by Ayah Shevchenko
It was 7 am when the morning light and the dull stiffness in Janice’s hip woke her. She sprang up as quickly as she could. It was to be a big day: a visit from Olivia, late lunch at Delilah’s, then the meeting at the rec center, and book club. No time to waste, she thought, and shuffled to the bathroom. After a good wash, a stretch, and a change of clothes, she armed herself with slippers and a shawl – the one with primroses since it was almost April – and moseyed down her short hallway and over to the kitchen. It was her favorite room in the house, so she kept the counter space clear, the utensils tidily hanging on the pantry doors, and the drying herbs suspended up and away from her head. As she looked through the fog-ringed window, she could see that the bird feeder was getting quite a lot of attention from the jays and the squirrels. But unfortunately, she was rather too distracted to pay the squirrels any mind. Indeed, the tip-tap tapdancing of her toaster stole all of her attention.
Janice pushed up her glasses, huffed, and went to find her grimoire. Now, finding a book should be easy, especially in a house as small as hers. In fact, it should have been in the living room, just on the side table next to her paisley armchair, where she’d always leave it, but nothing in a witch’s house was ever simple, especially not her grimoire. Casting her gaze around the living room, Janice didn’t see anything out of place but also didn’t spot the silly book. She checked the drawers first, then the bookshelf. Then under the couch. Then in her beading basket. All turned up tidy and grimoire-free, so she stood in the middle of the room and wrung her shawl.
“I’m going to transfer everything to the computer and set you on fire one of these days,” Janice announced, only half-meaning it, but really, this book will get on her last nerve one of these days.
There was a small scraping sound just then, from above her head. Looking up, she saw the cursed thing was sitting on top of her tallest bookshelf. Janice gave the grimoire a hard stare, but considering she didn’t have to turn over half the furniture or unstick it from the ceiling this time, she supposed she shouldn’t be too mad. Just until I’m done with my kitchen, she thought. Grabbing her sturdy step ladder, she hoisted herself up just high enough to retrieve her book. She could almost feel its apologetic hum under her fingertips. Once safely back on the floor, she closed her eyes to think of her question – why is my toaster dancing? – and opened the book somewhere in the middle. The page described cases of minor possession – local spirits would take control of equipment and cause annoying malfunctions and funny noises, usually as a response to land development nearby. This was a particularly common occurrence in Iceland apparently, but there were some cases in Pennsylvania too. Due to the fracking, she supposed.
“Not quite what I’m looking for, grimoire. It’s hopping around, not burning my toast,” Janice tapped the book’s pages grumpily. When she opened the book again, it was on a page on how to deal with feelings of impatience during ritual.
“That’s not funny!” Janice groused and considered dropping the book then and there. Some floor time would make it get over itself quickly enough.
But then again, she thought, the kitchen problem was pressing and besides, what if the toaster wasn’t compelled to dance, exactly? What if it was just…feeling upbeat? She closed the book and held the question in her mind, adding a little extra force to the thought for extra umph, and opened the grimoire again. Interestingly, she landed on a table of spell components and their uses, in the subsection for renewing, invigorating, and passion-supporting herbs. Though none of them would have this effect on their own, reading through them gave Janice a faint sense of familiarity, like she’d used many of these very recently. When she got to the mint section, there was a whole paragraph of extra notes cramped in the margins, curling around and under the table. She brought it close to her face, making out the tiny letters and…
Tossing the grimoire onto the armchair, she immediately went to pick up the phone to call a friend. The old house phone rang feebly before giving way to a reedy, barely-pubescent voice. Janice momentarily checked on the kitchen. The toaster was gently twirling, cord and plug sweeping the countertop but not vigorously enough to knock into the blender. The cutting board looked suspiciously perky, like it was ready to vibrate right out of its spot.
“Hello?” the teenage voice said, sounding unsure of both itself and the phone it was speaking through.
“Hello Freddie, sweetie, could you put your grandma on?” Janice answered gently.
“She’s busy…” Freddie sounded hesitant, but also distracted. Janice could hear faint explosions and laughter. The TV, probably.
“That’s alright, just tell her I’m calling,” Janice said, and waited for either Freddie or Martha to emerge from the noises of distant conversation. Eventually, she heard a beep and suddenly the thumping of a kitchen knife against wood came through loud and clear. Speakerphone, Janice sighed, and held the receiver a little further away from her ear.
