The Greatest Witch Hunter

Can love overcome a dark witch? A chance meeting in Salem, Massachusetts leads to a new discovery, an unfinished 1938 diary, a powerful dark witch, a mystery solved, and an unexpected romance.

Author's Notes: This is a longer story and starts with some 'world building'. If you want something quicker, please enjoy the many other excellent

Halloween Story Contest 2023

stories. Think back to the days when you went trick-or-treating carrying an orange plastic pumpkin with a hole in the top. When you got back to your house, you would empty everything out and find all kinds of interesting candies. This story is similar, offering a wide variety of treats, and could have been placed in any of several categories. Grab your plastic pumpkin and enjoy.

Special thanks to KCLeggs69 for a Beta read and an awesome job of editing.

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Introduction

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"It is one thing to believe in witches, and quite another to believe in witch-smellers."

-- G.K. Chesterton. "Eugenics and Other Evils", 1922.

"Witch smellers... were important and powerful people amongst the Zulu and Bantu-speaking people of Southern Africa. They were responsible for rooting out alleged evil witches in the area..."

-- The American Journal of Sociology, January 1951.

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Chapter 1 - A Very Special Tea

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After removing the scones from my oven, I hung my flour-dusted white apron on a wooden peg and prepared for a busy day. It was Halloween Eve, when witches and watchers from around the world descended on Salem, Massachusetts. The summer had been a good one at my tea shoppe, but I needed a good Halloween and Christmas season to tide me through the lean winter, and have enough to repair my aging roof next spring. It did not help my shoppe was two blocks off the cobblestones and brick storefronts of Essex Street, but after I dropped out of pharmacy school, there was no way I could afford to mingle amongst the T-shirt and souvenir shops, witch museums, and ghostly tour operators.

My shoppe was originally a house, but someone turned it into a store in the 1960s. The exterior still bore faded colors from the Hippie Generation. After purchasing my home, I upgraded the kitchen, converted the parlor into a seating area, and used the built-in bookshelves to display jars of tea, scented oils, and imported herbs from Ireland. I heard the tinkle of the old bell as the front door opened. Just inside the door was a tall man with brilliant red hair and a beard. He appeared near my age, not quite thirty, but getting close.

Smiling, I said, "Hello! Lovely day today. Warm for this time of year, with no rain and no wind. I have freshly baked scones this morning. Cranberry Walnut, Pumpkin Spice, and Maple Glazed. I also have many kinds of green and black teas, plus a large collection of herbal teas. I would be happy to make some for you."

The man said, "Good morning. I stopped by the tourist information center this morning, and an old woman suggested I come here. She told me to look for Lizbet and to ask for your special tea."

"That's me! I'm Lizbet, and the woman you spoke with is my great-grandmother. She recently celebrated her 104th birthday and works there to keep from slowing down."

I drew a deep breath. My Grand Nanna had prepared a batch of her special tea last spring, with dried tea leaves and some uncommon ingredients. I only serve it to customers she referred to my shoppe. This was only the third time. I am to contact my mother if I notice anything unusual, but thus far, nothing strange has happened.

"My name is Phineas, but everyone calls me Finn. The inside of your shoppe smells nice. Fresh baked goods, old wood, tea, spices, and oils. When I was young, my father would take me to the Boston waterfront, where they offloaded spices. The smells were amazing."

"I'll make us both some tea, compliments of the house." I grabbed the glass jar with the special tea, along with one of my favorites, an Autumn Hibiscus Tea, and then moved behind the counter to my small prep area.

Finn said, "I just finished a book on the Salem Witch Trials and decided to come here this year to see for myself. I wanted actual history, real events, and places, so I stopped at the visitor center to learn where NOT to go. Besides the tea, she mentioned you know quite a bit of Salem history."

"The witch trials were certainly real, and they did happen here, but the truth has been obscured and stretched, so the facts can be difficult to find."

"I had a reservation for a room in Boston, but thanks to a last-minute cancellation, I grabbed a room at the Hawthorne Hotel. Expensive, but it has a lot of history."

"You were quite lucky," I replied.

