The Witch's Hut

 

 

 “Ugh! What the fuck?” Maverick muttered under his breath, behind a tree, staring across the street at the big sweaty man watering Mrs. Girshawn’s plants. Dark brown hair with a matching beard, full tan, light gray jean shorts, but no shoes in sight. The man had a broad back, heavy pecs, and a round ass that fed into meaty thighs and calves. “Where the hell had he come from?”
 
 Mrs. Girshawn’s garden was neatly settled in the front of her house like a set. No birds or curious critters ever approaching it. Behind it lay a quaint one-story house that sat out of place from the more traditional homes around it.
 
“Mav?” A voice came from behind the onlooker, causing Maverick to fall back on his ass in the grass.
 
“Don’t scare me like that Joe!” He whispered harshly.
 
Joseph looked out at the direction Maverick had been, “Why are you watching Mrs. Girshawn’s new gardener? I mean he’s hot but—
 
“I don’t care about that,” Maverick got back up hiding behind the tree. He pulled Joseph in closer, “You know how everyone at school says she’s a witch?”
 
“They say that about every old lady,” Joe rolled his eyes “Remember when Inez’s grandmother was a ‘witch’ because the cookies she sent Inez to class with were too good.”
 
“That’s baby stuff,” Maverick dismissed waving his hand, “but Mrs. Girshawn is a real Bonafide witch.”
 
“Dude, I’ve been her neighbor since I was a baby,” Joe stated, “I think I’d know if she was a witch. You didn’t even know she had a gardener.”
 
“Who cares about the gardener? All I want is for Logan to come out with her spell book already?
 
“Maverick, you didn’t,” Joe sighed.
 
“Didn’t what? Kindly ask Logan to sneak in and get it. Of course, why would I take my chances with the witch?” 
 
Joseph shot him an annoyed look.
 
—
 
Last Night
 
“I’m telling you she has a spell book bro.” Maverick rambled on through the phone.” Right in her kitchen. She’s probably got snips, snails, and a puppy-dog's tails too. Be careful. Then bring it to me."
 
“Careful…alright.” He repeated to himself. Logan was never the sharpest tool in the shed. The brunette wrestler was more at home on a mat then facing social interactions. But when his crush, the cute Indian boy in his chemistry class, asked for a favor, he was too excited to say no. He knew the rumors about Mrs. Girshawn and her house. A little lovely hut for a little lovely lady. Never once did he think much of it, than in this moment when he was planning to sneak inside. He had on the darkest clothes in his wardrobe to blend in with the night.
 
Mrs. Girshawn pulled out of her driveway in her little buggy on the way to bingo. Logan watched until she was out of the neighborhood, then raced inside. It was crazy. It was insane. Would Maverick even like him after he did this? Oh yeah, spare key under the plotted plant by the door. And just like that he was inside. 
 
No candy or brewing cauldrons in the living room. Just sickly-sweet pastel colors and an incense machine spilling out mist, while changing colors in the corner. All the scary rumors people whispered about the place didn’t exist. It wasn't a secret holding cell, it was secretly homey. He stepped into the kitchen, dialing Maverick. No signal. There were quite a few books lined up on her top shelf, across from a snowstorm of flour on her counter. The oven was turned off, but the light was on, a cake in its center. A colorful egg timer sat off to the side ticking away.
 
Logan had to be a little curious, so he took a look at her pantry organizer. “Sugar, Spice and everything nice.” He poked through chuckling to himself. Grabbing a step stool, he perused though the bookshelf, sliding them out, then back. Maverick had claimed he’d seen a purple book with the golden engraving of the sun and moon interlocked. Not a single one matched that description. Logan went to step off the ladder and slipped, slamming down hard on his back. He sat up and rubbed his head. The little chicken clucked time as the oven’s image changed. The cake faded away revealing the exact book Maverick had described.
 
Perhaps if Logan had more brains than muscle, he would have seen the oddity in the book revealing itself at that moment. Excited, Logan opened the oven door and reached inside. Once his hand gripped the book, the world stopped, then sped up as an insane force sucked him inside. The oven door slammed and the chicken timer started again.
 
As for Logan, he wasn’t pulled into an oven, per se but it did get steadily warmer. His body got hot, then began to rise like dough. Muscles fought to show off on him as his shirt split, then tore. He tried to keep it all in, but his pecs were relentless. Testing the limits until they emerged on the scene. The bulk on his back became insane as his shoulder moved apart to accommodate the masculine silhouette taking shape. His feet tore his shoes apart, slamming into the ether of the dark space. Screaming threads of the jeans gave up as they tore high above the knees, mid-thigh, as they converted to shorts. Ass popping in the back, the jeans managed to hold on. Logan balls expanded, encouraged by the heat, and his cock did too. A rush of hormones overtook him, far stronger than anything he naturally produced. His voice changed from smooth to gravelly as his vocal cords were assaulted for a thicker neck. The facial change came suddenly, years flying and flaking away. His jaw took shape, features settled in, as a beard worthy of him took root and filled in. The last to set was his tan, perfectly backed into his skin.
 
The chicken timer clucked one more, having been reset. A familiar purple book appeared at its side, as its last ingredient ‘1 curious brat’ filled itself in on the open pages before slamming shut.
 
—
 
Maverick hadn't heard from Logan all night. He called. Texted. Nothing. Didn’t the dude have a crush on him? Since when were people with crushes fumbling this hard? So, he was at Mrs. Girshawn early that morning on the off chance she had called the cops on the poor fool. No cop cars in sight, but it was hard not to notice the man in cutoff shorts, standing on her front lawn. 

The hunk looked lost as if he couldn’t figure out what to do standing there blankly. Maverick watched, hard to take his eyes off truly, but hoped mainly to see Logan sneaking out. Slowly but surely the man seemed to get ready for his day, figuring out how to use the hose laying beside him. Maverick snickered to himself, the dude probably had less brains than Logan, and most of it was sitting in his chest, arms, and ass. So, Maverick watched him move around undisturbed until Joseph came along, scaring the shit out of him.
 
“You shouldn’t take advantage of people who you know like you, it’s mean.” Joe said.
 
“Oh, thank you moral police, I’ll be sure to tattoo it on my ass when I’m done.” Maverick rolled his eyes, “How about, Logan’s a big boy and if he didn't want to do it, he could have said no.” He looked back out to the gardener, “I’ve never heard of the old lady having a gardener.”
 
“He’s new.”
 
“How new?”
 
“I don’t know like,” Joe stopped speaking, eyes going to the sky as he contemplated. “New.”
 
“So descriptive.”
 
“I don’t know, it's just in my head. My parents and I were talking about it. Here let me ask.” He tried to brush past Maverick only to be pulled back.
 
“Are you crazy?!”
 
“He literally works for my neighbor. I think we’ll be fine.” 
 
“Don’t you think it’s weird she gets a new gardener when Logan goes missing?”
 
“You don’t know that he’s missing. Maybe he realized you were taking advantage of him and stopped contact. Have you gone by his house?”
 
“How am I supposed to know where he lives?” Maverick shouted a bit too loud.
 
“Hey,” a deep voice cut through their argument, two heads poked up from the bushes as the man across the street locked in on them. “You boys keep glancing over here. Want to come inside? I think Mrs. Girshawn is always baking something.”