Of Cottages And Cauldrons

By Tiffany Putenis, Alana Turner, Alexa Rose and 7 more

Spread across three themes, this anthology explores autumn much as the season itself unfolds. There are modern-day stories and magical stories telling cozy tales of autumn life. Lite-horror stories explore the haunted mood of autumn. Dark horror stories delve into the monstrous, playing on the supernatural and dreadful tales we expect as the world becomes gray and skeletal in preparation of winter's grave grip.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tara Jazdzewski
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735790503

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

OF COTTAGES AND CAULDRONS

First edition. October 6, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Tiffany Putenis et al..

ISBN: 978-1735790503

Written by Tiffany Putenis et al..

Of Cottages and Cauldrons

A Jazz House Anthology

Edited by

Seamus King, Tara Jazdzewski, and Tiffany Curry

Contents

Flirting Around Vikings

Erin Quill

Beneath the Cherry Tree

Alexa Rose

Moon Vine

Julia Goldhirsh

The Void

Alana Turner

The Kitchen Witch

Tiffany Putenis

House of Ash

Tamarah Corwin

The Ward House

Patti Lee

Our Lady of No Name

DM Davanti

A Mother‘s Job

Villimey Sigurbjörns

Knock, Knock

Helen Whistberry

About The Authors

Flirting Around Vikings

Erin Quill

Ifinally got my driver’s license instead of just having my permit. The permit wasn’t bad. I mean my parents are nice people, but freedom...all the freedom. Which is why I’m flying solo tonight as I drive to our school’s first football game of the season. The whole team caught the same illness in September—no one is allowed to talk about it on school grounds—so October 4 th is the Viking’s first season game.

At the red light, I take a quick look down at what I’m wearing and pull a piece of lint off before dropping it on the floor. My hunter green sweater compliments my skin tone and my matching cocoa eyes. I made dang sure it did when I was admiring myself in the mirror earlier and trying on half the things I own. The cream-colored jeans and brown ankle boots with the short heels balance out my ensemble. My matching green coat and scarf are on the seat beside me. I don’t know if I’ll need both, but I like to be prepared.

I’m so engrossed in my outfit choice and if it’ll impress Aaron that I don’t notice the light changing until a horn screams at me from behind. I almost scream in unison as I push the gas. Then, I have to swerve to keep from rear-ending a slower car in front of me.

The stadium is a little farther up the road, and I reach it in less than three minutes. My God is the parking lot packed. My car crawls down row after row until I reach the second row from the back. Here, the cars are arranged into every other spot, rather than crammed on top of each other. I pull into the nearest one and look up and around at my surroundings so I can find the car later. Of course there’s nothing around here that pinpoints anything so I’ll have to leave it to memory.

I trudge through the dusty, gravel-filled lot to the front where the gates let my car—Hugo—in earlier. Off to the side and near the hill is a person-sized exit from the lot. I stand at the bottom of the steep incline in my short heels and sigh as I clack my way up to the ticket counter. There’s a line of three people in front of me, all from my school, but I don’t recognize any of them. They must not be in my grade.

Hi, yes, I say when I reach the front. One ticket, please. I hand over a five, waiting for my two quarters.

The woman in the ticket booth hands me the ticket and my change. Enjoy the game.

Now that I’m inside, I begin to wonder if my outfit was the right choice. Our stands are made up of metal bleachers on top of concrete; all of the student section is standing on the bleachers or milling about with food nearby. Of course I’m looking at this from three sections over as I stand near the snack stand. I don’t want to be in the way of anyone else coming in, but I need a moment to gather my nerves and just hope I don’t fall backwards off the bleachers in my heels once we stand and cheer on top of them for our team.

Come on, Cindy, you can do this. But no, nope. I can’t.

The anxiety coursing through me makes me shiver and fidget, hopping from one foot to the other. I don’t actually pick them up from the ground or anything, but it’s still an abrupt and jerky rocking movement.

I get in line for the snack stand, hoping some food will calm me down. There are four people, well, groups of people, in front of me. I stare off into space and wonder what I was thinking with this outfit. Next thing I know, there’s only the guy in front of me ordering a hotdog and a Coke. Based on his attire, he’s with the other team.

With his purchases now in hand after paying, he turns around and gives me a once over before smirking. Nice outfit.

What a dick. I look great! With my equilibrium rejuvenated, I say with as much disdain as I can, Oh, thank you. And you are?

Without waiting for a reply I move up to the counter and order. Chili cheese fries and a bottle of water only takes a matter of minutes. When I turn around, the rude guy is gone. Good riddance. I hope our team decimates them.

I take my fries and shove the bottle under my left arm as I walk and munch. The crispy goodness with a touch of spice and goo touches my tongue and slides down my throat like Nirvana made real.

Crap! I didn’t moan out loud right? Eh, whatever. They are yummy.

All I need to do now is not drop any of the fries or sauces on me. I also don’t put the carton in my lap when I take a seat on the upper most metal bleacher near me. I want to eat the fries in peace before heading over to my section. We have some time before the game starts.

