A Witch's Tail

By G. F. Kaye

There was once a belief that if a witch's hair was shorn, she would lose her powers. Terry finds out, the hard way, that this just is not the case. Not at all. So what is a boy with a witch's essence inside him going to do? Well, give her a new home. of course, as with anyone else, this may require some redecorating. This is a relatively short, tongue in cheek story of what could happen if old wive's tales were not to be believed, and is not to be taken seriously at all. Or is it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. F. Kaye
• Release date: Oct 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311844286

G. F. Kaye

G. F. Kaye lives in Grand Rapids, MI, in a lovingly restored 1839 farmhouse. The work was all done personally, including the exterior, which is shaked in the traditional New England style. This has been listed as a "dying American Art Form. The author also paints in most media, and is a neighborhood preservation activist and avid gardener. Of Eastern European descent, the author has always felt a close affinity with the soil and growing things. Writing has been a lifelong off and on affair, with serious efforts being made since 2002. The author has since completed numerous works, and is in the process of final editing them and publishing them as e-books. "I only write when I'm having fun doing it," is the author's credo. The belief is that if the author is having fun writing the works, then people will also have fun reading them. This is reflected in the author's 'tongue in cheek' style, which has been referred to as a cross between the works of John Steinbeck and Mickey Spillane.

Book preview

A Witch’s Tail

A Halloween Amusement by G. F. Kaye

* * * * *

This is a work of fiction.

All physical locations are fictional, as are the events described, and exist only in the mind of the author.

Any resemblance of characters contained herein to any specific person, persons, or beings, living, dead is purely coincidental.

A Witch’s Tail

Copyright 2015, G. F. Kaye

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means; mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

In plain English, this ebook is licensed for the original buyer’s personal enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased solely for your use, then please go to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

First Published by G. F. Kaye at Smashwords

* * * * *

My ol’ buddy, Davis, is always getting me into trouble. This time, however, I snorted, slowly shaking my head while folding my hands over my tummy, pretty much takes the cake. It all started, I think, when we were about twelve. We were exploring the changes the flooding caused by a torrential rainstorm had made in a ravine behind our neighborhood. There’d been a lot of water in it just a few days ago, nearly overflowing the banks, and it’d clearly washed a lot of old branches and stuff away. It’d also undermined a couple of bigger trees. They were laying across the banks, which were quite tall. We’d always wondered why such a small creek ran through such a big, deep cut. Now we knew. When it’d rained long and hard, like it had last week, our quiet little fishing creek became a force to be reckoned with! Davis must have been thinking along those lines, too. Now I get why they built such a big bridge over this thing for the highway, where it heads out of town, he muttered, an obvious note of awe in his voice while studying the thoroughly scrubbed wash.

Yeah. I also get why the old folks tell everyone to stay the heck away from the creek after a storm, I added, thoughtfully. Heck, if you’d fallen in there when it was full of water, who knows where the heck you’d end up!

Probably the bottom of the ocean, Davis snorted. He was working his way down one of the banks, stopping every now and so often to look at something. Now, I glanced over to see him curiously peering at something that was sort of wadded up in the crook of what appeared to be an old tree branch or root. Nodding, he straightened away from it, putting his fists on his hips. Hey! Look at this!

What? I said. Having recognized the signs, I was already heading that way.

I don’t know, Ter. Looks like some girl lost her pigtail.

What? I snorted. While I was heading toward him, he freed it from behind. Whoa! I frowned as I got closer. That’s way too much hair for a pigtail. Looks like the fat braid Barbara, in our class, wears all the time. Barbara had an incredible, waist length mane. I could easily understand why she kept it braided most of the time.

By then, he was at the creek, washing the mud from it. Wrong color, he grinned up at me as I came up to him. Looks like it’d match yours pretty good, though.

Well, I didn’t know about that, but it sure as heck wasn’t sunny blonde like Barbie’s hair. I bent over to have a look at it, and he grabbed my hat off my head. Pushing the fat end of the braid through the loop at the adjuster, he stood and crammed the whole soggy mess back onto my head.

Asshole, I snorted, reaching to take it off, but he grabbed my hands, holding them behind my back while looking over his handiwork, no doubt.

Yup! Sure is your color, he chuckled, still holding my hands. Whaddya think, Karen?

Karen? I struggled to free my hands. Karen was here? Let go of me, you big oaf! I yelped. By then, however, my best friend, Karen Winters, was down the bank and walking around me.

Hey! Looks good on ya, Ter! she giggled, walking around to face me. I’d keep it.

Yeah? You’re a girl, too! I snorted. You should have long hair!

Oh? You actually noticed? she giggled.

I rolled my eyes. This was my best friend. Thpppttt!

We were, though. We were both the single kids of a pair of lifelong girlfriends. We’d been born just minutes apart in the same delivery room, our mom’s shouting encouragement to each other between labor pains, or so our grandmas said often enough to anyone that’d listen. That was usually just before they told whoever was listening that, after our initial squawks, Karen and I had started goo-goo-ing at each other and hadn’t shut up since. They also grinned, humorously, while saying she and I’d been sleeping together for years. Just like that.

Grandmothers can be real embarrassing. Ya know? It didn’t help that both our maternal grandmothers had also been lifelong friends, like our moms, so it wasn’t like Karen and I’d had a chance. We’d pretty much been doomed from the git-go.

Anyway, we’d started chasing each other up and down the banks. I pretty much forgot the thing was still in my hat until Karen and I were sitting on her back porch, drinking a couple sodas. All of a sudden, she’d whipped my hat off and run inside with it. Seeing she had the braid with it, I rolled my eyes. I was still a little surprised when she walked out and handed my hat to me a while later. Looking it over, I saw that she’d fanned the fat end of the braid out on the inside of my hat and carefully stitched it around the loop left by the size adjuster.

Great! I muttered, tugging at it experimentally. She’d sewed it on really well. Shrugging, I pulled it onto my head. Whatcha think? I grinned at her. Is it really me?

You know? Actually, she said, reaching out, pulling the braid around, and gently dropping it over my shoulder, in an odd sort of way, I think it is. Here. Let me see it again.

Handing it to her, I got up and followed her into the house. Going to the upstairs bathroom, she hung my hat on a robe hook and carefully undid the braid. Through all this, it