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But it was a hot October –really hot. Like still have the air conditioner on, can’t open the windows without looking like I’d been sweatin’ to the oldies for three-point-three hours, and most of all, haven’t been able to wear my favorite Halloween sweaters, H-O-T.
Still, considering all of that, it was exasperating that she simply refused to let me get my much-neededzzz's.No, it was more than that. It made my ass twitch. It made me want to scream. It made me think about locking my bedroom door at night even though I knew she could get in anyway. It was…
It was… Well, it was the kind of thing that made me rant in my head at Goddess-awful 'o'clock in the morning.
I knew what was coming next. I'd been through it enough times to write the manual, edit it myself, and even draw the illustrations in the How to Survive Having Cleopatra, Queen-in-Her-Own-Mind as a Familiar.
My fanatical Feline with whom I shared a magical connection, the one who slept all day every day, basked in the sun on the cushion specially made for her by my great-great-great Granny while lounging on the table my momma refinished with her own two hands, in front of the stained-glass picture window crafted by my Uncle Raymond – a Witch with the ability to bend Mother Earth's elements to his will - then roamed the house and grounds of Brown Manor looking for any and all reasons to disturb my slumber, was about to extend her finely sharpened talons and dig them into my warm and toasty skin.
Hell, she might even try to connect my freckles to see what new member of the Animal Kingdom she could create. It had happened before. I’d, of course, threatened to turn her into a chicken and feed her to the Gators in the Swamp behind my house. She wasn’t impressed. Although, I did get seven consecutive nights of uninterrupted sleep before it dawned on her that I – of all people in the world– couldnotkill her without dooming myself to eternity as Satan's Litter Box Cleaner. A job absolutely no one wanted, trust me.
Damned rules, they get in the way of all my best ideas.
Well, I wasn't giving in this time. I'd had a big mug of steaming Sweet Dreams Tea – my own blend, available in the one and only Molly Brown's Gifts for All Occasions Shoppe. My comforter was warm from the dryer and gave off the wonderful aroma of my favorite lavender cachet. My pillow was dressed in the softest cover I owned – the one that my Pop Pop and I had shared until I got too big to sit on his lap. And I was in a perfect position - on my left side, my right knee bent, my left leg straight, and my hands curled into my more-than-abundant chest.
I mean, all systems were a go for a long, restful night. It was to be the first of three - that was my rule of thumb. That had been the plan for as long as I could remember. It was whathadto happen before the opening day ofthe event. The highly anticipated, featured in magazines worldwide, and let us not forget - award-winning Brown Family Pumpkin Patch Pick-A-Beauty and Win a Jack-O-Lantern for Life Party-stravaganza.
(Yes, the name was obscenely long, but in my family, you can't argue with tradition. No, I mean,really, you can’t argue about the name. It’s enchanted. You utter a single word against that title, andbingo-bango, you're a white rat. No questions asked. No way to turn you back. The Brown Witches of old did not play nice.)
Not only was the above-mentioned Party-stravaganza the event of the season in the Brown Family Coven's little corner of the world, but people had come from as far as Transylvania to attend the ancient and time-honored festival. Some had traveled from places with symbols instead of letters in their name - which was basically unheard of in our neck of the woods.
(Take that literally, the neck of the woods part, I mean. We live in Nowhere, USA. No, really, that’s the name.)
Bobbing for apples, pin the nose on Jack the Lantern, costume contests for every age, apple cider drinking races – spiked and virgin - and so many delicious, homemade pumpkin goodies that myself and other members of the family got to taste and award ribbons.
(I always dieted from June first to the last day of September just for the occasion. Not that my butt ever got any smaller, but I suppose it was the thought that counted.)
It was all just a small part of the twenty-four-hour celebration to beat all harvest celebrations.
Started by both sets of my great-great-great (Just keep going until you're out of breath) grandparents when my all-those-other-greats-minus-one grandparents were 'knee-high to a katydid'...
(We're southern if you hadn't guessed.)
...Brown's Pick-A-Beauty gave Witches, Ghosts, Goblins, Werewolves, Shifters of all shapes and sizes,heck, any of us who happened to be of the Other persuasion, a chance to mix and mingle with our human neighbors in our actual, Goddess-given forms. It was fun, instilled everybody with a sense of community, and over the years, cut down on the number of angry mobs sporting pitchforks and screaming 'Burn the Witch' or 'Kill the Monster' or 'Skin the Werewolf' to zero.
(In my book, that was a good, round number. One we could all live with –literally.)
And, well, there was the fact that the Powers That Be – aka the Great Goddess, the Universe, and Mother Nature – decided to bestow the immense honor of Keeper of the Sacred Pumpkin to the Brown Family Coven a Blue Moon plus a couple hundred of years ago. In a nutshell, the one Brown Witch, chosen by the birthmark on her booty…
(You guessed it. It just happened to me. Can we all say, ‘UGH’?)
…gets a bag of magic seeds every year. It is her job –my job– to plant them, love them, and share them with the world to foster a love for not only Halloween but all things Other.
As you can imagine, getting three good nights' sleep before I was awakened before the ass-crack-of-dawn on the most incredible day of the whole darned year to get things started was a must. And, as I hope you can also guess, I left nothing to chance.
Even the Sand Woman…
(Yes, she's a woman, not a man. It's a whole other story. A distant relative, twice removed, from the other side of the family and Swamp. Her daughter, Daisy, is the best!)
…was on my side. Cassandra, the Sand Woman, would drop off extra Sleepy Dust, her own specially made white noise machine, and a flask of Boogeyman Brandy to use if nothing else worked.
(Those Boogeys know how to distill brandy, let me tell you. Smooth and warm going down and guaranteed to have you fast asleep in five minutes flat. To be used only when nothing else worked.)
With her help, I hadn't even had that stupid dream – the one that had been driving me crazy since the first spring breeze wafted through my windows.
(Have I told you about it? I think I might have. Not sure. Well, just let me say it involves a sexy man, my kicked-up libido, and seriously erotic dreams nobody ever dared put in a letter to Penthouse.)
So, I was not opening my eyes. Nope. No way. No how. Not gonna do it. I was hunkering down. It was not to b…
