Tomato, Basil, and What?

Hazelle was at the small town’s farmers market, picking the perfect produce for the beautiful tomato and basil soup she was preparing for supper the next night. She checked her basket, making sure she had everything that she would need. Basil, thyme, tomatoes, yellow onion-she had every ingredient that she would require to make her soup just right. Striding out of the square, she approached her favorite local coffee shop, The Brew. Several people were occupying the small tables, but fortunately there was no line at the counter. Hazelle stopped at the community bulletin board, skimming through the phone numbers, babysitting ads, and event flyers to find the information she seeked. There, tucked in the bottom right hand corner, the book club. She skimmed the shop. No one was looking at her. Quickly, she swiped the flyer into her basket and stepped up to the counter. 

“A medium coffee. Black-no sugar, no cream, no nothing. And one plain bagel.Toasted with plain cream cheese. Make sure to wrap it-I don’t need cream cheese all over my purse.”  Hazelle demanded, before the cashier could even mutter a greeting. Pulling out a wrinkled five dollar bill and slapping it on the counter, she quickly stepped aside and tapped her long nails on the pastry display. Two minutes pass, Hazelle growing more and more impatient, when her order is placed on the counter. Hazelle snatched it up and briskly walked to the door. She balances the drink while transferring the bagel to her basket. 

Hazelle enters her car and places her basket on the passenger seat. She grabs the book club flyer and studies it. Parker’s Square Ladies’ Book Club. Usual spot. Halloween, 3 pm. You know who you are. Bring food. Yes, this was for her. She was glad she had seen it; Halloween was that very day. Luckily it was only 11:00 a.m., or the girls would never let her hear the end of it. She shifted the gears and drove home, her mind settling. 

Soon 3:00 came, and Hazelle had put away her groceries and prepared pumpkin cake as a snack for the club. The secret location of the meeting was only a few minutes’ walk from Hazelle’s house, and when she arrived the other ladies were already waiting for her in the living room of the home. 

“Hello, Jasmine. Ingrid. Sybil.” Hazelle greeted coldly. The ladies nodded a greeting in return. The coffee table was covered in the snacks that had been brought-worms, liver, cereal, and coffee. Perfect.

“Alright, ladies. We have all arrived. You may change.” Jasmine declared, her simple outfit dissolving into a black dress. Her cat came by and arched its back, snarling as his fur stood up on end. Sequentially, Ingrid, Sybil, and Hazelle all transformed, their faces, once beautiful and young, now old, warty, and wrinkled. Their smooth hair frizzed, tall hats appeared on their heads, and their clothes now robes. Purses by the door now brooms, the coffee table a cauldron. The food fell into the cauldron, hissing and popping, the liquid a mysterious purple. 

Menacing cackling filled the air, silenced when Jasmine raised her arm. “You forget, ladies.” she said. “Tonight is Halloween. Ingrid! Give me the candied apples, now!” Ingrid handed her a large, silver platter of homemade candied apples.

“Good, good. Sybil! The potion!” Sybil took a clean glass vial from her pocket and filled it with the pink slimy liquid. At Jasmine’s command she sprinkled it on the apples, which shriveled a bit-just barely. The witches’ bloodcurdling cackling resumed, louder than it had been yet so far that day. All was silenced when the doorbell rang. Sybil stood, but slumped back down when Jasmine waved her away. 

“I’ll do it,” Jasmine barked, perhaps a bit too angrily. She walked to the door with the tray of apples and she set it down near the door. After a pause, she opened the door. “Yes?” she said.

“Trick or treat!” Three small children were at the door. A vampire, a pony, and a devil. Jasmine’s stone face broke into a wicked smile. She slowly, mysteriously handed each child an apple. 

“I like your costume, ma’am!” the devil said.

“Oh, thank you. But it isn’t a costume.” The children, who had been licking at their apples, froze, and screamed bloody murder. But it was too late for them. One by one they morphed into gerbils, dark as coal and the size of a small fist. Jasmine snatched them up and rushed them to the cauldron. 

“Tonight,” she snickered. “We feast!!!”

“Jasmine?” Sybil said. 

“Yes, Sybil?” Jasmine responded in an exasperated tone. 

“The color’s turning…” 

“WHAT?!!” Jasmine turned. “What did you guys put in there? Worms, chicken liver, cereal, coffee, pumpkin cake?” The ladies nodded. 

“Oh no…” Ingrid wondered.

“Ingrid…” 

“I… I got beef liver.” Ingrid admitted.

“You did what?!” Jasmine snapped. 

“It was on sale!”

“Ingrid, it’s not gonna work! They’ll turn back sooner than we can roast them!” As if on cue, the cauldron began boiling over. Pink slime poured out over the floor. The ladies screamed. The children popped out of the pot and bolted out of the house.

“INGRID!!!!!!!!!!” Jasmine, Sybil, and Hazelle screeched. 

“Wait, ladies? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hazelle asked, and when met with a nod, she continued. “Go!!” 

Jasmine grabbed Ingrid’s hands, Hazelle snatched her feet, and Sybil pushed her into the pot. 

“Nooooooo!” Ingrid screamed, but to no avail. Sybil had thrown in some red wine, changing the concoction to a deadly acid. Within seconds the cauldron’s hot liquid burned her up. The ladies (or who was left of them) happily enjoyed the Ingrid stew. 

The next day, Hazelle had brought some leftovers home to add to the tomato and basic soup.  She was shocked to see her young son at the counter, eating it with a wide smile on his face. 

“This is really good, Mom!” he said. “What’s in it?”

“Oh, um, tomatoes. And… meat.” Hazelle stuttered.

“Best soup ever!”