Jackdrums

A cold, calming breeze wrapped its wings around Zenobia’s bare arms and then whispered away. She should have worn a sweater, but, oh! the chill reminded her of Christmas, and what appropriate timing, too, for she was to tell a spooky Christmas story to her book club in the Christmas Witch’s house!

Slipping through the open gate, Zenobia hurried inside, the beads from her jeans clacked against the door, and Zenobia grabbed her satchel to protect it from swinging freely as the beads.

They were waiting for her, all fifteen members, sitting on the faded green cushions of the lounge settees. The joints of the old house creaked as Zenobia made herself comfortable before her audience who waited respectfully and with few hushed whispers.

It wasn’t until Zenobia had arranged her brown ringlets on her shoulders and pulled out a paper-wrapped item from her silken satchel that her book mates held their curious tongues.

Zenobia knew all eyes were on the mystery item in her hands as she unwrapped it gently, lifting it up to the dimming, afternoon light. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a Jackdrum!” There was a moment as all eyes beheld the elegantly cut glass. Lowering the ornament, Zenobia passed it on to one of her friends so they could each examine the piece as she told the story:

“What is a Jackdrum? Why, every antique dealer knows what a Jackdrum is- you’ve never heard of one? Let me explain. A witch lived in the neighborhood, and for nearly a century they’d known she was there. But what exactly made her a witch? People who went or came to see her, disappeared and were never heard from again.

Miss Jackdrum was indeed a witch and it all started with the salesmen. No matter how she asked, ordered, and sued them, they would not leave her and her house alone. They would not stay away, so she came up with a solution to get rid of them once and for all without actually putting herself in the electric chair for murder.

It was a game at first, and Miss Jackdrum loved playing her trick on the salesmen so much that she started to do it with other visitors. First it was her family, then it was the postman, her old neighbors. And then stories started going around. She was a witch!

Everyone she invited to her house disappeared. They were killed…they were her slaves…tales went on and on and grew to such an outrageous extent that people cowered when she looked their way, scurrying to do her bidding when she said it. So now she was the most powerful woman in the town and she herself could not perform that which they assumed, save the disappearances.

But she didn’t try to take over the town and make it hers. She never put on shows or airs of any power; the people simply had built a story around her. A story they now all believed and told in fear to every traveler coming through their town.

Old Witch Jackdrum

Never really handsome

Had herself a beau when young

Came he out of fire

In brimstone attire

To the devil’s own heart she had clung

There was a tall and beautiful Douglas fir tree growing in her front yard and every year it was decorated with lights, tinsel, and an assortment of beautiful Christmas ornaments. She made them herself, and if the light shined just right you would sometimes think you saw a double reflection of you inside. Or was that you at all in there? What…?

But the light would shift, the person would feel Witch Jackdrum staring at them through the window, and they would walk away before being sure of what it was that they saw in those ornaments.

Why didn’t they do anything about her? Have her arrested! Locked up! Killed! The town people were too frightened. The legend was she could kill a man with a look. For, one time, she had stared at old Shaemus MacKree while he was up fixing his roof and the next minute he was falling head-over-heels off the roof and lying dead in his yard. Why had she killed him? Because he had refused to carry her milk to the doorstep like he did every other house on the block.

And there it is. A town scared of their own gossip. Living in fear that was created by their own imaginations. But under all the tale-bearing and such there really was an inch of truth, though not a strong one.

Miss Jackdrum was a witch and she had really made those people who’d visited her disappear. Well, actually one of her neighbors had just thought Miss Jackdrum too scary and moved out of state without telling anyone, but the town didn’t know that and blamed Miss Jackdrum which, in fact, was rightly so just not due to her witchy powers.

Why didn’t Miss Jackdrum tell them she wasn’t all that bad? For one, she thought it was too funny for words. For two, they left her alone as she liked. They could think what they wanted about her.

Old Witch Jackdrum

Mumbled o’er her cauldron

Singing her soup to a simmer

But neighbors that spied

Took their tale on a ride

And told she was cursing the minister

The town was cheerless, in woeful dismay

'Til came there a neighbor with swagger and sway

His countenance happy, his clothes bright and new

His hair looking snappy, his jolly soul true

The town folk warned and shushed all his songs

They told of Witch Jackdrum and her mountain ram horns

Grown from the front of her hairy forehead

Hidden in shadows or cloaks someone said

Now this fellow, this new neighbor (though he being only ten) was very skeptical over the whole business. Scared of one woman? What a joke! Magic? Curses? A tale grown too big for its britches. And laughing at the townsfolk, he walked up to Witch Jackdrum’s house, knocked, and went in. He shut the door quietly behind him.

