The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

Gliverstoll

HOURS LATER, RUPERT WALKED HOME FROM THE dump, dripping a trail of brown sludge in his wake. Still, even though he was sopping wet and disturbingly slimy, his spirits cheered as he walked through his town.

Rupert had always loved Gliverstoll. His town was built into a rocky mountain nestled by the ocean. Most of the hustle and bustle of Gliverstoll took place in the shops around Main Beach. Rupert’s house, though, was at the tippy-top of the mountain, quite far away from the beach. The dump was close to the bottom, so Rupert had a long way home, zigzagging up the roads that wound around the mountain.

Rupert could tell from the dusky sun that it was already pretty late. He figured that his mother would be at home by now, but he quickly peeked inside the quilt shop — where she worked — anyway.

Mrs. Marmalin, his mom’s boss, was sweeping up the shop with a broom. Rupert tried the door, but it was locked — so he ended up knocking until she noticed he was outside.

“Rupert!” she said when she opened the door. She gracefully wiped her hands on her quilted apron and adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses as she looked at him. “What are you doing out so late? And by yourself, too!”

“I’m coming from the dump,” Rupert said. “My teacher made us dig for a paper clip.”

Mrs. Marmalin laughed. “Of course, dear. Of course,” she said, as though Rupert was making the whole thing up.

Rupert looked around the dimly lit store. “Is my mom here?”

“She went home hours ago, poor thing. Spooked by a witch!”

“A witch?” Rupert said.

“One of the witches walked into our shop today and demanded that we sell her one of our finest quilts at a price much less than it was worth. When I refused, of course, she went on a rampage. A terribly nasty temper.”

“My mom left after that?”

“Oh, yes, she was terribly skittish. She said that she needed to lie down, and she looked so pale that I couldn’t refuse. I wish I could have closed up shop and taken a breather myself, but these quilts don’t sell themselves.”

Rupert nodded.

“Thank you! Have a good night!” he said politely, and he backed out of her store.

Rupert walked to the end of Druscle Close and started up one of the curvy roads that led up the mountain. All the while, he thought about his mother running home from the quilting shop. He was surprised that she went home early — out of her three jobs, her sales work at the quilting store was his mother’s absolute favorite. His mother loved to quilt, and she quilted all of the bedspreads and drapes in their house. It was her dream to make the longest quilt in the world.

Her second job was as an ice-cream taster at the local ice-cream store. The makers of the ice cream could not test their own flavors because, ironically, Mr. and Mrs. Gummyum both had diabetes from eating too much of their own ice cream. So his mother got to taste all of their innovative flavors, like Nutty Butter Gumdrop, Sugar Salt, and Bologna Macaroni (which was their most popular flavor).

Her third job was a fortune-cookie writer. Her work for that had to be so secret that she signed fifteen contracts, swearing confidentiality. Rupert wasn’t allowed to tell anyone either. In fact, he wasn’t even supposed to know. It was like working as a spy — whenever his mother turned up for work, she had to go through five full-body scans, just to make sure that she didn’t bring any microphones, telephones, cameras, or recording devices with her.

Despite all the secrecy, his mother enjoyed writing fortunes and often came home with stacks of fortune cookies that she brought to show Rupert. On those days, Rupert and his mother would crack mountain loads of fortune cookies in the kitchen.

Generally, Rupert’s favorite fortunes were the ones that were very cryptic. His mom wrote one once that said The mug is under the sofa. Rupert loved that one. Sometimes he repeated it over and over again in his head. He had asked his mother where she got the inspiration to write something so fascinating, but she had said that that fortune was just a mistake. She was trying to direct her supervisors as to where she put her coffee cup, and the voice-recording program mistook that as a fortune. The machine had already printed two hundred copies before his mother realized what had gone wrong. Rupert was very disappointed to hear that, but he didn’t tell her because she was most proud of her non-accidental fortunes.

He cringed as he thought about some of his mother’s most prized work:

Tomorrow is a bright sunshiny day. Embrace it with bright sunshiny smiles.

(Rupert thought that one was a little cheesy.)

You are very loved.

(Rupert thought that one was even cheesier.)

You are unique and beautiful just the way you are.

(Rupert thought that one was the cheesiest.)

Okay, so his mother wasn’t very good at her third job, but it was difficult for her to support him on her own, so Rupert did his best to be encouraging.

Rupert turned around a sharp bend in the road. He began to climb a set of steep and narrow stairs, a shortcut that led straight home. He fantasized about how he’d walk through the foyer. His mother would give him a hug and tell him that he’d never have to go back to Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s class ever again if he didn’t want to.

Of course, that would never happen. More likely, she would be upset that he was out and about near the witchy parts of town so close to dusk.

But Rupert knew he wasn’t the only one who was interested in the witches. Last year, Kaleigh came into school on her tenth birthday proudly wearing a brooch that she had gotten from a witch shop. Hal’s family loved to walk through the witchy streets; he talked about it all the time. Kyle went on a broomstick ride above Gliverstoll with his younger brother in the beginning of the year. Bruno claimed that his mother had been severely allergic to nuts, dairy, gluten, strawberries, soy, eggs, seafood, legumes, latex, dust mites, and pollen, but the witches sold her potions that cured all her allergies right up. And Allison swore that her mother’s rose garden blossomed because of all the care the witches took in the town.

But when Rupert tried to tell his mother all the nice things his friends had said about the witches, she refused to listen. In fact, every time Rupert mentioned the witches, his mother grimaced and reminded him to stay far, far away from the witches.

But he always wondered: What was the point of living in one of the only witch towns left if he couldn’t ever see a witch?