Small House of Everything

Small House of Everything

Monday, February 28, 2011


One final response to the Flash Fiction Challenge.  Forgive me for this one.  As I've noted below, a lot of very talented poeple have risen to the challege.  To read these go to Patti Abbott's blog Pattinase.  There's a lot great stuff on the Blogosphere today.

                                                                      THE ROMANIAN WITCH

Once upon a time there was a Romanian witch.

     At least, she claimed to be Romanian.

     She told people she was Romanian and that she had the power of foresight.

     Her name was actually Maisie Murphy and she was from South Boston.

     She put on a terrible middle-European accent over her real Irish-American one.

     She didn't have the power of foresight, or threesight, or twosight, or even onesight.

     She had no special powers at all.

     She claimed she could cast powerful spells.

     In reality, she was so dumb she could hardly spell.

     She claimed to be able to create potions that would make anybody fall in love with anyone.

     Truth to tell, the only real talent she had was that of disappearing after the check had cleared.

     So it happened that in Romania, where Madame Magda did not come from, there was a move to regulate witches.

     The Romanian government wanted their witches to treat people fairly.

     They wanted their witches to be honest witches.

     This gave all the witches in Romania a good laugh.

     Imagine that, an honest witch!

     Ha-ha! **snort, snort**

     Not only were the Romanian witches dishonest, but they were also stupid.

     They didn't know an opportunity when they saw one.

     Madame Magda may have been dumb, but she wasn't stupid.

     When opportunity knocked, she was right there, ready to open the door.

     Because she was **cough, cough** Romanian, she told her suckers clientele, that the laws of Romania
applied to her.

     (No matter that the law was only proposed, and not enacted.)

     Therefore it was ILLEGAL for her to be dishonest or to cheat her clients.

     What better guarantee could you wish for?

     The only ones dumber than a witch, it seems, are her clients.

     And so they flocked to Madame Magda, and because they believed in truth, justice, the American way, and the power of Romanian law, they thought she was wonderful and didn't see through her shabby tricks.

     It happened that one of the people who flocked to Madame Magda was "Big Mike" McFee.

     "Big Mike" was the toughest, meanest, nastiest man in Southie.

     It's said in Southie that when Whitey Bulger used to see "Big Mike" coming, Whitey would cross to the other side of the street.

     Now that's tough.

     "Big Mike" had an inordinate fondness for his son, "Little Mike".

     A box of rocks had more brains and personality than "Little Mike", but that didn't bother "Big Mike".

     "Big Mike" doted on his son.

     "Little Mike" doted on free-basing.

     One day, while "Little Mike" was free-basing, things went POOF!

     "Little Mike" ended up mightily scarred and "Big Mike" ended up mighty unhappy.

     But "Big Mike" heard of Madame Magda and of her great powers as a witch.

     He heard that she was Romanian and that, by law, she had to be honest.

     Now that was a gurantee "Big Mike" could take to the bank, assuming he could find one that he hadn't robbed.

     So "Big Mike" went to Madame Magda and laid out his problem.

     Madame Magda responded, "No problem.  Scars don't really bother me.  Money up front, please."

     Cash in hand, Madame Magda had to decide what scam spell would best fit the situation.

     It had to be a spell that "Big Mike" and "Little Mike" would think could work.

     She had a lot of spells to choose from and she wasn't sure which one to pick.

     Finally, she said to herself, "I guess Number 57 would be good enough for these jamooks."

     She guessed wrong because Number 57 was only suipposed to take five minutes to work.

     Anyway, she mumboed and jumboed and waved her hands around "Little Mike's" scarred face.

     "There," she said, the scars will be gone in five minuites."

     While "Big Mike" and "Little Mike" were waiting, Madame Magda slipped out the back door.

     Right into the arms of the two gunsels "Big Mike" had stationed there.

     So that's the end of the story and that's the end of Madame Magda.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY (told in a bad Romanian accent):  One should not take someone's car out without checking the gas.


  1. I suspect there is no story in this challenge that will put this one to shame, Jerry.

  2. Enjoyed all your stories. Chance Perdue would like this one the best, I suspect.

  3. Great fun! I, too, heard echoes of Ross Spencer.