not my friend. Remember?

           “About that. I’m afraid I can’t have children.”

           “What about Devon?”

           “Devon was adopted. I was trying to tell you before. I thought you should know before I popped the question. I’m infertile. I am what is called a Hybrid.”

He continued talking in the background as my mind began to spiral into hysteria. I had murdered his adopted son in cold blood, for no reason. And was having a relationship with a Hybrid. He was stunned as I walked out of the restaurant and out of his life.

So, that’s my story, take it or leave it. I’ve decided yes on the veil. I have to leave now or I’ll be late for the funeral. It’s a closed casket service because Daniel Major’s face was so badly burned in the fire.