As I made the tea, I chattered about teas from different places, ways to prepare them, and all the many flavors. The man seemed somewhat indifferent. To me, tea was my life and livelihood. Perhaps to him, the brew was only brown-colored water. I switched to my review of the top historical attractions in Salem, drawing greater interest from him. With much-practiced skill, I quickly had two small pots ready and brought them to a table by the window.

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Chapter 2 - A Lesson In History

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I continued, "I wonder, especially with your red beard and red hair, if you have Irish roots like me. My family members have lived here in Salem for hundreds of years, but the early days were unpleasant. We were here during the Salem Witch Trials, but relax, none of my ancestors were accused of witchcraft."

He looked at me funny, and I wondered if he suspected my wording was intentional. Did he think my ancestors were witches, as am I, but were lucky enough to avoid being accused? I served him the special tea from one pot and filled my cup from the other.

He laughed and replied, "I do have Irish roots. It was tough being a red-haired Irish kid in Boston. I spent many a Halloween dressed as a Leprechaun."

"Since you read a book on the Salem Witch Trials, you probably know mass hysteria played a large part in condemning innocent women for witchcraft. Some people in Salem in 1692-93 had a personal investment in finding witches. One way they determined whether someone was a witch was the 'touch test'. If the accused witch touched the victim while the victim was having a fit, and the fit stopped, it meant the accused had afflicted the victim. As ridiculous as the touch test sounds, people believed it."

He said, "Some people believe the cause was Ergot poisoning due to spoiled grain. But the victims had no other symptoms of Ergotism. There were similar trials held in neighboring towns. Even more interesting, only the teenage girls, not their families, were affected. And, even then, only when an accused witch entered the room. What do you think was the actual cause?"

I replied, "The story passed down within my family is a powerful dark witch from England who arrived in Salem a few years before the trials began, bringing dark magic with her. Historians invented all the other reasons because they refuse to accept magic as real."

"You're not serious, are you? There is no such thing as magic."

There is no point defending magic against a non-believer, so I took the easy way out. "People who believe in Leprechauns believe magic is real."

He looked puzzled.

I continued, "Salem was a Puritan community in 1692, but not everyone was a Puritan. Several Puritans had become wealthy and bought or hired Indentured Servants and Washerwomen from Ireland. The Irish were generally very poor, not unlike conditions back in Ireland. When any Irish became ill, they sought out women with knowledge of herbs and flowers to make various salves and teas. My family brought this knowledge from Ireland with them and gathered new herbs with the help of the indigenous Naumkeag band of Indians. The physicians in Salem were not always pleased since anyone thus cured was one less paying patient."

Finn said, "What is the odd mark on your left hand."

I was familiar with the mark, located near the base of my thumb and index finger, a small tattoo consisting of what looked like a capital L and V, followed by two dots. I responded, "I have had the marks all of my life. My mother told me she made it when I was born. She has the same marks on her hand. It has been passed down from mother to daughter for over four hundred years. It's the mark of a healer. The mark allows healers to identify each other and share their knowledge."

"To brew up evil potions in their cauldrons?" he laughed.

I did not find this funny at all, and fire blazed in my eyes, but just for a moment before my smile returned. I was beginning to dislike this arrogant and foolish man. "I went through the pre-med program at Wellesley, then onto pharmacy school, but I dropped out near the end of my first year. The professors knew nothing about traditional and herbal medicines. We spent most of the year learning how their drugs harm rather than help you. You may consider them to be potions, but traditional medicine is popular right now, and now that I own my shoppe, I have the freedom to explore it."

"I can see you like your freedom," he said, staring at my breasts instead of looking me in the eye.

I had gone minimalist this morning, wearing a long-sleeved, belted floral Midi dress with a modest V-neck and flared hemline but no bra or panties. Looking down at my dress, I saw two prominent points on the front. His recent outburst had raised more than just my temper. While quite an attractive man, almost stunning in some ways, he made me nervous, and I hoped other customers would arrive soon.

"I think we have finished with tea and history," I announced, collecting the pots and cups and taking them to a small prep area behind the counter.

Picking up my cell phone, I texted my mother. "Red-headed man at my shoppe. Sinseanmháthair sent him. Gave him special tea. Making me nervous. Come quick!"

Her response was, "Keep him there! I'm on my way!"

My mother lived only a five-minute walk away, but I hoped she would be quicker.

