Wizardly Adventures of the Bizarre and Unknown: Part 1, Story 1, Number 1 by Juan de Uno the Third

"The Witch of Westwood Crypt"

Oh god, the horror! I could barely describe the thing of which I am speaking of, for I had only seen its most terrifying visage both briefly and far too long for my feeble eyes. In fact, during the haste of my escape, my glasses actually fell from their ear-bound grip, and for the worst of several hours the foul beast had blinded me temporarily until my sight was restored by the most humble Order of the Lost and Found Bin. Nonetheless, I had seen it, and I will describe upon now herein the woeful tale of what lead me to such cruel experience.

It was during the 31st of October from a most dark and cryptic year as prophesied, 2013, known by the ancient Mayans as the end of the very world if it was one extra year late. Hallow's eve, the one singular time of the year where I am able to venture outside my home without donning the costume of the Norman kind, in full wizardly glory. Forced by higher powers on a quest to guide miniature minions of the dead, I was leading a Mummy, Frankenstein, and Captain America door-to-door in search of wicked teeth-rotting edibles when we stumbled upon a most queer house down the street.

Mr. Edwards and his lovely husband, Mr. Edwards (for whoever originally held the surname, I cannot say), greeted us with a delightful cache of a dentist's nightmare. As the eldest wizard of the group, I therefore took the most share to um, distribute among my party, and by that I mean the company of me and myself because they were my one weakness, Kats of the Kit kind. Naturally my minions, utterly ungrateful of my guidance, were less than displeased by my initiate and instead told me that "I was too old to play wizard, and should just get a haircut and job already." Bastards, I say! I wasn't even 30 years old to unlock the full potential of my wizardly arsenal just yet.

And so with their threat of reporting me to my creators that I "ruined Halloween for them, again", I had no choice but to take them to "a real Halloween party, instead of annoying the same people every year." I could not battle such arguments. Hence, in desperation I drove them to the most horrible and dreadful Westwood Crypt Cemetery, a massive complex situated in the middle of the mall with a line twice as big as the overpriced tickets per child and adult.

Not only was I unafraid, I was simply unwilling to accompany the group because I disliked having lesser fools startle me for supposedly my own entertainment. Plus the line was really long. Leaving the party, I was left to slowly warming a grimy seat by a store that has had a "Going Out of Business Sale" sign for about a year now. I think they do it every year when they have surplus, the clever dogs. Suddenly, my bowels began disagreeing with me, and it was then, that I suspected that the edibles given to me earlier were perhaps past their prime expiry. The Edwards don't really get visitors.

I couldn't hold it any longer, because wow my aforementioned horde were still waiting in the line. I began running, in search of a place where I am able to deposit and silence my bowels in peace. That is where the most regrettable and terrible event happened, and where I bear the scar of my defeat to this day. Hurriedly I entered upon any appropriate door to conduct the deed, and I foolishly entered the first of one such portal rather than the second next to it. I mindlessly located a stall, and thereupon I relieved myself indefinitely when it finally hit me.

A testament to the clear lack of public hygiene and decency, I noticed nearby from atop my marble fountain a bloody red ...thing... next to a box labeled "Biohazard". My face flared bright its own shade of red when I realized I had made such a completely disastrous mistake. To make matters worse, upon re-examining the abandoned maroon object once more, I refrained myself from hurling right on the spot with my wizardly robes still down.

I began sweating at my situation. Not only was the room poorly ventilated, it was hardly air conditioned as well in a state known for her merciless heat. I thought carefully how I might escape and recover my circumstance, focusing instead on just finishing what I had started. Slowly, I gathered myself and peered out the door waiting for the proper moment to leave with whatever shred of dignity I had left. The room appeared to be empty, and so I was very eager to finally and quickly end my torment that I had fatally underestimated the full size of the area.

There, glancing upon the mirror, I saw the witch. The old creaky door of my own stall had made a sound, and my grizzled reflected self on the mirror did not make things any easier. We exchanged glances in complete and utter stock, and the moment became a blur of my own escape and her loud shrill response.

In order to avoid further humiliation, I pulled my little brother and his whiny friends from the line right before they were to enter. I didn't get my money back from the merchants either, but that wasn't important and I'm not honestly not upset about that at all.

To this day, I still keep the shame of my own doing. Looking back, it was not really the witch that bothered me most. It was the fact that afterwards, I realized I never had the chance to properly wash my hands and just forgot, all while I spent the rest of the night consuming more treats from my young brother's buckets. That, and the image of the bloody slug is forever burned on my mind.