With the carton next to me, I people-watch for a bit. At the front entrance, a guy and a girl walk in, each wearing red tops with the word ‘Trojans’ on them. Both are wearing jeans, although hers are tighter. His hair is gelled in place. Hers is flyaway until she pulls the scrunchie off her wrist and uses it to tie back her hair in a ponytail. Once she finishes, the guy wraps his hand around hers and she smiles as they walk off to their side of the stadium.

I shove more fries in my mouth, and as I lean over to avoid dropping anything on me, I notice a gaggle of guys enter. They’re in green with green and black face paint. It’s not like camouflage paint but just a line of black and a line of green under each eye. Viking support in the house. Nice.

Next up—Karrin. I sigh.

It’s not like I hate Karrin. I don’t. I just wish I were more like her. She’s pretty, obviously, but more than that is she’s confident and approachable. I, on the other hand, am possibly the least approachable person on the planet with my resting bitch face and body stance. Or so I’ve been told by almost everyone I’ve come in contact with. Most notably, my parents and younger siblings.

Hi, Karrin says on her way to the stands.

Oh, hi, Karrin, I say, in my best effort to be kind. And then I munch one of my remaining fries. These are soggy. I still finish them off before getting up to throw out the grease, cheese, and chili-smeared carton.

Just to make sure I don’t get anything on me that might still be on my hands, I head to the nearest ladies room to wash my hands. Thankfully, there’s no line for the sinks even though the one for the stalls is starting to get long. That line was always long.

I turn on the faucet and then wash, soap, and scrub until I feel sufficiently clean again. The paper towel dispenser is empty.

I search around and then one of the nice ladies in line says, Honey, the towels are on the edge of that sink. No one’s been by to restock the dispenser yet. She points and smiles at me.

Oh thank you so much. I smile back as I reach for a towel to dry my hands. After tossing the towel in the trash, I emerge back out to the stadium and prepare for my entrance to the bleachers.

I’m stopped by some girl I’m almost positive I’ve never met before, but she’s speaking as if we’ve been friends for years. This is another one of those moments when I wish someone would just scream out her name, because I’m clearly not going to ask at this point. I would just look like a lunatic.

This has been lovely, I say to her, as vague as possible, but it sounds like the game will be starting soon, so I’m...

Oh, totally! It’s been so great catching up, Cindy. We should really catch up at Todd’s.

Of course, I’m about to say, but she’s already off. Also, who the fuck is Todd?

The game is not about to start soon since the band is still playing. Oh my God, how long have they been playing? I mean, our band is much, much better than our team but this feels a lot longer than normal.

By the time I stride the half a block to the bleachers, my calves are killing me. Why again did I insist on wearing these things?

Right, Aaron. Who I still don’t see anywhere.

Karina! The first face I recognize, out of the vast amount of people here I should probably know as they are in my grade, turns to me at my shout.

Cindy! You made it. Oh and I love those boots, girl. Are they for Aaron or are you just planning on looking cute for no particular reason? She winks at me and I laugh.

Karina’s great. She’s also not subtle, which is a blessing and a curse, as I didn’t plan on telling all of our school that I’m interested in Aaron Maywood. Not that anyone would care, I guess, but I like to keep some things private. Also, I don’t want to scare Aaron off before I can even try to feel him out to see if he likes me and wants to go out with me.

Ugh, people are complicated. Or maybe it’s just my nervousness flaring at high volume.

Have you seen him? I ask as I look around.

He must be here, practically the whole school is, but no I haven’t seen him. Maybe you could just wander about the bleachers a bit and see.

What she’s saying sounds like good advice, but I wring my hands like the anxious disaster of a human that I am. How do boys do this, like, ever? How do they ask people out all the time?

I drop my head into my hands before I push my fingers back through my hair as if combing out my hair was the intention all along. I’m pretty sure I’ve now screwed up everything I did to my hair to look put together earlier. So I run my fingers through my hair again and smile at Karina, hoping it looks confident instead of like a train wreck in motion.

Alright, I’ll schmooze a bit and then come back.

She smiles and waves me off before I jostle my way out of the bodies who are now crowding into the seats.

Great. With all these new people showing up, how am I ever supposed to find Aaron? I get my ass in motion and walk down the bleachers until I’m close to the metal fence separating us from the field before I start my trek back up. This way I should be able to see if Aaron’s on this side of our section or not. If not, I’ll wander around up top before doing a circuit of the other side of the student section. If I can’t find him it might be a lost cause until after the game. I’ll just return to Karina’s side and wallow in my disappointment like the confident young woman I am.

Nice boots. I hear it three different times on my sojourn down to the base of the stairs. Two of them can probably be taken as a compliment, while one definitely should not. I reply with thanks to all of them anyway because I might as well rock the boots while I can.

Once I make it to the bottom and stare at the band for a moment, I take a deep breath. Then I turn and begin my hunt for Aaron Maywood.

Before I make it more than three steps up, Jackie rushes (or as much as she can with so many students crowded in this area) to greet me. Oh my God, Cindy. What’re you wearing? She laughs and I try to keep from grinding my teeth back into my jaw.

