By Annemarie Renguso

"Oh. I've been a witch ever since I can remember. It's great! You ought to try it some time." From my seat on a hard, cold boulder in the cave of Miss Gertie Toadstoe, the prospect of trying it some time didn't seem too inviting.

"But when did you first discover that you were a witch?" I stammered, keeping at a safe distance from her pet tarantula spinning peacefully in the corner.

"It was when I was three days old. I unintentionally gurgled a spell and found myself riding my bottle across the room. We witches can ride more than mere broomsticks, you know!"

"Can you tell me one of the advantages of being a witch?" I queried.

"One! Dearie, there are millions. For instance, I can get most anything I need with a twitch of my nose: a new dress, a pair of shoes, or a new boyfriend. I don't have to take time to put on make‑up in the morning. I just snap my fingers! And, of course, being the only witch in this area gives me certain social advantages. With union meetings, protests rallies, and voo‑doo lessons I'm always busy.

Miss Toadstoe muttered a few lethal‑sounding words, and the boulder upon which I was seated promptly jumped five feet into the air.

"Sorry, Dearie. I seem to have gotten the wrong spell. I do get a bit mixed up once in a while. Snurp!"

The boulder I sat on crashed to the ground. Miss Toadstoe went on mumbling.

"One last question. Could you show me how you disappear? Miss Toadstoe? Miss Toadstoe ‑