Merry Witchmas: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short (Wicked Witches of the Midwest Shorts Book 10) Read online

  Merry Witchmas

  A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Short

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Copyright © 2016 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  One

  18 years ago

  Do you hear that noise? Probably not, but let me tell you something: It’s insipid. No, it’s worse than that. It’s infernal racket that should be outlawed. That’s right. No one really cares about a holly, jolly anything. I certainly don’t. And chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Yeah, that’s a good revenge technique. It certainly doesn’t give me warm fuzzies about the holiday season.

  No, in truth, the only good thing about winters in Michigan is the snow. Ah, you might be wondering why a woman my age – I’m in my prime sixties, thank you, and I get younger every single day – would like snow. That’s because I’ve picked up a new side business over the past few years. I plow snow. I have a big truck with a blade and everything.

  Yes, that’s right. My name is Tillie Winchester and I plow snow for a living. Okay, I’m also a witch and I make my own wine. I have a pot field on the back of the property, too, but I don’t sell the product. I give it away to those in need and use a bit myself. It’s medicinal. No, I swear it is. In truth, I don’t make a lot of money plowing snow. I used to have paying clients, but they fired me because I had a few problems leaving mailboxes unscathed. They thought it was because I couldn’t see properly. I let them believe that because they might press charges if they knew why I really run them over.

  The government is out to get us, people. Mailboxes are merely a way to keep track of our locations until they can inject us with chips and watch our every move. I’m not making it up. I thought about becoming a spy before the notion of plowing great big piles of snow (and potentially burying evidence when hiding from the police) appealed to me, but the idea of helping the government is abhorrent. I would be a great spy, though. Don’t kid yourself. I could definitely do it for a living. As for the mailboxes, I find most of them ugly and I’m merely trying to prevent my neighbors from enabling the government to complete its takeover. I’m doing them a service.

  No, really.

  “Aunt Tillie!”

  My niece Winnie is a good girl but her voice reminds me of fireworks in November. It’s simply too loud and grating. It’s also often unnecessary. I hear her calling me from the kitchen, but one of the good things about getting older is that you can fake hearing loss and no one will dare call you on it in case you find it insulting. I find everything insulting – and sometimes nothing insulting, depending on my mood – so my three nieces wisely refrain from pushing my buttons. They treat me like their goddess, which I heartily encourage.

  “Aunt Tillie!”

  I rolled my eyes as I flipped pages in the catalog. My three great-nieces, Bay, Clove and Thistle, thoughtfully left it behind – open to a page with some castle thing they desperately want to open under the tree Christmas morning – and I needed a distraction. Winnie sounded as if she wanted to give me a chore. I’m too old for chores. I can accomplish them, mind you. I’m still as fit as one of those tennis players I see whacking balls on the television – that sounds like a fun job, doesn’t it? Whacking balls. I could do that professionally – but I have no interest in completing chores. I’m not lazy, I’m just smart about delegating my time. I only have so much of it left on this planet -- a good eighty years or so, I’m sure -- and I have no intention of doing what anyone else wants me to do with my time so limited.

  “Aunt Tillie!” Winnie was exasperated as she poked her blond head through the door that separates the living room and kitchen. Despite having a kid – and a husband who abandoned her – she’s held up well in the looks department. I’m positive she gets that from me. “Did you hear me calling you?”

  I feigned surprise as I lifted my eyes and tilted my head to the side. “Did you say something to me?” Sometimes it’s fun to mess with my nieces. They all handle things differently. Winnie is a planner and control freak, so the idea of me ignoring her is enough to send her over the edge.

  “I’ve been calling your name,” Winnie replied, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She wore a pink apron to keep her clothes clean as she toiled in the kitchen with her sisters. We all share the same roof – that’s three adults, three children and me (who defies categorization) in one space, if you’re keeping count – and even though the house is big, it feels small when everyone is bustling around at the same time.

  “I didn’t hear you, dear,” I said, feigning confusion. “Perhaps I’ve gone temporarily deaf for the day. It’s probably because of that noise in the kitchen.”

  Winnie narrowed her eyes. “What noise?”

  “Something about some grandmother being run over by a reindeer,” I replied. “Oh, and some kid wants a hippopotamus for Christmas. Don’t get that for the girls, by the way. I bet they stink.”

  Winnie made a face, clearly trying to control her temper. She believes patience is a virtue, or some such crap. I can’t really remember. She likes to exert quiet control whenever she can. Her efforts double around the holidays. She doesn’t like big fights. I tend to thrive on them, so we’re complete opposites. Sometimes I wonder if she was switched at birth with some other infant. Of course, she was born at home so that’s not very likely. Still, I’m not ruling it out.

  “Aunt Tillie, I would like to discuss something with you in the kitchen,” Winnie said. “Do you think you could come this way for a few minutes?”

