Enchanted Tales

Enchanted Tales

Martha Weeks smiled as the delivery man placed the last box on her beautiful wooden floor. Things were going so well; her lifetime’s dream of opening her own book shop was really happening.

The shop sign, baring her carefully chosen name, had arrived that morning, and her Dad promised to hang it later.

Martha bought the shop with its contents included. But it was small. There were bookshelves crammed into every corner, each one containing a vast array of tomes. There were two small windows, which allowed a handful of dusty rays to illuminate the interior.

Martha had fallen in love as soon as she stepped through the scarlet front door. The fusty scent of pages being turned, coupled with the gold lettering on every shelf, lassoed her heart. But now she had to decide which books were right to keep. It didn’t help that Martha had ordered extra, to accompany the old timers. She would give the unwanted books to charity.

All existing books had a rough alphabetical system. At least, that appeared to have once been the case. Martha began pulling books from the shelves. To her, they were magical creatures that could transport her all over the world. That’s why she chose the name for her book store; ‘Enchanted Tales’.

Martha turned her thoughts to her father as she fingered through the ‘D’ section of books. Her mother told her how proud he was, but Martha wasn’t sure she believed her. He was never positive about her life, and it angered her.

Martha’s father never understood her passion for reading. Her three brothers were adventurous sportsmen. As children, they always played with their Dad and as adults he felt at ease in their company. It was different with Martha and not just because she was a girl. Her adventures took place inside of her head but he didn’t understand.

Grumbling to herself, she noticed an odd looking book. Standing twice as tall as the others, it was bound in gold cloth, with a red ribbon holding it in place. As she lifted it from the shelf, she shook her head in disbelief. The book she was holding was much too big to sit where it had. She climbed down from the ladder and sat on the floor.

As she unpeeled the golden cloth, her heart was drumming. The book’s cover was a mix of green, red, and gold. The colours melted together to create a swirling mist. Martha gasped as she read the title; “A Spell For All Seasons”.

She didn't open it straight away, the fluttering in her stomach made her wary. She had never seen a spell book before. She knew there was no such thing as magic, but the book felt special. She could hear the voices of its authors as she touched it. Martha's mind was telling her she should be scared, but her body wasn't responding to the threat. Her body tingled with anticipation. Whose voices was she hearing? Steadying her breathing, she contemplated her next move.

Martha was desperate to tell someone, so she phoned her parents. Her father answered and Martha described the book to him. She told everything she felt about it and asked if he had ever heard of anything similar. “No. Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no such thing as magic.” She didn’t press it further.

Daring herself to look inside, Martha thumbed through the pages, tracing the elegant, swirling letters with her fingers. There really were spells for everything; there was one for invisibility, one to make vegetables taste like chocolate (Martha’s favourite), one to make hairs grow on chests. Then Martha saw it, the one that stood out. It seemed a very simple spell, its title was “A Spell To Make Others Appreciate You”. She read it aloud, chuckling and contemplating testing it on her dad.

With hollow heart and fragile smile
This son, who lives on lonely isle
May no more move, no more beguile
Must stay as is, for longest while.
And whilst he’s there, he must think
Of all around whose hearts he sinks
No more to eat, no more to drink
Until let go by magic wink.

The shop illuminated and Martha dropped the book. That was weird. And totally not possible. There was no such thing as magic. She told herself to get a grip, wrapped the the book in its golden cloth and placed it in the pile she wanted to keep.

Martha returned her focus to the remaining books, but the phone disrupted her work. “Martha, it’s your Mother.”

“Mum, I’m busy.”

“No, Martha. Listen. I didn’t know what to do.” Martha’s mother said. “Your dad can’t move, he’s stuck.”

Sighing that her mother was bothering her with her father’s old back problem, Martha said, ”Where is he? Have you phoned the doctor? They’ll give him anti inflammatories. As always.”

“No, Martha. He’s stuck. He can’t move at all, not even speak. It’s like he’s made of stone. And…”

“And what, Mum?”

