Rite to Entry.

Sally wandered in through the quaint streets of St. Martin, with nothing but her solitary backpack and a couple of books that her great grandmother Orda had left her as a fortune. Part witch and part social outcast, her life had taken her along on many a great journey, and it was in penning down this latest chapter to her story, that she came across the infamous town of St. Martin.

Nobody was spared the customary wrath of the town folk, as each sat along on their porches, making a comment or two on the new little girl in town.

"Only a bag on her, perhaps a haggard delinquent," pronounced Mrs. Figgsome, as her bulky figure settled itself rather comfortably on the rocking chair, surrounded by her six foot four son Packer and his rather timid, yet equally suspicious wife, Sylia. They watched the figure walk uncomfortably up the High Street, and towards the only Inn in town.

Andy's Inn.

As the doors to the parlour swung upon, faces turned like attracted to a magnetic force automatically, each passing the same suspicious look upon Sally as she walked gingerly up to the owner of the establishment.

"Mr, can I have a room for the night, please? Yes, just the single one. No belongings, as you can see. "

Andy was perhaps the only anomaly in town, for he saw Sally for who she really was, a person like anyone else. It was his wife, who had rid him of the suspicious curse, that's how she'd called it, that plagued the residents of St. Martin.

"No man I know has ever amounted to anything significant, by adopting as suspicious an approach as you people here do. It baffles me, Andy. Why must you be so suspicious ?" she'd inquired.

"One must do so, my dear Henny. For one's own sake. Clearly you haven't been through a scandalous breach of one's trust, I imagine? Oh yes, people out there, they're out to get you, you know? One way or another. Everyone wants' something. It's just a matter of figuring out what. "

"Nonsense old fellow. I tell you, one of these days, that attitude of yours is going to get you into a real soup."

Andy brought Sally the keys to her door and eyed her gently.

"I'll bring up a pitcher of water and some freshly ironed blankets once you've settled in."

"That will be really kind of you, Mr ?"

"Dawson. Call me Dawson."

"Dawson. Thank you."

With a nod of the head, he scanned the room, each face eyeing the trusting figure of Andy with a glaring scrutiny.

"My God, Henny was right. This is ridiculous," said Andy to himself, as he politely smiled at the one or two customers who perhaps felt that in return for a stern glance, a lukewarm smile was indulgent to mellow down the tone of proceedings.

Sally walked up to her room and placed her big pile of books on the bed. She was not in the mood to practice witchcraft today. She bore herself onto the bed and collapsed upon it, looking up at the ceiling fan, and staring into her past.

Her mother had certainly made no bones about the fact. Sally was to undertake the trial every aspiring witch would have to undertake. Which was to embark on a solo journey and find one's way back, along the way fulfilling certain objectives as stated in the Constitution of the Witches Ten Commandment's Handbook.

"One may not return until one has..."

Yes, yes, she knew all that was required of her. She would allow herself to relax the night. And tomorrow, her work would begin.

She settled her back into the soft mattress below and closed her eyes.

__________________________________________________________________________

"Miss. Miss. Just thought it kind to bring you some water."

Sally opened her eyes to find the kind face of Andy hovering over her, regarding her curiously or suspiciously, she couldn't decide which.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up straight.

"You looked like you needed some replenishment, if you may permit me to say so," said Andy looking steadfastly at her.

Sally looked at him and then at the pitcher.

"Thank you," she said smiling through her glowing orange eyes and engaging in the rendezvous of her lips encountering the mouth of the pitcher.

"If you don't mind me asking, where are you from, Miss Docklesworth?," said Andy, having made a good note of the rather peculiar last name put down in his register earlier.

There seemed to be a warmth about Andy that permitted Sally to answer.

"I grow up not far from here, in the village of Aberdeeks."

"Aberdeeks ?" said Andy, having known the village to be infamous for...

"That's the land of the witches, isn't it ?"

Sally looked at him inquiringly, hoping that she didn't see a suspicious man but rather the kind one she'd met downstairs earlier.

"We are the Witches of Aberdeeks, yes," said Sally without changing tone.

"Fascinating," said Andy looking as worthy of the adjective he'd just used.

"Have you ever been ?"

"Me? Oh no, not my cup of tea, if you'll understand my saying. Although, my wife used to be a nurse down there when she was under the employ of Priest Charles down at the parish. They needed a qualified person to look after the ailing sermon master Humphrey Alexander. He passed away last autumn and she moved back to St. Martin. We used to see each other every other weekend though, meeting up in the middle, up at Patrick's Creek. Oh yes, that was our only way of communicating with each other, those long walks by the flowing water, telling each other about our intentions towards the other. It didn't take long for Henny to be convinced that she needed to marry a man who was sufficiently in love with her. I proved and still to this day continue to prove so, an adequate husband."

"Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. Dawson."

Andy blushed and arose carefully.

"You are unlike any witch I've encountered, Miss Dockelsworth."

"You're the friendliest face I've seen ever since I've set foot in this town." countered Sally with a welcoming smile of her own.

"Good day to you, " said Andy tipping his hat to the lady and bowing, before proceeding to exit the scene and close the door behind him.

Andy Dawson. A definitively respectable man. He could do without, thought Sally to herself.

The sun came in through the windows and onto the blissfully docile face of Sally, as she lay breathing heavily on the bed, making her way out of her night trance.

She was led to the window to draw the curtains so that the sun's passage into her life could be postponed until she ventured out later. For now, she needed the dark.

She closed the windows too and latched the door shut. Put up a set of chest drawers against it and hurriedly began to rummage through her giant stack of books.

"The Curse of Orda, the curse of Orda, where is it? Ah, here we go."

From about three-quarters of the way up in the pile, lay the literary piece of work so much in demand that morning by the aspiring witch from Aberdeek.

