The Goat, the Witch, and The Pellar
(A bitterly magical domestic incident)
Helga had precise expectations for a Wednesday.
She rose at 6:03. Brewed her calming fennel tea clockwise (never anticlockwise, that summoned her ex). Watered her defensive hedge (it hissed). And told Fredrick, her goat, that he was a disappointment.
Fredrick, naturally, took this as a compliment.
At 6:17, a strange man arrived. He was barefoot, carried a pouch of teeth (no one asked whose), and introduced himself by licking the knocker and declaring, "Trouble's in your roof beam, but don't worry, I brought moss."
Helga blinked. “You are?”
“Trevithick the Rootbinder. Pellar. Licensed by the wind and possibly a badger.”
He smiled. Three teeth disagreed.
Helga sighed, clutching her robe at the collar as if it could protect her from spiritual nonsense. “I didn’t summon a Pellar.”
“You didn't not summon one either. Someone lit a confusion candle in the vicinity of a goat.”
Fredrick sneezed and looked vaguely proud.
Helga set her teacup down with the weight of a woman reconsidering her entire spiritual alignment. “You are telling me… my goat caused this?”
“Possibly. Or your aura is leaking. Have you been thinking about exorcising your curtains?”
She had, actually.
Trevithick poked a spoonful of jam at the doorframe and muttered something about "counterspelling residual shadows from romantic failure."
The jam immediately caught fire.
Fredrick bleated once, judgmentally.
Helga adjusted her glasses with a single cold finger. “I moved here to avoid this.”
Trevithick was now climbing her bookshelf, declaring it "structurally haunted."
She blinked again. “I own three teacups. None match.”
He turned mid-climb. “Tragic. That’s where it begins.”
She rose at 6:03. Brewed her calming fennel tea clockwise (never anticlockwise, that summoned her ex). Watered her defensive hedge (it hissed). And told Fredrick, her goat, that he was a disappointment.
Fredrick, naturally, took this as a compliment.
At 6:17, a strange man arrived. He was barefoot, carried a pouch of teeth (no one asked whose), and introduced himself by licking the knocker and declaring, "Trouble's in your roof beam, but don't worry, I brought moss."
Helga blinked. “You are?”
“Trevithick the Rootbinder. Pellar. Licensed by the wind and possibly a badger.”
He smiled. Three teeth disagreed.
Helga sighed, clutching her robe at the collar as if it could protect her from spiritual nonsense. “I didn’t summon a Pellar.”
“You didn't not summon one either. Someone lit a confusion candle in the vicinity of a goat.”
Fredrick sneezed and looked vaguely proud.
Helga set her teacup down with the weight of a woman reconsidering her entire spiritual alignment. “You are telling me… my goat caused this?”
“Possibly. Or your aura is leaking. Have you been thinking about exorcising your curtains?”
She had, actually.
Trevithick poked a spoonful of jam at the doorframe and muttered something about "counterspelling residual shadows from romantic failure."
The jam immediately caught fire.
Fredrick bleated once, judgmentally.
Helga adjusted her glasses with a single cold finger. “I moved here to avoid this.”
Trevithick was now climbing her bookshelf, declaring it "structurally haunted."
She blinked again. “I own three teacups. None match.”
He turned mid-climb. “Tragic. That’s where it begins.”