  Ooh, I smell a trap. She’s using her fake “I love and respect you” voice. I’m not going to fall for that. “I’m good.”

  Winnie pursed her lips and increased the intensity of her stare. “I would really appreciate it if you would come in here and talk with me. I promise it will only take a few minutes.”

  That stare works on everyone but me. “Um … no.” I flipped a page in the catalog. “Oh, hey, they have pink beepers in here. I would love a pink beeper.”

  “What do you need a beeper for?” Winnie asked. “Those are for drug dealers and pimps.”

  “I’ve been considering expanding my business base.” That will drive her nuts.

  “Aunt Tillie … .”

  “I’m not getting up,” I said. “I’m old and my hip hurts. You should respect your elders, for crying out loud. Don’t make me put you on my list.”

  I’m good with a threat, but Winnie is bad at fearing them.

  “Get in this kitchen right now!” Winnie barked. “If you don’t come in here I’m going to bring everyone out there. If you thought the Christmas music was bad, wait until we start serenading you.”

  Winnie disappeared through the swinging door without a backward glance. As far as threats go, that was a fairly good one. I heaved out a sigh as I pushed myself to
my feet. She isn’t winning, mind you, I simply refuse to push the issue until she asks me to do something I really don’t want to do. Then you’ll see me win … in any manner necessary.

  I found Winnie behind the counter, her sisters Twila and Marnie flanking her, when I walked through the door. I didn’t miss the furtive glances Marnie and Twila exchanged before I spoke.

  Twila is something of a free spirit who many of her cues from me. She’ll make a great crazy old lady one day. She likes to do things like glue eyelashes on ceramic frogs and paint murals and canvases in the yard while naked. I encourage that. She’s also something of a kvetch. She won’t shut up.

  As for Marnie, she has Middle Child Syndrome. She’s constantly trying to live up to Winnie’s expectations – and beat her whenever possible. She’s a complainer, but she also has an … um … witchy streak I find more than delightful. She can make a grown woman cry in less than thirty seconds with only one insult and two glares in her arsenal. It’s quite the sight.

  “What do you want?” I asked, adopting a gruff tone. “I’m old and tired, and you’re bugging me.” What? They know they’re bugging me. They’re doing it on purpose. I’m hardly hurting their feelings.

  “We want to talk to you about your attitude,” Winnie replied. “We feel you’ve been something of a … what’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Jerk,” Marnie supplied, earning a dark look from me.

  “I haven’t been talking about you behind your back,” Twila announced. “I refused to do it. If you’re going to punish someone, I suggest punishing them. I’m the innocent party here. They’ve wronged me.”

  I was going to wrong her right onto my list if she didn’t stop babbling. “What’s wrong with my attitude?” I asked, ignoring Twila’s jabbering. “I think my attitude is delightful.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” Winnie said. “You think you can do no wrong and you walk around making sure everyone else thinks that way, too. You’re giving the girls the wrong impression about following rules.”

  “How so?” I asked. “I don’t believe rules should be applied to everyone. There’s an exception to every rule. That exception is usually me. What ‘wrong impression’ am I giving them?”

  Winnie pressed her lips together as Twila shuffled from one foot to the other. Marnie simply stared me down. She’s smarter than Winnie in some ways. She was waiting for Winnie to tick me off so she could swoop in with a compromise and look like the hero. I’m on to all three of these witchy wonders.

  “The girls have started adopting some of your attitude,” Twila said, licking her lips. “I heard Thistle telling Bay and Clove that they were on her list last night.”

  I snorted. That sounded just about right. “Thistle is a mouthy pain,” I said. “I like her … some of the time. I don’t see what the problem is. If Thistle wants to make a list, I think it’s a great idea.

  “It improves her writing skills … and planning skills … and organizational skills,” I continued. “There’s really no downside to Thistle starting a list.”

  “It also improves her revenge skills, tyrant skills and unfiltered mouth skills,” Winnie pointed out.

  She said that like it was a bad thing. “I still don’t see the problem,” I said, planting my hands on my hips.

  The grim set of Winnie’s jaw told me she was done playing games. “Listen, we love you,” she said. “You know that. We wouldn’t trade you for anything. You’ve got to stop being a bad role model for the girls, though.”

  “You raised us after Mom died and we will be forever grateful,” Twila added. “But Thistle is turning into a real handful. She sees you acting out and thinks it’s okay.”

  If they thought for one second they could blame Thistle’s willfulness on me, they had another thing coming. “I’m not the one who lets her get away with murder,” I pointed out. “I punish her when she gets out of line. You’re the ones who let her run roughshod over this household. I can’t believe you think I’m the root of her issues.”

  “That’s not what we said,” Winnie clarified. “It’s just … she’s getting worse every day. She says whatever comes to her mind and, well, frankly … um … she’s channeling you for most of this bad behavior.”

