In the year of 1993, Glacinda had put a spell on a man by the name of Pete Thompson. As a result, he would never be able to speak again. The reasons were many: He was a sweet—talking lawyer, and a man with more money in his pocket than he knew what to do with. He had a wife, a mistress, and a girlfriend. In short, the man would be a better person if he was forced to keep his big mouth shut, and, as his on and off girlfriend of twenty-something years, Glacinda knew this.
Today, she had had the misfortune of meeting his mysterious cousin, Marty. Today was the first day she had met the man who, having been estranged from his family for many long years, had recently reunited with his cousin, only to discover that, although his lips were moving, no words were coming out. When he asked Pete why this was, the man simply gave Marty a note with Glacinda's name on it saying she'd cast a spell on him, so, as one does, Marty determined that there were one of two possibilities: His cousin was absolutely insane and needed to go to a mental hospital, or Glacinda was a witch. She supposed it was inevitable: At some point, her past would come back to haunt her.
The trouble was that she did not care in the least bit to make this man speak. She found him to be completely unbearable, corrupt, and chauvinistic. In fact, one night, she had even found him, with his slender build, marching down the street, protesting against gay marriage, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd seen him taking off his Klu Klux clan attire before entering his residence. She supposed he didn't think a soul was watching that night, but the fool was sorely mistaken. Marty had sought the answers himself and he was now on her doorstep, interrogating her about the absurd situation.
"Do you know why my cousin doesn't speak?" he asks.
"Maybe it's for the better," he chuckled, "but that can't be true, can it, that you're a witch or something?"
Marty looks at her as if he believes in something he thinks he isn't supposed to. Glacinda stares at him.
"Well that's quite extreme!" she says.
She pauses and gives him her most charming smile.
"You must be quite shaken. Would you like to join me and my sister for dinner?"
"Well I don't see why not, as long as you promise not to cast a spell on me."
He giggles nervously. She laughs and waves her hand dismissively in the air.
"Oh don't be ridiculous!" she says.
His head is nodding quite rapidly now as she serves chicken and mashed potatoes.
"Hello, I'm Abigail, Glacinda's sister," a beautiful woman with auburn hair says.
The three of them chat up a storm for a while and then Marty abruptly stops eating and asks the two of them once more, just to be certain, "So you're not witches. You didn't cast a spell on my cousin? He was a bit of a narcissist, quite frankly. I would completely understand why you'd choose that particular one. You could tell me, you know. I've never believed in witchcraft before, but perhaps, this evening, it is time that I turn over a new leaf."
Abigail looks over his shoulder and Glacinda puts her finger on her lips as she's boiling water for the tea.
"No. I haven't got a clue how he became that way," she responds quickly.
"No clue at all."
"What kind of tea would you like, sir?" Glacinda asks.
"Wonderful. Coming right up!" Glacinda responds, flashing her pearly whites as she pours him a cup.
Then she sits back down.
"I suppose I must be imagining things," he mutters.
"It just seems odd that my cousin came up with such a particular story. That's all."
"Strange. Yes. It's very strange, but you've had a long flight from Baltimore. You're probably just jet lagged," Glacinda tells him, wishing he would leave well enough alone.
"Probably," he concedes.
Pete Thompson has not spoken for the rest of his life, and Glacidna doesn't intend to lift the spell until he is in his grave. The man never deserved as much.
The guy, Marty, sleeps in the bedroom, and Abigail and Glacinda eat ginger snaps and gossip about the events that took place.
"I can't believe you actually did it!" she mutters, laughing.
Glacinda places her finger on her lips once more, reminding Abigail to keep quiet. Breakfast time comes around, the sun rising over the mountains, and Marty awakes from his slumber.
"Good morning, lovelies!" he says.
"Good morning, handsome fellow!" Glacinda answers, strongly considering slipping a little bit of Abigail's specially made love potion into his morning coffee when she observes his twinkling eyes.
"Thanks for the hospitality! I'm so sorry I ever thought you were a witch, Glacinda!"
She chuckles and wave my hand dismissively, "Oh don't worry! We all make silly mistakes!" She answers, waiting until he shuts the door, then opening the "pantry" and examining her large array of potions that she and her sister have created together.
After this, she opens the closet and takes out a broom, glancing out of the window to make sure that Marty won't see her. She can still see him in the distance, and so she waits until he fades away, reading her spell book and wondering which enchantment she would cast on him if she had to choose: perhaps it could be good fortune, or Singlehood for the rest of his life.
Oh no. That certainly wouldn't do...Then she wouldn't be able to marry him...She'd always wanted to marry a handsome man.
Finally, she can't see him anymore, so she takes out her broom and flies above the tops of the trees, allowing the wind to blow in her hair. There is no one around on this particular day, and she very much enjoys the freedom of being able to take a ride in the daylight.
What Marty doesn't know won't hurt him.