Flash Fiction: A Spell for a Spell

This story was written for the Microcosms flash fiction competition. The prompts I had to include were anchorman, newsroom, fairy tale.

A Spell for a Spell

The witch drew the obsidian knife across Gerard’s palm. Blood oozed from the cut and fell into the bowl where she had already concocted the rest of the ingredients for the spell.

“And this will save Fae?” he asked again.

The witch nodded. “O yes.” She stirred the mixture and it gave off a striking odour. “All you need to do is to give up the two things most precious to you.”

“That was not part of the deal,” Gerard said. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. He pulled at his shirt collar, staining it with the liberal amount of makeup he wore for the cameras.

“You should know by know that my spells take more that just a little blood to complete. Your two most precious things. Or do you want her to die?”

Gerard looked around the dressing room and then down at his wrist. He started undoing the clasp of his favourite watch, but the witch stopped him. “Not that type of thing.”

“Then what are you referring to?”

“Your looks,” she said, touching his face. “And your voice,” she said, grabbing his throat.


An ogre with a bloody palm stumbled around the set, knocking over cameras, tripping over the wires, scattering the frightened audience. It clawed at its own grotesque face that was better suited to be a gargoyle. It roared and growled as if it did not have a voice that could utter words.

Security burst onto the set. The first to fire hit the ogre in the shoulder. The second shot penetrated the heart. More, unnecessary, shorts rang out as they kept firing on the nightmare creature out of fear.


Fae Forrester woke up in a hospital bed with an old woman chanting over her.

“You’ll be all right now,” the old woman smiled.

By Carin Marais

Bibliophile, writer of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and maybe-fiction, language practitioner, doer of stuff.

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