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Chapter 3 - Something Smells

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As I emptied the pots into a small sink, I felt Finn's presence behind me and turned to face him.

"Customers are not allowed behind the counter," I snapped. I turned away from him, fumbled, and nervously dropped a teaspoon on the floor.

As I bent over to pick it up, I heard him say, "Let me help."

Pausing in mid-bend, I was shocked when he grabbed the bottom hem of my dress and lifted it, pressing his face against my bare bum! His warm skin and soft beard were tight against me, and I could feel his breath between my legs. Mildly arousing, but I would have none of it!

"You pervert! Get out of my shoppe!"

He began to lean back, but remembering my mother's words to keep him here, I reached back and pulled him tightly against me, a place where I hoped he could do the least harm. Just then, I heard the soft tinkle of the bell and was relieved to see my mother enter the shoppe.

"Mom! Over here! Why is he doing this? I'm not wearing anything underneath. I'm commando! Make him stop."

"Now, Lizbet, the young man is only doing what he is destined to do. He is a witch hunter."

"What?" I yelled.

"Relax, Lizbet, you have found us a witch hunter!"

My mom grabbed one of the COVID masks near the cash register and moved behind the counter.

"Here, young man, lean back and put this on."

He slipped out from beneath my dress, and once free, I stepped away. Turning, I saw my mom put the mask on his face.

"Now, young man, it is time to control yourself. This mask should lessen the intensity of the smell. Lizbet is a witch, and with the help of the special tea, you were drawn to her smell. A witch's smell."

He replied, "So, you might say instead of being under her spell, I was under her smell?"

He looked up at me with puppy dog eyes, expecting a reaction, but was disappointed when I gave him my 'double-don't-you-go-there' look.

"Let's all sit down, and I will explain," said my mom. "What did you smell young man?"

"Very little, at first, but the smell was stronger as I moved closer to Lizbet. Then she bent over to pick up the teaspoon, and I squatted to help. Suddenly, something clicked, and I was drawn to her smell. I couldn't help myself. The urge was too powerful. It was not a womanly smell, more like fresh-turned earth. A natural smell. Like moss in springtime, or a forest right after a rain. I would describe the smell as Gaia."

"Witches are part of the natural world. You were attracted to Lizbet's witch pheromones."

Finn asked, "Is she an actual witch, or does she pretend to be one?"

My mom replied, "She is indeed, as am I. Pheromones escape through pores onto the skin. They float off into the air and can affect those nearby. Scientists accept the fact insects and animals produce pheromones affecting social and sexual behavior, but few believe humans can excrete or smell them."

"Witches release a unique pheromone, and according to legend, only witch hunters can smell it. Of course, we don't know if the legend is true because there haven't been any witch hunters in many years. The special tea increases your sensitivity to the smell for about eight hours. Until the tea wears off, you will be irresistibly attracted to a witch's pheromones. It can overcome your willpower, making you do things you may not want to."

She continued, "Most mammals, including humans, have a vomeronasal gland, or VNO. It's a small opening or pit in the nasal passage, lined with chemoreceptors. Evolution has removed the pathways between the VNO and the brain in humans. Sometimes, Mother Nature leaves the right genetic sequence, allowing those signals to reach the brain. It is hereditary, meaning almost certainly one of your ancestors had this ability."

He interrupted. "Hold everything. I follow the science, but I'm not a witch hunter. I'm an accountant."

"We would never force anyone to become a witch hunter," said Mom, "but it might be interesting to see if you have descended from one."

Mom climbed up the ladder to fetch a wooden box at the top of a cabinet. Inside was an old leather book, one I had seen many times before. She said an incantation over the box and opened it. "This book is protected by magic, and without these words, cannot be opened. Now, young man, what is your birth name?"

He glanced up at my mother with a skeptical look. "Fogg, with an 'F'. Phineas Fogg. But I prefer to be called Finn."

She turned the pages and stopped on one. "Here we are, at the 'F's. Fallon, Feeney, Finnegan, and look there. Would your grandfather or great-grandfather also be named Phineas, from Boston?"

"Yes. I was named after my great-grandfather. I think he was from Boston, but otherwise, I don't know anything about him. I'm not sure why, but we never talk about him."

