A Divinely Timed Old Year

As curling ribbons of incense draped over the slowly burning stick, Eloise watched a foggy reflection of herself hang a black-lace veil over her eyes. Staring blankly into the dim-lit mirror, she adjusted the lace so it fell gently, grazing her forehead and tenting from her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose. She stepped into her her black satin gown and zipped herself in, applied dark red e.l.f lipstick, and laced up her boots all while more and more of her incense shriveled off the stick and fell to ashes. There was a knock at the door. Eloise inhaled her incense and huffed it out.

“What?” she called out, allowing the unwanted messenger to reveal their purpose. 

“Eloise, come out, please.”

“No,” Eloise responded firmly. There was a sigh on the other side of the door as her mother closed her eyes and applied pressure to the sides of her temples in hopes of warding off the soon-to-come incense-inflicted headache.

“Eloise, the ball is about to drop. Just come out to countdown with us,” she insisted. Eloise lifted her veil momentarily to apply more eyeliner.

“I’m not ready yet,” Eloise said defensively. Her mom’s eyes shot open. 

“Ready? For what?” she asked. When there was no answer, she knocked on the door and wiggled the locked knob. “Ready for what, Eloise?” she demanded again. Eloise repositioned her veil and rose to answer the door. 

“The funeral, mom,” she snarled through a crack in the door. “I’m getting ready for the funeral,” Eloise stated defiantly. Her mother pursed her lips. 

“You are not going, and that is final. You’re—”

“I won’t watch the ball drop unless I can go,” Eloise threatened. Her mother scoffed.

“Eloise, you don’t get to make the rules—“ she started. Eloise cut her off as she slammed the slightly open door.

“I’m not watching it,” she said as she began to angrily tug at the laces of her black combat boots until the loosened.

Eloise’s mother starred at her daughter’s closed door. 

“Please?” she breathed. “Your grandmother hasn’t seen you all night. Will you please come watch the ball drop with her?”

“Can I go to the funeral?” Eloise bargained, pausing in her pursuit of combat boot removal. Her mother tilted her head back and sighed. 

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever. Just come out here and watch the all drop, and then yes, you can go to the funeral.” Her mother said as Eloise hurried her laces back into knots. Eloise unlocked her door and stepped into the hall. Her mother unclipped her veil. “You’re not wearing this to see your grandmother” she said as she threw the veil back into Eloise’s room. Eloise groaned and trudged down the hall. “Look who’s gracing us with her presence!” her mother called. Eloise’s grandmother looked over her shoulder.

“Oh!” she said, observing Eloise’s attire. Eloise’s mother stepped in immediately.

“Grandma, don’t mind Eloise’s dress—she’s…” she scanned Eloise up and down, “…going to a costume party later,” her mother concocted. Grandma nodded.

“Eloise, dear, come sit,” she said as she patted the spot on the couch next to her. Eloise trudged over, studying Ryan Seacrest on TV.

“Why do we even watch this?” Eloise asked. Her mother’s eyes bulged. 

“Eloise!” her mother hissed. Eloise sat carefully next to Grandma and look over her shoulder at her mother.

“What? Even if it weren’t blatantly against my culture, its an hour early. New York is ahead of us,” she stated. Eloise’s mother pursed her lips.

“We watch it because it is a tradition,” she said tightly. Grandma readjusted the cardigan over her sweet floral sundress as she turned to face Eloise.

“I've never really understood the fuss over the ball, either. What do you mean, ‘against your culture’?” she asked. Eloise’s mother power-walked to the chair next to the couch and touched Grandma’s arm for her attention.

“She means—“ her mother began before Eloise played her gloved hand on Grandma’s other arm and redirected her focus.

“My mother doesn’t approve of my beliefs. Don’t listen to what she says,” Eloise said evenly. Before her mother could protest, Grandma arched her eyebrows.

“Harriet, what’s this?” Grandma asked her own daughter. Eloise’s mother shrank.

“Listen, it’s not—“ she said as Grandma held up a hand.

“I raised you to be respectful of religious and political belief systems regardless of if you agree with them.” Grandma insisted, raising her dangling glasses from her librarian-style necklace to her nose. “Eloise, tell me about your beliefs.”

“Thank you, Grandma,” Eloise said. She cleared her throat and raised her veil. “I don’t believe in celebrating a New Year when the old has just died. Tonight is sorrowful. It is ridiculous to optimistically welcome in an unknown year without paying respects to the events that have been and never again will be,” she said, lowering her head. Grandma nodded.

“I see,” she turned to Eloise’s mother, “And what is so wrong with this belief?” she asked..

“She doesn’t respect my beliefs because they come from my coven,” Eloise said. Grandma blinked.

“Your…”

“My coven. I am a witch,” Eloise declared. Eloise’s mother shook her head.

“No, Eloise, you are not a witch. This is not what being a witch—“

“Yes it is.”

Eloise’s mother leaned back abruptly as she looked at Grandma. “What did you just say?” she asked incredulously. Grandma pulled out her coin purse and unclasped it.

