The Last Witch of River Valley

After debating with Sabrina for the longest time, she finally decided that it will be her last night on Earth. She will cast her final spell under the fascinating beauty of the luminescent ball of gas in the sky before completely disappearing into thin air. But before that, before finally dissolving into the infinite abyss that she isn’t sure whether to call seventh heaven or hell, she’d leave a legacy behind. A witch chest containing proofs of their existence before the inevitable extinction happened.

‘Are you serious about this? This is the nth time you’ve attempted to leave,’ Sabrina yawned, then licked her nose, skeptical about the witch’s arbitrary decision. The lazy black cat rested motionless. Her round, black eyeballs gazed at Isobel, her paws neatly tucked underneath her plump body that laid flat on the floor, carpeted with a soft red Kashan Persian rug, marked with flowers, squares, and curved lines. Shelves that lined the walls were filled with vintage books, scrolls with incomprehensible writings, vials of unlabeled expired potions, and jars containing fetuses, cow’s tongue, pig’s tail, lizard, tarantula, frog, eyeballs, and body parts of other unnamed beasts. A human-sized mirror hung on the only wall uncovered with a shelf. Thick dust settled in and out of the long untouched cauldron sleeping on the corner of the room, beside it, a broom was neatly parked.

‘I’ve had enough of this world!’ Isobel said as she carefully pored over a hundred scrolls, yellowish-brown in color, made brittle by time. A stockpile worth of centuries-old dust, cobwebs, spider legs, lizard tails, skulls, antelope horns, books, pink sand granules, and hair strands littered the witch’s table lit by Matilda – the lone candelabra with multiple arms, who only knew how to moan and giggle.

A silver-plated wine glass that was once used for witches brew, potions, or blood on full moon parties, now just another item under the pile of the heap, rolled over and fell on the wooden floor.

‘Dammit!’ Annoyed with the thud made by the wine glass and her failing memory, Isobel placed her palms on her head, just above her still prominent widow’s peak albeit now with gray hair strands instead of shiny black, and stood motionless for a moment, trying to remember where she kept that scroll.

‘What are you looking for?’ Sabrina’s motionless eyes still gazed at her.

‘That bloody scroll with the recipe for lover’s potion!’ shrieked Isobel, her voice high and raspy, like the creak of a spring-loaded metal door.

Sabrina closed her eyes, moved her paws forward, where she gently placed her chin to a rest. ‘Who’d still use lover’s potion these days?’ The furry black cat spoke in a smoky voice, calm, graceful yet mature with a hint of authority, like a woman wearing a deep red matte lipstick on. ‘People use dating apps nowadays. Long gone are the days when people seek help from witches, when love and despair mixed, stirring up a wicked potion for their beloved to love them back.’

‘That’s the reason why I wanna leave this damn world. People used to come to me for potions, to make their loved ones notice them. And look at these dimwits now. They use all those things like Kinder!’

‘Tinder, you mean.’

‘Whatever, Kinder, Tinder, Minder! They are all the same!’ Frustration, anger, and defeat echoed in a voice that has been fighting a losing battle to keep witchcraft and sorcery alive for decades, in which that night, finally succumbed. 

‘Why would they go through all of the inconvenience when all they have to do now is swipe right?’ Isobel shook her head and looked at Sabrina in disbelief. Disbelief in human’s foolish inventions and a black cat who believes in them.

‘This is the very same reason you are now extinct, darling,’ Sabrina’s tail gently wagged then curled behind her round bum. ‘You never adapted. Look at me I heard I landed a spot on the top 10 Cats of Instagram because of my thick and unbelievably jet-black fur. I didn’t have to do anything. I just needed to show up where humans are. See, they took lots of photos of me on that thing they called the smartphone.’ The proud cat took the pleasure of showing her modern achievement to the almost-relic-bad-tempered witch in front of her.

Matilda let out a giggle, like a supportive friend that congratulates you on your accomplishments. Her arms swerved like that of a naughty girl’s hands covering her mouth while laughing. Droplets of melted candle wax dotted the table and the surrounding rubbish.

‘Oh shut it, Matilda! You are just adding to the mess here!’ The candelabra quickly stood upright like a soldier whose stern commander just passed by. Her eyes shifted from the witch to the cat, then back to the witch.

‘Well, what are you planning to do by telling us this is your last night on Earth. Are you committing suicide tonight?’ Sabrina asked. Her tone more like mockery than a show of genuine interest.

Isobel looked at the black cat, her arms akimbo. Her weight shifted to the left foot as the right tapped the floor. The noise of her black leather boots filled the room that smelled of mold, rotten wood, and dismembered body parts of animals, humans, and others in between. Her hair that was once thick and black as a crow, now only resembles grey overused steel wool, hanging loose over her shoulders. The loose sleeves of her long black dress hid her lightly clenched fists placed on her hips.