  “She’s never been a sweet girl, but she used to be controllable,” Twila said. “I don’t know what to do with her. She bosses Clove and Bay around as if they’re her slaves. It’s not healthy.”

  “I think you’re worrying too much,” I said. “Thistle only acts this way because she gets away with it. Eventually Bay and Clove are going to get fed up and give her a dose of her own medicine. That’s what you want.”

  “That’s the last thing we want,” Winnie argued. “This house isn’t big enough for World War III.”

  “It won’t come to that,” I said. “Thistle only acts up because no one pushes back when she does. If you would let Bay and Clove off their leashes, they would teach Thistle a thing or two about getting too big for her britches.

  “As it stands now, Bay and Clove follow the rules and they’re handicapped because Thistle doesn’t follow the rules,” I continued. “You have to even the playing field.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Twila said.

  “That sounds like the way of the world,” I corrected. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll have a talk with the girls and figure things out. If that’s what you want me to do, I’m more than willing to step in and do my part to fix Thistle’s attitude.”

  What? That won’t take more than two or three minutes, right? I’ll just lay down the law with Thistle and then leave the room when she melts down. By the time dinner rolls around she’ll be fine again.

  “That’s not why we called you in here,” Winnie said. “We don’t want you to talk to the girls. Quite frankly, whenever you do that you give them harebrained ideas about controlling the world, and then I get a call from Lila Stevens’ mother because they’ve ganged up on her and done something truly awful and are in danger of being expelled or something.”

  “Hey, Lila has it coming,” I said. I was pretty sure that kid was Hitler in a past life or something. She’s evil incarnate. “If Lila doesn’t want the girls going after her, she should leave them alone.”

  “That’s hardly the point,” Winnie said.

  “And what is the point?” I was losing track of the conversation.

  “We need you to be on your best behavior for the next couple of weeks,” Twila said. “We’re going to try to teach the girls by example instead of words. If everyone in the house gets along, then they’ll get along.”

  “Have you been watching Oprah?”

  Winnie made a face as her world-famous patience wore thin. “That’s our new plan and you’re going to stick to it. Do you understand?”

  “Have you gotten into the eggnog early?” I challenged. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’ll act as I see fit.”

  Winnie crossed her arms over her chest and scorched me with a harsh look. “Do you understand?”

  She clearly meant business. That meant I could either fight with her or capitulate and operate behind her back. The only question was: What was I in the mood for today? Decisions, decisions. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “That’s great,” Winnie said, exhaling heavily. “We really appreciate it.”

  “Yes, I’m always happy to help,” I said. “So … um … is that all? Can I go back to the living room and take a nap?”

  “Actually, we were hoping you would spend some time with the girls this afternoon and put your new attitude on display,” Marnie hedged. “We thought it would be a good example for them to see you acting in a certain manner first.”

  That sounded absolutely terrible, and I didn’t even know what they were trying to trick me into doing yet. “I think I’m good. I can show them how to act while taking a nap, too. I’ll definitely be on my best behavior then.”

  Winnie wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what we have in mind.”

&nb
sp; I could tell I was going to hate whatever plan they cooked up while I was distracted by the catalog in the other room. “And what did you have in mind?”

  “Walkerville’s tree-lighting ceremony is this afternoon,” Twila said. “We thought you might want to take the girls to it.”

  The only way they could have thought that was a legitimate possibility is if they started smoking crack when I wasn’t looking. “I think I’ll pass.”

  This time Twila and Marnie crossed their arms over their chests and joined Winnie in a no-nonsense stance. It was supposed to be terrifying. It made me want to laugh.

  “I still think I’ll pass,” I said.

  Apparently Winnie wasn’t going to give me the chance, because she opened her mouth and bellowed to the second floor by way of forcing my hand. “Girls, your Aunt Tillie is going to take you to the tree-lighting ceremony. Get bundled up and down here in five minutes.”

  “Yay!”

  I heard Clove’s enthusiastic clapping through the ceiling and rolled my eyes. “Do you think that’s going to work on me?”

  “Are you really going to disappoint them?” Winnie challenged. “They’ll cry.”

  She had a point. Still … . “Fine,” I said, blowing out a resigned sigh. “I’ll take them.”

  “And you’ll be on your best behavior,” Marnie added. “You need to set an example for them.”

  “And I’ll be on my best behavior,” I conceded, striding toward the living room door before staring down all three of them. “You’re all on my list, though. Prepare yourselves for war.”

  Yeah, I’ve got your jingle bells right here, people. Christmas is coming and I’m taking charge of the entire holiday. It’s going to be a bumpy sleigh ride. Strap in.

  Two

  “Are you ready?” I secured Clove’s pink combat helmet under her chin before pointing toward my plow truck. “Get in.”