I force my facial muscles into the facsimile of a smile. "Oh your hair looks so...straight today. Was that on purpose?" Since I don’t want an answer, I trudge back up the stairs almost forgetting why I even came over here in the first place.

Aaron. Right.

When I find him, he’s halfway up the bleachers to my left. I sigh hard; he’s in the middle of the bench.

Excuse me. Hi, sorry. Excuse me.

Just as I’m about to reach a space next to him, I trip over something by my left boot. Instead of tumbling daintily into Aaron’s lap, which would be ideal, I manage to tumble into the row below in the only conceivable spot where there are no people so I end up striking down hard onto the metal bleacher and smacking my head into the person two rows down. If I made any of that look even semi-dignified it would be a miracle.

"Hey—

"What the—

"Watch—

For fuck’s sake.

The friendly people around me do nothing but stare. Aaron doesn’t even seem to notice. He has on a pair of sunglasses—I’m not sure why as there’s nothing but clouds out here—and is bobbing his head so I presume he also has earbuds in his dumb, stupid head. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I like him. My moment of irritation passes as I push myself up and see his eyebrows rise above the sunglasses. The fact that he cocks his head to the side also lets me know he’s at least mildly interested in my existence. Inside I beam again.

Without waiting for an invite, I plop my butt next to him on the bleachers. He’s one of the few people in the crowd who isn’t standing yet.

The band starts playing and it sounds fine, I guess. I’d probably be more into it if I was paying any attention whatsoever. I have all of my attention focused on Aaron like the socially awkward weirdo I am. I can see an earbud in his ear from this angle and he’s staring off into the distance as if drowning out all the noise around us. I turn away to try to blend in more with the excited people around me but all I end up doing is rubbing my hands over each other and fidgeting while trying to figure out what to say to even open up conversation with this guy. I’ll try after the band is done. That seems reasonable, right?

My chest tightens and I breathe a little faster as I rub my hands together. My toes curl in the ends of my boots. Why can’t I figure out what to say? This always looks so much easier on TV. Hell, it’s easier in real life with people I have no interest in dating. Come on, brain. Come on.

The crisp scent of the air is like caramel apples and pumpkin-flavored delights. It’s one of the two things that break me out of my self-induced panic attack. There are a few girls coming into the bleachers from the opposite side of where I did and they’re carrying candy apples. The smell of pumpkin grows stronger from the same group so I guess they have a pumpkin drink as well from the snack stand. But all of that flushes from my brain when Aaron pushes his sunglasses onto the top of his head and looks over at me.

A small upturn of his lips and a kind Hi have me nervous again, but this time it’s a more pleasant thrum under my skin and a warmth sliding from my brain to my toes and back.

Hi. I sigh in a dreamy state of euphoria.

He laughs. I blush. Whatever warmth spread through my body now pools in my cheeks. But then I laugh a bit, too and the ice that had me panicking breaks.

So, how often do you come to the school games? I make sure I’m turned towards him and my legs cross over each other as I do my best not to kick him in the shins.

How often do you? He counters and it’s both frustrating and endearing.

I smile close-mouthed and then start. I’ve been to a few in previous years but never before on my own. I finally have my license. It’s freeing, you know?

Why can’t I flirt properly? It’s like a waterfall of information spewing out of my mouth, and yeah, he must know what it’s like to have a license since he’s had one for months. I may or may not have stalked my love interest through every social media channel I could find. I’m as equipped as I’m going to be with this fascinating specimen of the opposite gender.

Cool.

Yeah, cool. So, how often do you come to the team games or home games or whatever around here?

Do you mean how often do I come to football games in our school’s own stadium?

Before I can decide if I should be embarrassed about my question, he continues.

I’ve been to all of them. Any one we had since my freshman year, I’ve attended. I like football. Not enough to play, but I enjoy it.

Oh good. This is more than I was expecting based on his previous answer to the same question.

Cool, I say, mimicking him from earlier. And he smiles.

The game starts out slowly, and even though we’re all standing at this point, most of us aren’t watching anything on the field, but each other. I wonder if they’re thinking about any of the things I am. Like, do people actually attend these for the sport, or is it more of a social thing for them? Should I care what other people think? Maybe. Maybe not. But I do tend to imagine different people together, or in arguments, or if one’s secretly an alien hiding out in a human body until it ruptures and takes over the planet. You know, normal things.

I pretty much look at our school, and life in general, as a drama I get to sit in on and occasionally participate in, if I feel like it’s paramount for the story to move along. I do so primarily because it beats the hum-drum of my teenage life. It’s entirely apparent that, as much as other people try to share their exotic lives with other people, we’re all still in the same sinking boat and about to go under. Not that I think this is the Titanic or anything, but many of us are as dramatic as possible to get attention. I’m pretty sure it’s not just me.

Which brings me back to Aaron. He’s still rocking out to something. Earbuds are still in place and he’s nodding his head in a rhythmic motion, which can’t possibly have anything to do with the game, as our players are dropping almost every