A Witch’s Mortgage
Hearing the evil laughter following her up the stairs didn’t bother her nearly as much as the running children’s footsteps in the empty attic. Grimhilda dropped her heavy black skirts and tried to turn her huge mass around in the narrow, rickety stairway.
“Did you let the Poltergeist kids in the house, Sven?!” she shouted down to the landing. I’m running out of time!
Sven’s hunched figure grinned up at her with his toothless mouth. He started laughing evilly again. She was getting pretty sick of that laugh. Grimhilda heaved up her skirts and sprinted up the stairs two at a time, defying gravity with the aide of a quickly voiced spell.
“If you little bedsheets are still in there by the time I get up the stairs, I’ll have you all exorcised!” she screeched.
The giggling stopped. Grimhilda muttered curses under her breathe and threw open the attic door. Sure enough, her formerly tidy, dust free attic was coated in blue demonic plasma. It was going to take her at least an hour, and a cauldron of Mr. Clean, to set it right again. How was she ever going to sell this house?
Grimhilda shook her head. Her coven had to pick now to relocate to Colorado. The San Diego market was flooded with foreclosures. Downstairs the doorbell rang and she heard Sven’s footsteps moving toward the entrance. Great, the last thing she needed was for him to laugh evilly at the Wells Fargo Representative.