The Tammi pic above was commissioned by MTJ Publishing a while back as a “Happy Holidays” greeting. I’ve always loved this picture and thought it really needed a little story to go with it.
Happy holidays to one & all!
Colin
THE FIRST TICKLE WITCH
“Once there was a witch…” Iris Griffin smiled as she spoke, leaning her head with its reddish-blonde bob of hair back on the sofa. Her pink lips formed a lazy smile. “A very mischievous witch,” she went on, then let her voice trail off into a low almost-growl that sounded oddly like a cat’s purr.
Snow and sleet rattled against the tightly spell-bound windows. Logs crackled and spat on the hearth, casting a warm glow on the living room. Professor Penelope Pringle sat on the floor with her legs curled demurely beneath her, sipping a mug of the most delicious herbal tea she had ever tasted. She had accepted the Griffins’ invitation eagerly, but also with a certain trepidation. After all, Iris was a very powerful witch, and Professor Pringle knew she had made a bit of a pest of herself occasionally. All she was trying to do was become a witch herself, after all, which she was certain was her destiny. But some people did tend to overreact. And while Iris’s niece Tammi was a very junior witch, she was that rarest and most peculiar example of the breed, a tickle witch. The Professor’s sensitive feet had suffered under Tammi’s wriggling, spell-casting fingers more than once. What if this invitation was simply a pretext for a bit of tickle-torture?
So she had packed her bag full of protective amulets and charms and pre-intoned cantrips before setting out for the Griffin house. But she had been so charmed by the utter coziness of the place that she immediately forgotten all caution. She had even taken off her shoes at Iris’s request, meekly as a lamb.
Tammi squirmed on the floor. “C’mon, Aunt Iris!” she said. “Don’t tease like that!”
“Yeah,” her friend Rachael said. “What about that mischievous witch? Was she anything like this one?” she added, pointing her bare toes at Tammi, then giggling and pulling her foot away as the laughing blonde witch grabbed for it.
The Professor watched the girls’ playful antics shrewdly. She couldn’t quite figure Rachael out. She wasn’t a witch, but there was something about her…she teased Tammi quite fearlessly, wriggling her toes just out of reach while lazy Tammi tried to tickle them without relinquishing her comfy spot on the floor. A moment later Professor Pringle felt a tingle in the air as magical energy began accumulating. Oh my goodness, she’s going to use tickle magic…oh dear. Trying to be casual, she grabbed her toes, pretending to warm them, but really holding onto them for dear life.
“Girls,” a voice cautioned grumpily. “Stop that nonsense.” The voice was thrillingly deep and masculine, a Richard Burton kind of voice…but it came from the tiny grey kitten that sat beside Iris on the couch. That was another case of appearances being deceptive. Penelope Pringle had heard very frightening rumors in the online magic community concerning the nature of Iris Griffin’s familiar Pyewackit.
“What is this story about, exactly?” Professor Pringle asked timidly, feeling a need to intervene before Pyewackit decided to discipline his unruly charges. Perhaps the little demon would decide that a good tongue-lashing on the girls’ soles would be appropriate…and he might just decide to include Penelope in that punishment.
“It’s my story,” Tammi said proudly, kicking her bare feet in the air. “I make Aunt Iris tell it to me every Yule. It’s the story of the very first tickle witch!”
“This was a long time ago,” Iris said, her brilliant green eyes closed. “There were a lot more witches then, and the clans were much better organized, with a lot less in-fighting. This witch I’m telling you about…nobody remembers her name or which clan she belonged to. She might have been an Alicorne or a Drake, a Manticora, or even a Wyvern…”
“I’ll bet she was a Griffin, like you guys,” Rachael said.
“Perhaps she was. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. But the point is, she was considered rather odd. She was very accomplished in all the major branches of spellcraft, but she had never given herself over to one discipline, as most witches do when they come of age. She went barefoot every chance she could get.”
“Just like Tammi,” Rachael laughed.
“And she was extremely fond of tickling other girls her age, whether they were mortal or witch.”
“Guilty!” Tammi giggled, raising a hand.
“And the really funny thing was,” Iris went on, sipping from her own mug. “Everyone felt a peculiar urge to tickle her as well. And she really was ticklish, possibly the most ticklish girl anyone had ever met.”
“That’s Tammi alright,” Rachael said, smiling at her friend so mischievously and yet so affectionately that the Professor felt oddly jealous.
“So as you might imagine, she very much enjoyed life, this witch of ours. But she knew she didn’t fit in and it bothered her. The older witches were very disapproving. As were their familiars,” Iris added, playfully ruffling Pyewackit’s fur.