“Yes, it is what being a witch is about,” she said as she reached into her small bag and pulled out an old, tattered book with pentacles on the cover. She flipped to a page in the middle. “It is one of the core beliefs of most Divinely Instinctual Witches,” she said, turning the book over to her own daughter. Eloise’s mom took the book slowly.

“What do you—“

“I’m a witch, too, Harriet. I always have been,” Grandma said. “On the night you were born I sacrificed a young goat to Hecate in hopes my lineage would continue,” she coyly turned to her grand-daughter. “It seems that while Harriet never responded to the call of the Coven, my sacrifice did not go unacknowledged,” she said. Eloise’s eyes grew wide.

“Grandma, you’re really a witch?” she asked. Grandma winked.

“I really am, my dear. I’m a Divinely Fortunate Witch. I’ve seen this in your future for some time, but I must say; you’re an even lovelier hag than I foresaw,” she beamed, beholding Eloise’s satin dress and scribbled eyeliner. Eloise’s mother flipped slowly through the pages of her mother’s book.

“Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, stunned into a brief acceptance of the situation before callousing herself in denial. Grandma took her book back.

“It is against my beliefs to share this information unprompted. I left you hints every now and then, but you never exhibited any interest in my craft, so I never revealed it,” she said, passing Eloise the book. Eloise took it gratefully.

“Is this your—“

“My Incanting Chronicle, yes.”

Eloise’s mother looked back and forth between the two as they exchanged compliments over the other’s witchery. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She cleared her throat, “This is ridiculous. Mom, I can’t believe you think you’re a witch.” she said. Grandma paused and then laughed.

“Of course I think I’m a witch, it’s what I am! I think I’m as much a witch as you think you’re a mother and Eloise thinks she’s your daughter, and I think I’m her Grandma. There’s no sense in disbelieve what you know to be true,” she said. Grandma turned to Eloise. “My dear, I am truly sorry for your loss,” she said gently as she reached for the remote and turned off the TV. Eloise allowed an eyeliner-stained tear to drip down her cheek.

“Thank you, Grandma,” she said. “I feel like it was only yesterday I hung up my 2019 calendar,” Eloise mourned. Eloise’s mother shook her head.

“Mom, don’t encourage this!” she insisted, grabbing Grandma’s arm. “Eloise is being irrational.” Grandma yanked the sleeve of her cardigan away at these words.

“Eloise is behaving perfectly rational. She is a Divinely Instinctual Witch, it is in her nature to observe the natural ending of a year with reverence. She feels it the way a bird feels the need to fly south at the death of spring,” Grandma said. Eloise’s mother threw her hands up.

“Unbelievable. I’m guessing you’re off to some ridiculous funeral your own, too?” she asked Grandma. Grandma giggled softly. Harriet squinted her eyes. “Mom, what’s so funny?” she asked. Grandma smiled broadly.

“My dear, the funeral is coming here, they’re on their way now!” she laughed. Eloise gasped.

“Grandma! How did you—?”

“Being a Divinely Fortunate Witch has its perks; I foresaw this night and decided to invite your coven and my own to mourn the year here tonight.” Grandma said, gently cupping Eloise’s cheek. Harriet stood up.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not. There is no way a bunch of witches are coming in here. No.” she said as she locked the front door. Grandma rolled her eyes.

“You’re being unrealistic, dear.” Grandma called. Harriet turned on heel to face her mother.

“I’m the one being unrealistic? You think you’re going to have a witch funeral for 2019 in my house tonight!” she yelled as Grandma sat calmly on the couch. 

“I never said we’d be in your house.” Grandma said. Just then, the fire alarming the hallway began to go off. Harriet looked around the corner into Eloise’s room to see the veil filled with fire from the incense burner. It had already spread to the Eloise’s papers, her desk, her carpet—cascading slowly but surely to the corners of her doorframe. Harriet gasped.

“Get out! Go!“ she said, rushing into the kitchen to grab the extinguisher. “Eloise, why didn’t yo tell me the alarm in your room was dead?” she asked as she advanced toward the hall. Eloise shrugged.

“It is against Divine Witch beliefs to use fire alarms,” she said simply. Harriet waved her aside.

“Whatever, just get outside—its not safe in here,” she demanded. Grandma nodded to Eloise.

“Yes, go to the back yard. That’s where I told them to wait for us.” Grandma said. Harriet whipped her head around.

“You KNEW?” she screamed. Grandma smiled as Eloise left through the backdoor.

“Yes, I knew,” Grandma said. She stood and walked to her daughter as flames curled rapidly against the walls of the hall, already on their way to the living room. “My dear, it’s grown too strong already. Call the department if you have to, but don’t hurt yourself trying to put it out,” she said as she gracefully started toward the backdoor. Harriet stood numb. Her mother snapped to get her attention. ‘Harriet! Get out here,” she said, opening her hand to invite her daughter to join the two covens in the yard.

Harriet blankly followed, walking slowly toward Eloise's as they chanted obscure words in Latin. It was only then that she remembered the end of the year in 1992 when she walked in on her mother crying as the ball dropped an hour early on New Year's Eve.