If Wishes Were by Paula R C Readman, Whiskey Sour cocktail

 

‘I wish that you could make my heart’s desire stand before me,’ Rosa pronounced the words carefully keeping her eyes screwed tightly shut. With fingers crossed, she turned slowly around once, twice on a spot where the guts of a hung man had once spilled. ‘Make him handsome and rich too,’ she continued to recite the spell.

A chilling wind picked up, whisking her hood from her head. It tugged at her dark brown hair, pulling strands from under her bonnet that became stuck to her lips as she muttered the incantation while making her third and final turn.  

Not sure what she was expecting to see, Rosa half-opened her left eye and glanced tentatively around. In the silvery glow of the full moon, all she could see were the gallows bathed in an eerie light.  

‘Why had I wasted my last piece of silver coin on some stupid spell that old crone had sold me?’ she mumbled. ‘What does that wiry old witch know of true love? As if she knew anything of a man’s touch and passion, she wouldn’t be living in a hovel.’

Rosa pulled her hood back on her head and sighed impatiently while recalling the meeting she had with the crone two days ago in the dark wood at her tumbledown hovel. Maybe she should’ve listened to her friend and taken the witch a gift.

Rosa followed the well-worn path into the woods. In a clearing, she came upon a well-tended herb and vegetable garden and saw a small neat white-haired woman sitting on a stool, in a doorway to her run-down home.

‘How can I help you, my dear?’ the white haired woman asked.

‘I seek a man of wealth, old crone,’ Rosa replied.

‘Do you, my dear, girl. And you cannot find one for yourself.’

Rosa was taken aback. ‘Are you insulting me, old woman?’

‘Not at all, my dear child, I’m merely questioning why a young girl of such outstanding beauty is seeking supernatural means to snare a man?’

‘It is none of your business. I’m merely here to pay you for your services.’

The old woman closed her watery eyes, nodded slowly and offering her deformed hand palm up. ‘A piece of silver, my dear girl.’

‘How do I know whether I can trust you,’ Rosa said, her hand covering the pocket that held her purse.

‘In life there’s no guarantee, my child.’

‘Then I could be handing over my silver for nothing.’

The old woman just nodded and smiled.

Rosa pulled out her purse, took a silver coin, and placed it in the witch’s withered hand. As the witch’s fingers closed over the coin, she said. ‘Go to Gallow’s Wood crossroad when the moon is high two nights from now. Draw a circle in the dust where the guts of a hangman have touched the earth and stand within. With your eyes shut, turn three turns and repeat these words— but remember, never to repeat the words to anyone before, or after I have spoken them to you.’

‘I promise, old mother,’Rosa said.

 

As the words died on her lips, Rosa opened her eyes and stood facing a man. Was he her true love? Even in the shimmering light of the moon, Rosa could see he was a handsome, well-dressed man of means. Maybe he had once been rich and rode in fine carriages but not anymore. Rosa studied him. If it hadn’t been for the collar around his throat holding him up in the gallows cage, she would have thought he was sleeping. She wondered what his voice might’ve sounded like and what the caress of his fingers on her skin would’ve felt like, too but sadly he was beyond all of that now.

Disappointed that he was dead and unable to enjoy her pleasures, Rosa headed home. Maybe she shouldn’t have told her dog the words of enchantment the old woman had shared with her, but there again, when has a dog ever been anyone, Rosa said to herself.    

About the Author:

Paula R. C. Readman is a prolific writer. She shares her life with her husband, Russell, and two cats. She collaborates with three publishers and has penned six books and over a hundred short stories.
Blog: https://colourswordspaper.blog or just Google Paula R C Readman, and something’s bound to pop up.