‘You see that Sabrina?’ she motioned her head towards a small wooden box lying on the floor. ‘That’s for the future witches. I’m leaving all these for them to see.’

She walked towards the box and reached out to the items inside it. She held a scroll high in one hand. ‘This,' she said with utmost dignity, ‘is the recipe for revenge potion,’ proud as a child showing off a toy, she continued. ‘A lizard’s tail, a pinch of charcoal-black sand from the west, twenty-five milliliters pig’s blood and a strand of hair from the person you want to curse. Mix all in a small cauldron and bring it to a boil. Stir until dissolved.’

Matilda and Sabrina looked at her blankly, followed by occasional yawns as she went on and on with the items inside the chest - recipes of love, revenge, and lost and found potions scribbled in scrolls, books of incantations and spells, crystal ball, witch dolls, witch hat and pocket locket watch with chain necklace - taking them one by one, explaining the use of each, as if these matters to her audience.

‘So, you’ll keep them inside, and then what?’ Sabrina asked and Matilda nodded.

‘Dangit! Don’t you get it, Sabrina? I’m saving the line of the witches! I'm doing this for the future generation.’

Being the last witch of the River Valley, she felt the weight of responsibility to keep the line alive. But since she found no one in this era who has shown any interest in witchcraft, she thought of keeping all the important details in a chest box which she planned to seal with a spell on her last night, only to be opened after a hundred years by the chosen successor.

‘Whoever that lucky person is, will inherit all our powers once she touches and opens this chest.’ Isobel sounded hopeful.

‘Maybe unlucky,’ Sabrina sarcastically said, her eyes still closed as she spoke.

Isobel ignored the cat’s ridicule and started reminiscing her glory days when River Valley was a hotspot of power and sorcery, where the witches and humankind lived in harmony in that small quaint town surrounded by majestic mountain ranges and an overflowing river, where the sun rose beautifully, and the moon shone majestically. That’s until bearded men in steel armors and ancient Greek sandals crossed the borders, arriving in horses and chariots with spears and swords on their hands and started burning the witches alive or took them as wives and forced them to live a human life.

After centuries in hiding, Isobel found herself the lone survivor of her kind. But as the 21st century approached, she was not able to cope with the ceaseless changes.

‘The dimwits are building so many houses. There are so many humans everywhere,’ she would randomly protest as the picturesque town where she lived in for centuries, completely detached from mankind, was developed as a residential area.

‘I told you to buy a condominium,’ Sabrina would answer.

‘Why are these mortals not asking me to look for lost friends or family members anymore? Do they not lose anyone anymore?’ Isobel would throw random questions whenever she gets bored.

‘Darling, people use GPS nowadays,’ Sabrina would retort and which Isobel would answer with silence.

After centuries in hiding, Isobel finally caved in but left a promise of a comeback, an ode that is more like a curse, to this ungrateful world full of tom-foolery. As she looked forward to a new era of sorcery where witches can once again fly freely on their brooms and execute magic and power once more, she carefully cast her last spell into the wooden chest, softly chanting her incantations like an uttered prayer or a toddler’s babble, undecipherable.

‘Abrakadabra, light of candelabra, heart of a zebra’ chanted Isobel as she laid her hands on top of the chest.

‘Oh, dear. Seriously? I’ve been hearing the same old chant for the last three hundred years. Can’t you create something original?’ Sabrina protested. ‘On your last night here on Earth at least be creative. Take some lyrics from Miley’s latest songs.’

Sabrina’s protests were left ignored.

The chest glowed like a box filled with gold and diamonds as a whirlpool of wind blew all the remaining scrolls, papers, dust, and hair strands on top of her desk, swirling around the room. The floor creaked and trembled. Books and jars containing dismembered body parts fell from the shelves, shards of glasses scattered on the floor.

Isobel’s long black dress and leather booths laid lifeless on the floor of the disaster-clad room as the last wisp of black smoke vanished. The old candelabra sat on the disheveled desk, its multiple arms covered with cold, hardened wax that followed the object’s shape, a remnant of red candles that melted ages ago. Silver moon rays entered the pitch dark room through glass windows. Bats screeched and flew from tree to tree. Owls hooted. Branches swayed, leaves fell on the damp ground where worms wiggled their way in and out, in and out. Crickets chirped while spiders silently weaved webs. The lone house creaked as the easterly wind pounded the valley. The black cat climbed on top of the witch’s chest that is now locked up for the next hundred years. It laid comfortably with its chin resting on top of its paws, closed its eyes, took one last breath, and went on to a night of eternal sleep.