I don't remember much what happened to me, as I awoke in my apartment bedroom. Later in the night. It seemed like none of this really happened to me. After drinking from the witch's brew, I don't like what she did to me.
To keep from going crazy, I would just pretend everything was normal. Just go to work at Gary's Grocery everyday, like normal. Don't let my dreams get the best of me.
I couldn't believe how I got out last night's dream. It was so vididly real and believable. I didn't know what to believe was real or not. I was going to be off on Friday this week. I wanted to go to manager, Mrs. Hopper, at Gary's Grocery. And ask for more overtime. So I don't have to worry about falling asleep at night. And getting weird dreams to make feel weak during the day.
After taking my shower and getting on my work uniform, earlier the next morning. I walked out of my apartment. I got on my red bicycle and peddled all the way down the street to get to Gary's Grocery.
I had to be there by nine a.m. It was barely eight-forty-three a.m. As I looked at the time on my wristwatch. I concentrated on getting to main street to the grocery store as fast as I could go.
I finally made it to the little grocery store, only one we had town, on time. I had six minutes to clock in. I wanted to check in with Mrs. Hopper and ask if she could give me more hours. I really didn't feel safe being alone by myself at night.
I would go to work everyday. And prepare my story submission for the Sorcerer's Storyteller's Club meeting on Halloween, next Friday. I had one more week to get the special notebook in the mail, from the school librarian.
It's usally slow in the morning. I didn't have to do much today at the store. There were a few boxes to unpack and stock on the shelves, left from the previous truck load.
Unexpectedly, an older woman, with stringy, curly red hair appeared before me in one of the aisles I was working on stocking a box from the cart. I jumped as I saw her step next to me in her red slippers, she wore.
"Hello," she said, pleasantly. "Are you Andrew Wart?" she asked, with curiosity. I didn't know how to respond. I was so nervous. I almost dropped the item I was about to stock on the lower shelf I was working on. As I caught it, and laughed nervously in response.
"Uh, it depends," I said, anxiously. "Why do you want to know?" I asked, suspiciously. She smiled, her ruby red lipsticked lips at me. I could tell I must be blushing. I got up to my feet and shook the older woman's hand.
"I'm Heather Whisper," she introduced herself to me. "I'm also a new member of the Sorcerer's Storyteller's Club. I know who you are, Mr. Wart," she continued. I didn't know what to think. What did she know about me?
Suddenly, the lights in the grocery store flickerd on and off, but stayed on. Heather and I nervously turned to look up at the blinking lights in the ceiling in the little grocery store.
"I know how much you like reading and writing scary stories," Heather said. "I saw the one short story you recently posted online for the school librarian book club website. I wanted to know if you'd be interested in writing a very scary ghost story together, for the book club meeting, next Friday?" she asked, trying to make sense.
I nodded and smiled. Shaking my head vigoriously, I said, "Of course! Did you get the special notebook in your mailbox, Heather?" I asked, excitedly. "I'm still waiting for my notebook from the school librarian to be mailed to me," I answered the girl, eagerly.
She smiled her ruby lips and giggled at me. Tossing back her hair over her shoulders, Heather said, "It's okay. I'm trying to get with the other members of the Sorcerer's Storyteller's Club group members to join us, too. I can't wait to see what happens at the meeting on Halloween at midnight, next Friday!" Heather said, excitedly.
At least I wasn't the only person in this town, who thought stories were cool and interesting. I don't know how fast we could get a spooky ghost story finished by next Friday. But I wasn't determined to give up hope, right away.
"You wanna go grab some coffee, after work, today, Mr. Andrew Wart?" She asked, nicely. "And talk about what we're going to write about for the book club meeting next week?" she asked, still smiling. And showing how much she had interests in this Sorcerer's Storyteller's Club gathering we were all invited to.
I laughed and smiled. Jumping up and down, I realized I was being a little too loud and obnoxious. I looked around the aisle Heather and I were on. As some of the older customers turned to look away from the items they were looking at, as they scolded us and gave Heather and myself dirty looks.
Heather and I both apologized and the annoyed customers went back to shopping. "I've been wanting to do this, since I could remember, Heather," I said, lowering my voice. "There's no telling what kind of stories we can possibly dream of, together!" I said, excitedly.
Laughing, Heather nodded. "So, what time are you off your shift, at work, today, Andrew?" Heather asked, sweetly. I had to think about it for a moment. Then I gave her my honest, answer. "Okay, see you tomorrow at the coffee shop at ten a.m. to disgust storycraft, okay Andrew Wart?" she asked, politely. "I can't wait to get together at the book club meeting on Halloween with everybody else there!" Heather said, excitedly.
I smiled and looked at my wristwatch on my right hand. "I get off at ten p.m. tonight, Ms. Whisper," I answered, feeling hopeful. "I'm off tomorrow. So we could meet at the coffee shop tomorrow morning around ten a.m. Sound good to you, Heather Whisper?" I asked, hopeful.
Heather giggled and laughed. "Of course! See you tomorrow at the coffee shop! Bring your notebook," she explained. I couldn't believe I still hadn't gotten my special notebook in the mail yet! How was I going to explain to Heather I still didn't have one?
"Don't worry, kid," Heather said, smiling. "We can share my notebook together. Just bring a black or blue pen with you. So we can write down our thoughts tegether on the story project submission for the book club meeting," Heather said.
I nodded. "Okay! See ya tomorrow morning at the coffee shop!" I said, and made an excited joyful noise. And pumped my fist in the air with victory.
I couldn't believe I was invited with some strange person I've never met in my life to have coffee with and talk about our passion for story writing together! It was too good to be true.
Could it get anymore better for me? I had a good day job, a dream hobby, and a best friend. I don't have to worry about being alone on this. Story craft writing gets better every story. I want to share my gifted talent with Heather Whisper at the Sorcerer's Storyteller's Club book meeting at midnight at the school library with the others. And make good memories to never forget how stories can make you feel.
As I was almost done stocking a box half full of stuff I was putting on a shelf on a grocery aisle, somebody wearing black shoes walked beside me on the asile I was still working on.
Turning to look beside me, I looked up and saw the old witch who lived in the woods who knew I was up to something. My smile faded and heart started to race. I clumsily dropped the box of stuff I was stocking, and stood up shakily onto my feet.
"There's no need to alarm, Mr. Andrew Wart," said the witch. She had her left hand behind her back. "I know how much you are interested in reading and writing. And I couldn't help but overhear your date with one of the book club member's tomorrow morning at the coffee shop, right?" she said. I gulped and nodded.
Showing what she was hiding behind her left hand behind her back, the witch held a black leather notebook with a scary-looking skull on the cover. "This is what you need to write your new scary stories in," she said. "Take this special notebook and you'll be the most talented storybook author there ever was," the witch said, and cackled.
I looked at the black leather notebook with the human skull on the cover of it. I gulped nervously and took the notebook from the witch. "Thanks," I said, quietly. The witch laughed some more. And disappeared out of sight in a puff of smoke.