The notations here are very interesting. Your great-grandfather was a witch hunter, but not an ordinary one. Many consider him to be the Greatest Witch Hunter of all time. The notation was written by my mother, who knew him, and it says here she has his journal. You should hear his story and it would be best to hear it from her."

"I wanted to learn Salem history," said Finn, "But I never expected this."

"Lizbet, call your great-grandmother and tell her to come right now. Let her know we have found the great-grandson of the famous witch hunter, Mr. Phineas Fogg."

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Chapter 4 - The Test

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My mom asked, "While we are waiting, have you ever summoned magical energy?"

"Whoa! I don't know anything about magic, and absolutely do not believe in it."

"Your lack of belief matters not. Once you see it and feel it, you will believe it. The ability to summon magic is rare in males and is often hereditary. Your ability to smell witch's pheromones means you may have this gift. If you are going to become a witch hunter, you must summon magical energy and then transfer it into your weapon. Your weapon possesses the knowledge needed to block spells cast by dark witches."

"What happens if a dark witch casts a spell at me, and I don't have a dagger?" asked Finn.

"Dark spells work because the victim believes they will work, or worse, the victim wants them to work. Dark witches use guile and trickery to make this happen. But their main weapon is fear. You are afraid, so your mind is fooled into thinking their dark spell will work. But if you hold steady, the spell will have no effect. But you should know some dark witches are so powerful they can force their will on you even without your acceptance."

"As a witch hunter, you only hunt dark witches. Some witches pretend to be dark, but they are not. Their powers are limited, or even non-existent, and they cause the world no real harm. You can tell a truly dark witch by her smell, which is said to be a deep smoky smell as if their insides are on fire. It is as if an internal flame has corrupted their bodies."

My mom pulled a small dagger from her purse. "I brought the weapon of a witch hunter. Like all magical tools, we must bless your dagger before use. It is not the size or quality of the blade determining its status, but rather the act of consecrating it for magical use." My mom said a spell over the dagger and handed it to Finn.

"It's not very big," Finn replied. "Do you have a broadsword or a claymore instead? Something with some heft to it?"

"Those weapons are far too unwieldy. A dagger is much easier to conceal. Size matters not with magic. So long as you hold the dagger, and summon enough magical energy, it will block everything a dark witch throws at you. Concentrate on the weapon, and ask it to protect you. Above all, trust and believe in your dagger. Now stand back, and I will try a curse on you."

"How do you summon magic?" asked Finn.

"Hold your dagger up so you can see both dagger and witch. Look at the small crystal near the hilt. In your mind, silently say, 'Protect me'. It will either work or not. Get ready. If you don't summon any magic to block my spell, this may hurt."

"Mom!" I yelled.

She called out a spell, and a moment later, a jar of tea leaves exploded on the wooden shelf behind Finn.

"You missed, Mom."

"No, Lizbet, Finn summoned magic to block the spell."

Finn said, "I did like you said and saw a flash of light from your hand. A transparent shield formed around the dagger, and I saw the light deflect off."

"Do you believe in magic now, Finn? Or would you like to offer a different explanation?"

"I don't believe, but somehow I have to believe. Light from your hand and the exploding jar of tea could be simple tricks any magician could perform, but I felt something deep inside me."

"Something magical," said my mom.

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Chapter 5 - The GOAT

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My Grand Nanna entered the shoppe, looking extremely happy, carrying a wooden box.

"He passed," said mom.

Grand Nanna yelped with joy and hugged Finn. "Up close, you look so much like him. My old eyes couldn't be sure, but when I saw the red beard, red hair, and the name you signed in the register, I thought back to when I was a young woman and first met your great-grandfather. I was just nineteen years old, one of his junior assistants, working in a small office in Boston, until the day he got killed. I kept some of his personal effects in this box, hoping for this day. Your great-grandfather was a witch hunter. Many consider him to be the greatest of all time. I believe you call them GOATs today. He kept a journal, and you should know what happened to him. Let me read to you a few of his last entries."

She opened the box, again using a softly worded incantation, and pulled out a leather notebook tied with a thin strap. She opened the book and paged about two-thirds of the way back. She said, "Oh my, I haven't heard some of these words in a long time."