“Morning Janice!” Martha’s warm voice punched through the sounds of her cooking, “What’s got you calling? Did a racoon get into your garden again?”
“No Martha, it’s not a racoon. I was going to ask – what was in that pouch you gave me, the one from last month?” Janice asked, turning to check on the toaster again.
“Uuuh…” Martha paused her chopping. “Do you mean the velvet one I gave everyone, or the yellow one I made for you?”
“The yellow one,” Janice replied hurriedly. The toaster had started to waltz across the counter.
“I think uuhh…cinnamon definitely, just the regular store-bought kind…dry garlic, holly hock leaves from my garden.” Janice could practically hear Martha looking up to the ceiling to remember, “alfalfa that I nicked from Jenny’s back yard…hmm…some mint-”
Seizing the moment before Martha could think of something else, Janice jumped in.
“What kind of mint did you use?”
“What kind?” Martha, surprised, sounded like she had come closer to her phone, “I bought it at the Meadville market the week before, with Ellie.” Ellie, Janice remembered, was Martha’s youngest daughter, and the one most eager to learn from her mother in the herbalism department.
“Yes, but did they say which kind it was? Was it apple mint or pennyroyal-” Janice started listing the varieties by increasing intensity.
“No, she didn’t say. But it smelled lovely, and she told us that it would be ‘invigorating’ and I thought-”
“Martha,” Janice said slowly as she watched the cutting board start to hop along after the toaster, “Who sold this to you? Did they have a name or a website-”
“No, no website…I don’t remember her name…but she was very nice! And she sounded very spiritual!” Martha sounded twice as loud as she spoke fully into her phone.
“Martha…” Janice sighed, pinching herself under her glasses. “We’ve talked about this, you must check what you’re buying before-”
“Why, what’s happened Janice? Is it poisonous? Should I call the hospital?”
“Of course not! Don’t panic, I’m fine. I just sprinkled the herbs around my kitchen and my garden. I think it was about two nights ago. Anyway, my toaster is dancing-”
“Dancing?!”
“Yes, dancing, Martha. The cutting board too. It looks like they’re trying to polka but the cutting board doesn’t have enough limbs to pull it off.”
“Why? Have you tried telling it to stop?”
“No I haven’t! You try waking up to a toaster that’s just unlocked a taste for self-expression, I’d like to see what you come up with! At least nothing else- Wait no, I spoke too soon, I think I see the coffee maker tapping its feet. This is not what I was looking for when I asked for an energizing sachet, Martha.”
“I’m so sorry Janice! I’m making Freddie a snack now but I could look up-”
“No, please call Angie and ask her to look up how to stop this. Have her call me. Olivia is coming this afternoon and I want to be able to make her some PB&J.”
“Alright, but-”
“Buh-bye now!”
Janice hung up the phone, finally releasing the groan she’d held back. This has got to be the last time she’d ask Martha for a spell. Or herbs of any kind actually. Getting the woman to be thorough was like pulling goat’s teeth. Hands on her hips, Janice appraised her dance hall of a countertop. She absolutely needed her breakfast and she refused to let an impromptu appliance recital get in her way. She grabbed the milk and rice from the fridge, set it down on the counter, and waited to see if the toaster would react. The twirling appliance seemed to be surprised by the sudden addition, but recovered with an impressive pirouette and a hop. The cutting board almost ran into it, but flipped away just in time, and the coffee maker, which had started shimmying out of its spot, shimmied itself right back. Janice then took a small pot out of the cupboard and set it on the range, on the other side of the countertop, and grabbed a big spoon from the pantry door.
“Ahem!” she tried to get the dancers’ attention, “I’ll be making breakfast over here and I don’t want you all getting too amped up. Hit me or my pot once and it’ll be the kitty carriage for you!”
Janice shook her spoon at the rowdy appliances. The coffee maker stood stock-still and the cutting board hopped in place in a distressed manner. The toaster, rather less perturbed, spun around in place and dipped in her direction, as though bowing, then went around in a circle doing the cha-cha. Janice, in slow deliberate movements so as not to knock into the appliances, heated up the milk and rice. When it was done and she turned to set it aside, she found that while the toaster and cutting board had reverted back to dancing in a circle, the coffee maker had slowly edged its way next to her and turned, as though watching the whole cooking process.