“I know this sounds crazy, but…I swear I heard an incantation, or a spell, or something.”

“It must have been someone on the TV or radio, Mum,” said Martha, trying to convince herself as much as her mother.

“The TV and radio were turned off, Martha. I’m telling you, it was a spell.”

Martha swallowed hard, trying to push her heart back into her chest. This was her fault. She had done this. She had cast a spell on her father. “It’s okay, Mum. Don’t panic. Just stay where you are and I will sort this.”

Martha reasoned that all spells must have a counter spell. Then logic screamed at her, “You’re talking about magic, you have no idea how it works!” But it was all she had to work on, so she began searching for a counter spell.

She unwrapped the spell book and flicked through the pages. But there was nothing. Then, on the very last page, there was the message, “If a spell is cast which must be undone, turn to page 31. On there you’ll see, if closely you look, a spell to get you off the hook.” Wow. This really was magic, she thought.

Martha searched page 31, but all she found was a spell to blitz warts. But slowly, as she watched, the letters morphed into new words. A sweeping purple script formed a new spell;

Smelly sock, rusty nail,
Silver whistle and siren’s wail,
Scented candle, banana skin,
Fully formed apple, pips within
If all of these together combine
Once more he’ll walk with straightened spine

Martha was hopeful the spell could help. She pondered the ingredients. Smelly sock, easy. She could get one from her brother’s bedroom. Rusty nail. She would have to check her father’s garden shed, it was a few years old. Silver whistle was also easy, she had one on her keyring. She had bought it when she stayed in London a year ago, it was a replica of an old policeman’s whistle. At the time, she wasn’t sure why she was attracted to it. Maybe she now believed in fate as well as magic.

Martha was still thinking about the spell as she left the shop. Clutching the big spell book, she drove to her parents’ house.

Martha’s mother was waiting in the kitchen. Martha stopped dead when she saw her father. He was sat at the table. His coffee cup was lifted halfway towards his mouth, which was slightly open in anticipation.

“He was just about to try that new Colombian coffee he saw advertised,” Martha’s mother explained. She sighed and added, “Have you figured it out, Love? Can you make him work again?”

“I can, Mum, but I need one of Ryan’s dirty socks. I can’t explain why right now, I just need one.”

“Okay, Love. There will be loads on his bedroom floor. Help yourself.”

Martha was surprised with how quickly her mother had accepted her odd request. Truly, today was proving to be most surprising in every way. With a sock carefully placed in a plastic bag, she went into the garden to hunt for rusty nails.

Her father’s shed was, unfortunately, newer than she remembered and none of the nails appeared rusty. She searched the surrounding area, but found nothing. What now? She glanced around and her eye landed on the next door neighbour’s shed.

Mr. Castle was a wizened, crotchety old man with no teeth and different colour eyes. Martha remembered him from childhood. Her brothers always made her retrieve the lost football from his garden, in return for letting her play. There was a long ago mended hole in the fence she used to climb through. Sometimes, he caught her. Even in those days he was old.

Martha felt like a naughty child again, as she swung a leg over the fence. Mr. Castle’s garden was overgrown and she wasn’t sure what she would be climbing into. Her foot landed on something solid beneath the weeds. Resting her weight on it, she lifted the other leg and…crash!…the solid object smashed beneath her.

Martha performed a rather impressive stuntman’s roll and came to a halt in between the shed and a pair of worn out brown slippers. Slowly, she traced the legs upwards and found Mr. Castle’s angry face glaring down at her, his blue eye bulging in rage. She stood and said “Mr. Castle, I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. How did she explain this?

“The thing is…” and then she saw it. Right next to the slippers; a big, fat, rusty nail. “I was playing with my niece’s ball, it was in Mum’s kitchen and I couldn’t resist. I’m such a child, you know? I thought it bounced over here, but maybe it didn’t.” Swiftly, Martha bent down, grabbed the nail and took a running jump back over the fence.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, Martha said goodbye to her mother, grabbed a banana and an apple from the kitchen table and promised she would make her father work again.