“Very rightly too,” the familiar grumped. “Magic’s not for giggling and toe-wiggling. I always say…”
“They wanted her to commit to a particular area of magic,” Iris interrupted quickly. “But she simply wasn’t interested in hearth magic or herbalism or pyromancy or what have you. So she decided to travel into the deep dimensions and consult an oracle to find out what magical discipline she was best suited for.
“Now this was serious business, because the oracles are beings of pure magic who exist on multiple time-planes.” Professor Pringle understood that Iris was speaking directly to her, explaining an arcane bit of magic lore that Tammi and probably even Rachael probably knew all about. She wasn’t sure if she felt offended or delighted.
“They’re generally friendly, but if they think someone is going to cause problems or make an alliance with evil, they’ll just…” The witch lifted a slender hand and made an odd gesture like someone pinching out a candle flame.
“This oracle lived in a deserted temple in a wild wood within the deep dimensions. The witch journeyed a long time to get to her, and once she arrived at the temple she had to wait even longer before the oracle manifested.
“She looked like a young girl, very beautiful, with long white hair and a flowing robe…”
“And she was barefoot,” Tammi cried, her eyes wide with delight.
“Yes, she certainly was. The witch felt quite humble and began fumbling in her bag for the offering of fruit she had brought. But as the beautiful oracle drew nearer, she felt strange and light-headed. Then, before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
“When she woke up, she was bound to the stone table that the temple was built around. Her own sandals had been removed, and when she saw the oracle smiling down at her bare feet, with a feather in her hand, she knew exactly what was going to happen. She was scared, but not entirely, because she loved tickling and being tickled so much. So when the oracle began drawing the feather over the soles of her feet, she giggled and giggled, but didn’t cry for mercy.
“And it’s just as well, because the oracle was merciless. She tickled each of the witch’s toes with her feather and slid her nails over her arches. It was as though she were playing a musical instrument of some kind, an instrument based on laughter. The witch laughed until she shook and tears rolled down her cheeks. She laughed until birds flew out of the trees and she laughed the sun right out of the sky. Then when the moon took its place she laughed that out as well, until the sun came creeping timidly back. But at no point did she beg for mercy or curse the oracle.”
Professor Pringle had been sitting quite still, listening raptly to Iris’s story. She realized suddenly that Tammi and Rachael and even Pyewackit were looking down at the carpet before the fire. A glowing light had manifested in the air there, and in it Professor Pringle could see shapes. A beautiful young girl with close-cropped blonde hair (who indeed bore a resemblance to Tammi) was strapped to a stone table, giggling helplessly as another blonde girl tickled her toes with a feather.
The images seemed to shift before her eyes, showing her the scene from different perspectives. Professor Pringle realized that Iris was doing this. She sat with her eyes closed and her hands extended, her delicate fingers seeming to tickle the air as she told her story.
“Finally,” Iris said. “The oracle stopped tickling. The bonds fell from her body and the oracle said, ‘You have come to me to learn what kind of magic you should pursue, and the answer was within you all the time. You are not a fire witch or a hearth witch, not a stone witch or an herbalist. You are a creature of laughter and joy and a pleasure so subtle it is sometimes torturous. You are a barefoot creature of delight. You are a tickle witch.’”
Tammi was smiling rapturously, her eyes shut. “I wish I could have known her,” she whispered.
“I feel like I already do,” Rachael said fondly, looking at her friend.
“It was a lovely story,” Professor Pringle blurted out. “So beautiful. So what happened to the witch?” She stared at the glowing spot on the carpet but it was already fading out of existence.
“She went back to the world and practiced her own special magic as best she could. She did some quite remarkable things, but that’s a story for another time. Now,” Iris went on, smiling. “Who would like some spice cake?”
“Me!” Tammi cried, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll go get the plates and forks.”
“I’ll help,” Rachael said, following her.
“It was really lovely of you to invite me tonight,” Professor Pringle told Iris once they were alone. “I know I haven’t always endeared myself to you…”
“Don’t worry about the past tonight, Penelope,” Iris said, smiling her lazy smile. “It’s Yule. Just enjoy it.”
“You know,” Professor Pringle said, clearing her throat. “Perhaps I should consult an oracle myself…I do feel I have so much untapped magical potential…what do you think?”
“I think perhaps I should suggest a barefoot tickle fight when the girls get back in,” Iris told her, her smile widening in a way that was just a bit frightening.
“Ah,” Professor Pringle said nervously. “You know,” she went on quickly, raising her mug to her lips, “This really is the most wonderful tea!”
“Glad you like it,” Iris said, winking.
THE END
