Hal, The Witch's Dog

On the tip of the top of Witch Hat mountain; a mountain so called because it was as black as midnight and looked very much like a witch’s tall, conical hat; in a house carved out of a giant, orange pumpkin, lived a witch called Madge Ick and her cauldron born daughter, Muse.

Muse was a very unconventional young witch. She wore a big purple flower, pinned to the broad brim of her witches hat and while other young witches were riding on their broomsticks, Muse only wanted to sweep with it; while other young witches were using their cauldrons for cooking up magical spells, she only wanted to make tasty soups and stews and while other young witches were busy working mischief and doing wicked things, Muse only wanted to be helpful and do good.

So, it came as little surprise to Madge when, one Halloween morning; instead of a jet black cat with emerald green eyes, which would have been a normal Halloween gift for a young witch, Muse asked her Mother for a dog.

“A dog?”, asked Madge, dissappointedly.

“A puppy dog”, said Muse, “With big floppy ears and a wet nose, that I can cuddle and play with”.

Madge Ick groaned a heavy sigh, “I knew that, when I was making you in my cauldron, I should have used more venom; a sprinkling more of snakebite and a scorpion tail or two. You are far too girly to be a proper witch”, she said, but the old woman secretly loved her daughter very much and so, after a great deal of pleading and sulking, she gave in to Muse’s unusual demand.

“Very well”, she said, “But, if you are to have a dog, then it must be a dog that is fitting for a proper wicked witch. Perhaps a pitch black hellhound or a three headed cerebus or… I know… I shall conjur you up a were-dog”.

“Oh, thankyou Mummy”, said Muse, throwing her arms around the old witch.

Madge scowled at her daughter, “I’ve told you before about that. Mummy’s are wrapped in bandages. Do not call me that abominable word. Call me Madame Madge”.

“Yes, Madame Madge”, said Muse, still hugging her mother tightly.

Then Madge consulted her spell books for some canine conjuring spells. She didn’t hold with the ways of lazy, modern witches who just used the internet, looking on Wickedwitchipedia whenever they wanted to find a spell. She had a full set of the Encyclopedia Magica that told her how to conjur up every sort of living creature, from a long nosed aardvaark to a stripy zebra and, when she had found the spell that she was looking for, she sent her daughter out to do some witches chores while she set to work conjuring up a suitable were-dog for a witch.

“Curly tail of burly hog; webbed left foot of leaping frog!”, she said, as she dropped magical ingredients into her bubbling cauldron and stirred, “Slimy snails from gloomy bogs; cauldron conjur up a dog! By the powers, all mysterious; by the shimmering dog-star Sirius; Magic Cauldron conjur up,” and, as she spoke the last line of her incantation, she screwed up her old hags face as if there was something bitter and yechhy tasting in her mouth, “a playful, faithful were-dog pup!”.

Then thunder boomed and lightning cracked the dark and cloudy skies above witch hat mountain; wolves howled, owls hooted, cats shrieked and the old Witch’s clock on the mantlepiece struck thirteen and out of the magical cooking pot; struggling over the rim with tiny paws; barking and wagging its tail; came a furry but rather unferocious were-puppy and, after it had shaken its fur free of the witch’s magical mixture, it jumped up upon its hind legs and tried to lick old Madge’s face.

“Yechh!”, she said, pushing it away, “Get away from me, you smelly mutt, before I change my mind and turn you into a hot dog and serve you up with mustard!”.

But Muse was overjoyed when she got home from her witch’s chores and saw her new, bright eyed and over excitable, little were-pup, “Oh Madame Madge”, she said, bundling the puppy up in her arms, “It’s completely adorable”.

“Yes, well”, said Madge, annoyed by her daughters sugary sentimentality, “Don’t forget that raising a were-dog pup is no walk in the park. It’s a whole different kettle of fish to raising a normal dog. Sometimes it’ll be a puppy and other times, a baby.
Sometimes it’ll have to sleep in a cot and other times, a kennel; and, sometimes it’ll fetch a stick while other times, it’ll need to shake a rattle. Understand?”.

“Oh, yes”, said Muse, nodding but only half paying attention, so mesmerized was she with her beautiful new were-pup.

“And, I insist that we give it a properly witchy sort of a name”, said Madge, “Something like Goblin or Gremlin or Spirit or Spook”.

“How about Hal?”, suggested Muse, stroking the were dogs ears and nuzzling its little were-dog nose.

“Hal?”, asked the witch, scratching her hairy chin with a bony finger, “Hmm?”

“It’s short for Halloween”, explained Muse.

“Yes”, said Madge, nodding her old head approvingly, “That is an appropriate name”.

