Chapter Text
"Mom, are you a witch or a wizard? Cuz sometimes people say they're the same thing but sometimes they aren’t," I explained, carefully tacking the paper template to my pumpkin. I had picked a goofy Frankenstein face out of the book of templates that came with the kit, because that was my favorite monster. Also it was marked ‘intermediate’ so it wasn’t for babies but it wasn’t too tricky either. I picked out a scaredy cat arching its back for my mom’s pumpkin. She likes cats, we even have a black one named Newt. That’s also part of being a witch, if you didn’t know. You have to have a Familiar.
I’d been thinking about it for awhile, but I decided to ask about her being a witch now because we were carving pumpkins together and that meant she couldn’t walk away. Also Dad was upstairs working on his computer, just in case he didn’t know. Obviously my mom was trying to keep it secret.
"What? Damien, honey, witches aren't real," Mom said, giving me a confused smile. That's how I knew I was right - that was the smile she gave when I asked if my birthday presents were hidden in her closet (they were). She had dumped all the tools from the two kits out onto the newspaper covering the table, and was sorting them out carefully. I already knew I was going to grab the orange ones, so Mom could have the lime green ones.
“They are, and I know you’re one because the basement has potions and stuff. Also how else would Newt always get better without going to the vet,” I pointed out. It just made sense. I grabbed one of the little saws and started at the top of my template.
“Oh, honey, no - the, the basement is just where I have my crafts and things. It’s not witchcraft,” she said, laughing nervously. “And cats get better all the time, it’s just nature, that’s not magic.” She began pinning the cat pattern onto her pumpkin. I wondered if she could use magic to carve a pumpkin.
“Also you have a witch outfit in your closet with the pointy hat and everything,” I added. I popped out one of the bits I had carved out, and wiped the pumpkin juice off my fingers onto my pants.
“ That’s a Halloween costume, baby,” she said, suddenly laughing and looking relieved. “That’s not anything suspicious.”
“So the other stuff is suspicious?” I asked. “What about how you fixed the car when Dad got in a fender bender?”
“What?” she said, paling.
“Yeah, I saw you look at the bump in it and then you said something and it popped back out,” I reminded her. I didn’t think this was as strong of evidence as the witch hat, but I guess I had to use whatever I had.
“That...I just…well,” she said slowly, rolling her lips. “I just kicked it back into shape is all.”
“Is it like Santa where you can’t tell me how he does his magic?” I asked. I knew it might be secret going in, but I kind of thought being her son would mean she could tell me. Plus, I’m almost ten. “Wait, are you related to Santa? Because most people think he’s white. But I’ve seen a black Santa before.”
She was quiet for a little bit, which was fine because I had to concentrate on my pumpkin. I wanted to make sure the lines were extra good.
"You know Santa and the Tooth Fairy aren't real, right?" she asked gently. She picked up her own little saw and started cutting. She was frowning now, probably because I gave her the harder template. That one was marked ‘advanced.’
"I know adults think that."
Her eyebrows shot up, but she tried to keep the rest of her face neutral. She was still focused on the pumpkin though, carving away.
I shrugged.
"If they really weren't real, how come everyone knows who they are and what they do?"
"Well, I mean, not everyone I'm sure. And there are lots of stories that are popular around the world-"
"Yeah but it's even in TV shows and stuff. And there’s a Santa tracker online."
"Well, a lot of Christian imagery has made its way into-"
"Plus why would you keep lying to other kids once you found out they weren't real?"
"God, Damien," she said with a tense sigh. That was what she usually said when I had asked too many questions.
She was sawing faster now, clearly irritated. She made a jerky movement suddenly, and then said one of the words I am Not Allowed to say.
She let out an irritated "ugh" like when dinner burned or the cat shredded something. She was holding her hand, and I smelled the blood before I saw it oozing off. Gross.
"Can you heal it with magic?" I asked, leaning on the table and trying to take a closer look at it.
She stared at me, blank faced, before shaking her head and walking upstairs.
“Don’t start carving again until I come back down,” she said over her shoulder.
That was okay. There was plenty of time before Trick-or-Treat. I would still have time to ask her about a spell to make fun size candy bars into full size ones.