“Curious little thing,” she said, and gently patted it on the water reservoir. It gave a little hop in response.
Maybe, she thought, she could make use of all this extra energy instead of dispelling it. At the very least her cooking would be a little more entertaining. Just then, a spatula hanging off the pantry door gave a jaunty swing, smacking Janice right on the nose. No, she amended, adjusting her glasses and rubbing down her whole face, she really did need to calm these things down. She then dumped all the rice pudding in a bowl and, sprinkling it with cinnamon and sugar, sat down to eat and to wonder at the state of her kitchen. The toaster and the cutting board continued to dance their way up and down the countertop. The coffeemaker gently hopped around them, investigating the range and the fridge and the bag of uncooked barley. The spoons and whisks and spatulas swung this way and that, some joyfully, some leisurely, while the small tea sieve was whizzing around and around on its hook like a propeller. The small towels on the oven handle were fighting, balling up their corners into little fists and trading hooks and swings like tiny boxers. God knows what’s happening inside the cupboards, Janice thought, fitfully mulling over her pudding. Blessedly, her phone rang.
“Hello? Please tell me this is Angie!” Janice picked it up, as fast as she could.
“Yes indeedy, it’s me-” Angie’s wind-chime voice answered.
“Thank goodness! Did Martha tell you what’s happened with my kitchen?”
“She did, she did. Delightful little situation you’ve gotten yourself into Janice. As per usual, I suppose,” Angie sighed through the phone, with her usual kind tone. Janice, of course, didn’t buy it one bit.
“I didn’t get myself into anything. Martha’s just messed with the herbs again.” Firmly asserting the truth, Janice thought, is the right way to go about it. Angie would certainly help, but the kind of favor she’d extract afterwards was distinctly dependent on who she thought was at fault.
“Oooh,” Angie said slowly, and added “did she?” equally slowly as though it was the most wondrous thing she’d heard all week.
“She got some kind of mystery mint from a mystery vendor. Used it without checking. You know how she is.”
Angie released another great and airy sigh. “It’s a shame the mint will remain a mystery then. I would’ve loved to apply it to some of my pieces.” Angie was a great lover of art and something of an artist herself, creating some truly unusual sculptures in her backyard. Janice got the chance to examine one closely once. She got vertigo for a week.
“Yes, it is unfortunate. Maybe you could’ve made things fly with it,” Janice followed hastily, “but my kitchen is a mess right now, and I’d really like to get things in order. Quickly, if possible.” Ah, Janice thought, maybe she shouldn’t have added that last comment.
“Relax Janice, I see your plight, I see your plight” Angie said, audibly smiling, “I’ve found out what’ll help calm everything down. Boil some water with a sage leaf for a few minutes, then take a bundle of yarrow leaves, dip it in the sage water and sprinkle wherever you feel it’s gotten too energetic. That should give you some peace.”
Janice thanked her profusely and set right to following her instructions. The evening found her sitting in her armchair, adding to her grimoire. The book rested contentedly in her lap as she meticulously documented the herbs and ratios that Martha used in her herbal baggie, the effects they’d had on the kitchen, and Angie’s treatment. Janice dubbed the mystery herb ‘dancing mint’ and added Martha’s admittedly sparse description of what it looked like before she’d dried and ground it. It’d taken an impressive amount of sage water and yarrow and a little threatening to restore peace to her kitchen, but Janice managed in time for her niece’s visit. She’d pre-emptively drenched her garden after that, before any onions felt the need to jump away. Still, she doubted her appliances would ever return to their original fully stationary state. There was no dancing now, but the toaster did hop a bit in the evening, so it was clearly still…awake? Was that the right word for it? Then again, so long as nobody felt the Muse in the middle of mealtime, what was the harm? The poor things watched her dance around for years. Putting the grimoire on the side table where it belonged, Janice took off her glasses, and moseyed her way back to her bedroom for some truly well-earned rest. Tomorrow she was going to pack herself onto the bus to Meadville. Someone was out there selling mint of a legendary strength and not warning people about it, and Janice wasn’t about to let that go.
