Beauty

The night had finally arrived. Halloween, Hallowe’en, All Hallow’s Eve, All Saint’s Eve...every age gave it a new name, but there could be no doubt that tonight, this particular Halloween night, was it. It was what I had been waiting for all these years. The darkness had crept in early and the full moon ignited the night sky like a balefire. The nocturnal creatures were beginning to raise their voices, filling the shadows with their calls. Yes, this was certainly the night. I could feel it in my bones.

Ahh, these old bones. I surveyed my knotted, brittle hands for a just moment before returning to the mortar and pestle. The aching of age that settled into my limbs years ago worsened with each passing year, and it made the task at hand exhausting. I was weary, but I pressed on, grinding and turning the dried herbs. This was too important to neglect over a little bit of pain. I needed to be ready at the appointed hour.

I lifted the small porcelain saucer to my nose and sniffed its rough, papery contents. Something wasn’t quite right. It was close, but - anise! I had neglected the anise. I shuffled over to my herb and spice cabinet, the pungent odors of ginger, black pepper and cayenne greeting me at the cabinet door. My back ached as I reached to the highest shelf. My fingers fumbled around for the slender corked bottle until I plucked it from the darkness. I returned to my grinding.

The hour grew nearer now. The moon cast eerie shadows through the old gnarled tree, shadows that compressed and contracted, playing upon my kitchen floor. I paused at that thought for a moment...it has been years, ages really, since anyone played on this kitchen floor. My children were grown and had left this house long ago. They all have children of their own, but they never visit me. I know my twisted old face, my hunch of a back and my wild white hair scares them. The grandchildren used to cringe and hide between their mother's legs when they saw me. Now they just avoid me. I can forgive them - they're too young to know that it hurts me so to see the fear in their sweet little eyes. But I hear it from the teenagers and even the young women when I go into town for my shopping. "Witch," they whisper to one another, staring at my sunken eyes, at my turned limbs. "Hag."

Not for much longer. The time is almost near. It is almost time for my metamorphosis.

I stop mixing, my joints grateful for the respite. I pour the contents of my bowl into the simmering pot on the stove. The moon is at the apex of the sky now - the time is here. I dip a tumbler into the cloudly liquid and take a long, deep swig.

I am going to be beautiful again. I can feel it in my bones.