The next item in the spell was a scented candle. Easy. She was a big fan of the scented candle community (and it was a community, there was a great understanding of each other amongst the burners). Martha picked out a coffee scented candle, thinking it was the most appropriate.

Martha paused to think about what she had collected. Surely, that was everything? Smelly sock, rusty nail, silver whistle, apple, banana. Unsure, she unfolded the golden shroud and turned to page 31. This time, she found a spell to make your dog obey all commands. She stared at the page, waiting for the words to change. But they didn’t.

Martha waited for what felt like an hour before, once again, thumbing frantically through the pages. She didn’t recognise any of the spells, nothing looked familiar. With her heart thumping, she couldn’t think. How could she know if she had all the ingredients? Her dad’s life depended on her and she didn’t know if she could do it.

Forcing herself to breathe more slowly, Martha tried to recite the spell. She didn’t have it written down, though. The room started to sway and swirl around her, becoming a kaleidoscope of colours. All she could do was put everything together and hope it worked.

Reciting from memory, she realised there had been nothing to rhyme with rusty nail. She searched her brain, trying to remember and then she got it. Siren’s wail. No way! How on earth did she capture a siren’s wail?

Slumping into her favourite chair, Martha desperately searched for ideas. She jumped to her feet when the answer appeared. She had to return to her parents’ house. Her mother, ever wary of modern technology, still used a VCR to record TV shows. Lifting the phone, Martha made yet another call to her mum.

“Martha. is that you? Have you done it?”

“Not yet, Mum. Just tell me, do you still use your video recorder?”

“My video recorder? Yes. Why? I thought you were helping your father?”

“I am, Mum. Do you still record Casualty every Saturday? Do you still have this week’s on tape? This is really important, Mum, I promise.”

“Yes.” Martha’s mother injected an edge to her voice that Martha hadn’t heard before.

“Don’t touch it, Mum, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Martha jumped in her car, carrying all the ingredients and the redundant spell book and raced home. Once inside, she shouted for her mother to get the Casualty tape.

“You need to turn Casualty on and find a scene where there is an ambulance siren wailing and stop it there. Okay?”

Mrs. Weeks shook her head and sighed. Martha tried to explain. She showed her mother the spell book and told her how the contents constantly changed. She told her how she had been angry at her dad when she read the ‘Spell To Make Others Stop And Appreciate You’ and how she had found the counter spell.

Raising an eyebrow, her mother opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She opened her mouth again, but still nothing. The ‘goldfish’ was probably the only appropriate response. “Come on, Mum. Find Casualty.”

With her mother finding the required scene, Martha placed the ingredients into a pile on the kitchen table. She opened the spell book and turned to page 31, but it was pointless. Her dad’s motionless body caught her attention. What if she couldn’t do this, what if it didn’t work? He could be stuck like this forever.

With the video added to the ingredients, Martha attempted one last look for the spell. She couldn’t believe her eyes when the letters slowly changed shape and and formed the words for the spell she needed. She took a deep breath and slowly began to read:

Smelly sock, rusty nail,
Silver whistle and siren’s wail,
Scented candle, banana skin,
Fully formed apple, pips within,
If all these things together combine
Once more he’ll walk with straightened spine

There was an unmistakable flash of light as she said the final word. Immediately, her dad was all movement. He took a sip of his coffee, then said, “Ooh, this coffee isn’t as good as it’s cracked up to be, Joyce. Oh, Martha, I didn’t know you were here. Shouldn’t you be getting your shop ready for the grand opening?”

Martha and her mother were both speechless. It had worked. Martha had just performed an actual magic spell on her father. Two magic spells. And he had no idea. “I’m going back to the shop in a minute. I just brought this book to show you and Mum.”

Her dad grabbed the spell book and flicked through the pages. “What a load of rubbish. Who believes this stuff, Martha? Look at this one here,” and as he started to read aloud, Martha snatched the book away. She didn’t need any more spells to be cast today. She was exhausted. Being a witch had taken it out of her. And she did have a book shop to open, after all.

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