But raising Hal to be a good witch’s pet proved to be a trickier task than Muse had imagined it would be. For one thing, Dogs are generally not suited to balancing on the end of broomsticks. Hal was constantly falling off of Muse’s broom and, unlike a cat, Hal rarely ever landed on his feet.

Fortunately, they had never been more than a few inches off of the ground but that was mainly because Hal also suffered from the most terrible vertigo and would start crying and wetting himself whenever Muse tried to take off.

On the plus side, Hal would always bring her her wand, carrying it in his mouth, which was nice, even if the wand did get slightly chewed and covered in dog slobber.

The worst thing, however, was that Hal had a terrible habit of chasing things, especially cats and, every time a neighbouring witch would pop round for a cup of magic tea and a chat with Madge, Hal would usually start chasing their terrified cat around the room or, worse still, the cat would run up a tree and then refuse to come down until Hal was locked safely away in his kennel.

It could be terribly embarassing and any other witch might have lost her temper and turned Hal into a nodding car ornament but Muse adored her little were-pup too much to ever get angry with him.

And, most important of all, Muse and Hal were the best of friends. During the day, they would go exploring together round about the mountainside and, at night, when Hal was transformed into a human baby, Muse would rock him in her arms and sing him to sleep with a bewitching lullaby.

Yet, inspite of how much her daughter loved the little were-pup. Madge had never really gotten used to Hal. “Damn that fleabitten mutt”, she’d grumble, “If I catch him drinking out of my cauldron just one more time then I’ll cook him up Korean style.
Crispy fried, sweet and sour dog; that’s what I’ll make of him”.

But then, one stormy Halloween morning, Muse had gone out with Hal to pick some juicy red apples so that Madge could make them into magic toffee apples; the kind that made your hair stand on end and turn all different kinds of bright colors, and Hal had come home without her and started barking and whining and tugging at Madge’s skirt and Madge had picked up her broom and was about to give Hal an almighty walloping with it when she noticed that Hal was standing by her ouija board and nudging the planchette with his nose.

“What is it, Hal?”, asked the old witch, bending and looking down at the ouija board curiously, “What are you trying to say?”.

Wagging his tail now, Hal guided the planchette with his nose over the ouija board so that it spelled out the words “H – E – L – P M- U – S – E”.

“Help Muse? Is Muse in trouble?”, asked Madge.

Hal nodded and, standing up on its hind legs, started to do an imitation of some sort of giant growling, snarling monster.

Without hesitating for even a minute, the old witch mounted her hovering broom and pulled down her flying goggles, “Zoom broom!”, she commanded, “We’ve got a daughter to save”.

Obeying her, the magic broom tilted upwards like a missile ready to launch; the shuttered window of her pumpkin house flew open and –whoosh- broom and rider shot out through it like a champagne cork, sailing through the air, high over Witch hat mountain, guided by Hal who, far below, was running to help Muse and then Madge saw her daughter and saw that she was dangling dangerously off of the edge of the mountain, clinging desperately to an overhanging tree branch, while a giant, purple, fire breathing, vampire dragon loomed over her with a hungry look in its glowing red eyes and blood red slime dripping from its enormous vampire fangs.

“Don’t worry, Muse”, shouted Madge, using her witches hat as a megaphone as she skillfully circled the vampire dragons giant scaly head and narrowly avoided having the bristly end of her broom set alight by its fiery breath, “I know just what to do”.

“There’s really only one thing that can kill a vampire dragon”, thought Madge, “and that’s a giant wooden stake through the heart”.

But Madge didn’t have a giant wooden stake handy and so she decided to sharpen the handle of her broom with her pumpkin carving knife and then, flying the broom as fast as a speeding train towards the dragons purple scaly chest, she rammed the pointed handle of her broom deep into the dragons pitch black evil heart and, clutching its wounded heart, the vampire dragon let out a fiery scream; swaying, swaggering and stumbling back and forth before toppling over and crashing, vanquished, to the ground.

Then, conjuring up a long, sturdy rope from out of her witch’s hat, an ever resourceful Madge tied one end to the broom that was lodged in the dragon’s heart and lowered the other end over the side of the mountain so that Muse could hold onto it and be pulled up to safety.

“Oh, thank goodness!”, said Muse, “I thought that I was doomed for sure”.

“Don’t thank goodness”, said Madge, cringing with every black bone in her wicked witch body, “ and besides, it was your dumb mutt that told me you were in danger”.

“Oh, Hal”, said Muse, picking up her were-pup and hugging him tightly, “You see, Madam Madge. He is a good witch’s pet after all”.

Madam Madge just grumbled and swore under her breath but, after that day, she was never mean to Hal anymore. Infact, that night she even gave him an extra big bowl of pumpkin stew and, together, they all had a very magical Halloween.