She opened it immediately towards page 83 and scrolled her eyes down towards the last paragraph on the page. It was a significantly detailed explanation. Her mind boggled at the knowledge her ancestors had gathered, simply through practice and rituals, and sometimes she wondered, if what they all knew was merely a fragment of what was out there.

She recited the incantation repeatedly, and then followed it up with the motion of one's hand caressing the shoulders of one who is standing opposite to you.

It would do. She put on her black robe and brandished her silver tiara. Another heirloom passed down from her father's side of the family. She would no doubt get a few curious looks on her time out today, but it wasn't a matter of understated concern to her. She reminded herself why she was doing what she was about to.

"To live a long and happy life as a witch of Aberdeek," she said to herself, as she chanted the incantation one last time, before taking a breath, and then proceeded to clear the barriers that would allow her passage down into the kitchen of Andy Dawson's Inn.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Breakfast Room was a busy affair in Andy's small yet cozy underground basement, that he'd modified rather sufficiently into a breakfast room, capable of housing about fifty people at one time. Manning the counter, were husband and wife, she could make out the wife because of the way she looked up at him, every now and then, once she'd finished engaging a customer. She had that kindness about her that made her instantly likable too.

Andy spotted Sally standing rather meekly in the doorway and offered her in.

"Ah, Sally. You've made it. Come in, dear, we've got some breakfast setup for you. What would you like? Now, it is not my number one from her menu, but everyone seems to love Henny's Apple Pie that goes really well with a pot of freshly brewed coffee, how would you like that huh ?"

"That would be swell, Mr. Dawson. I'll be waiting impatiently."

Andy bowed and tipped his hat once more, before proceeding back behind the counter and relaying the newest demand to his other half.

Sally scanned the room. It was last night all over again. Each direction she looked, a face that blatantly seemed to say, "You're not welcome here," seemed to encounter her steady eyes.

She bowed on the table and closed her eyes.

"Mother of Aberdeek and Father of Velazone, grant me the strength to undertake what I am about to undertake. Grant me access to the world of Witches. Pardon my misgivings and accept my offerings. I shall be one with you soon."

With that, Sally lingered a moment in her chair, and then stood up and walked over to a family of four, sitting rather incongruently on the table adjacent to her seating arrangement.

She approached the head of the family first, a middle-aged brown man with a decorated mustache, who as he saw her approaching, coughed, an indication for everyone to up their guard.

"Yes ?" inquired the man once the approach was complete.

Although not the tallest, Sally towered over him like an old banyan tree. She regarded the two completely oblivious kids, one of whom was playing with some Hot Wheels while the other, was dressing up her mini Barbie on the table.

Sally placed her hand on the man's shoulder and smiled.

"Peace upon us," muttered Sally under her breath, as the man struggled to make a rational understanding of things.

The incantation. And a few gentle rubs on the skin.

She spared the two kids and headed towards the wife, who was also not pleased with the strange behavior of the woman.

"I do not approve of strangers in my town, Miss whoever you are," said the lady spitefully, having not been best pleased that she had been massaged rather soothingly ( although she would hate to admit it), albeit with unknown hands.

Sally was making her way with quick precision across the room. She wondered if the others had done this as part of their initiation ceremonies also. But now she didn't wish to worry about those questions. She wished to do what was the one thing on her mind, ever since the start of the journey.

After every single person in the room had been subjected to it, she went up to Andy, who was running the counter, and smiled, "I'll be checking out just about now, Mr. Dawson", she said rather assuredly.

"Oh, moving on already ?" said the kind man, rather disappointed.

Sally felt like she still had a single chance to undo all of what she had just done.

She stood still for a minute not responding to the man's question.

Moving on, in a way, she was. How this poor man didn't know. He was genuinely interested in knowing.

"Moving on already," she replied, offering him a slight smile of apology and a shrug.

Sally looked at the people around her, and then back into the brown eyes of Andy. Here was a man she admired a lot. The type of guy your mother approves you bringing home. He was a man's man and a woman's ruse too.

She transferred a small sum of gold coins into Andy's hand and tipped her head gracefully to him.

"Sure can't stick around for breakfast either ?" said Andy with a tone that reminded her of her father. "The pie's almost done. "

Sally considered the proposal. After a minute's thought, she looked up at Andy and shrugged once more.

"Sure, why not. Business can wait."

As Andy went behind to fetch her some plates, bodies behind her started dropping like mummies descending to the floor from their tombs.

Five. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Thirty-Three. Thirty-three drops to the floor, all occurring as Sally punched on her glass of water, staring straight ahead smiling to herself.

She was officially a witch now. She had followed the requirements of the Constitution to the tee.

"To be inducted into our circles, any aspiring witch must prove herself to be remorseless and capable of the macabre, at any given point. A minimum of ten and a maximum of the mind's capacity, should the witch succeed and taking down the above mentioned numbers, she will prove herself to be most valuable to the cause of the Witches' Society in Aberdeek. "

Thirty-Three was a decent number. Spirula, her best friend, on her trial last year, had gotten eight. And that was including a gravely sick old man, who had it not been for the curse, would have found living hard to sustain for anything longer than the near future.

She turned around and marveled at her creation.

A lying assortment of bodies, each a stepping stone for Sally, to make her way to the top of Witch Mountain.

Andy appeared through the door and absorbed the scene in front of him with amused eyes.

"What's happened here, ?" he inquired looking at Sally rather sternly.

"Mr.Dawson, " said Sally standing up, " I'm aware this doesn't look good, but if you'll allow me to explain, I will tell you, what it is exactly I've been doing, in this cozy little town of yours. Is Mrs. Dawson around? I have a feeling she might want to hear this. "