'Miss Jackdrum? Ma’am?' called Hash Wauchens.

'Ma'am'?' Witch Jackdrum popped her head out from the kitchen. Flour was in her hair and her hands dripping with wet dough. 'It don't matter to me anyways. Quick, come here quick! I need your help; the pies are boiling over!' Hash ran into the kitchen and helped rescue the cherry pies before their fillings could be spilled and burned.

Witch Jackdrum finished making her doughnuts, washed her hands, sat at the table and stared at the boy. After Hash had helped himself to a slice of pie and served her one as well, she said, “What’re you doing here? I don’t like visitors.”

'But you like me,' said Hash.

'Why?'

“Why, I’m here to help you!” he flashed her a winning smile.

What a smile, indeed, even compelling, but Witch Jackdrum refused to be moved by it and replied in a stubborn tone, 'Why? I don’t want your help. Don’t need your help.'

'But I’m very good at helping others.'

'Helping yourself to folks' pies, you mean.'

'No, Ma'am. I was told that every year you decorate your fir tree in your front yard. And the tree is so tall, I don’t think it would be safe for you to be on a ladder trying to wrap decorations around it.'

'Don’t give your opinion when it’s not asked for. I don’t care what you think. Would you do it if I gave you another pie?'

'Three pies.'

'Good,' said Witch Jackdrum. 'Get going. There's a wooden box in my attic holding the decorations. Bring it down here and I’ll tell you what goes up first.'

And this was done, but when Hash was finished hanging the beads and tinsel and began to hang up the ornaments, he looked in them, then looked again. What was that? He brought a golden star up to his eye looking past the reflection. There was a man in there! It was Witch Jackdrum's postman!

Hash nearly dropped the star. He looked again and then quickly Hash examined all the other Christmas ornaments and found old Witch Jackdrum’s family and neighbors!

'Miss-' he swallowed and whispered, 'Jackdrum.'

She popped her head out the door. 'What’s that, Sonny? Finish decorating and be gone with you and your pies out of my yard.'

Hash held up the shining globe.

'Well, hang it up. Oh.' She came out and examined the ornament.

'I'd forgotten all about these. That's what a busy year does to me.' She smiled at a memory. 'They were so fun to entertain. Now no one comes to be entertained.' Looking at young Hash, she finally noticed he was shaking in fright.

'Well, run away boy if you’re that scared of my presence. Go on.'

A cold wind caused the string of icicles on the fir to sparkle. Hash got a hold of himself and managed to ask, 'Why are they in there?'

'For fun!' Witch Jackdrum held up another ball to the sunlight and smiled with pleasure. 'They’re so beautiful. And they were a whole lot nicer than these new neighbors of mine. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t tricked them.'

'Why don’t you release them?'

'Oh, I couldn’t do that! No, no. They’ll be angry with me. So angry.' She shook her head, 'It was just a game. And you better not tell anyone either. It’s none of their business. Anyway, I can't undo what I’ve done.'

'You mean they're stuck in there forever?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. You'd better go on back home young Wauchens before your family worries.' Witch Jackdrum sat on a stump staring at her box of ornaments.

Hash wasn’t ready to leave just yet. 'Can they hear us?'

'Maybe yes, maybe no. I’ve never been inside myself.' Witch Jackdrum stared deeper into a blue ball at her sister. A gleam slipped into her eye, and she looked at Hash Wauchens. 'I don’t think I want to hang these ornaments up after all. Would you carry them back inside for me?'

Hash Wauchens had been staring at the postman and not seen that glimmer of mischief. Carefully placing the globe back in the box he said, 'Yes, Miss Jackdrum.' And he and Witch Jackdrum disappeared into the house.

Witch Jackdrum died at the age of one hundred and seven. An antique dealer went into her house and found her attic full of the most exquisite tree ornaments ever beheld by human eyes, and he named them after the lady of the house. Jackdrums.

Each ornament was sold for a grand price by auction. Every single one. So, friend, if you fancy antique ornaments for decor, chances are you may have a Jackdrum in your house.”

Zenobia Jackdrum looked at the enchanted faces of her audience, and she held up the ornament one more time. “Who do you think is in here?”