A Day to be Good

Fleebee Shiff parted the living room curtains with a wave of her hand and stifled the urge to hiss as sunlight struck the green flesh of her face. Her crystal ball had predicted rain, but if so, there was no sign of it. No reason for melancholy, irritability, or meanness of any variety. She was going to be agreeable today, better tomorrow, and with any luck, she might eventually attain the absolute goodness of that most famous of witches, or die trying. The state of being wicked was fun and all, but it lacked a certain dignity as well as being exhausting to maintain.

Fleebee sipped at her tea, careful not to spill any down her substantial chin—no mean feat. The brew’s taste was not one that she enjoyed, but she figured it would grow on her, given enough time; people from Quadling Country apparently loved it. Just like everyone loved Glinda, from the Winkies to the Munchkins. It was sickening. Fleebee’s left eye twitched, and she attempted a smile. Taking another swig from her teacup, she suddenly caught sight of herself in the polished steel of the kettle. Horrifying! How could anyone love someone so ghoulish? But love her they would, even it meant thrusting her new improved attitude down their stupid little throats.

A knock at the door startled Fleebee so forcibly, that she dropped her cup and saucer, recoiling just in time to save her ankles from the spilled liquid. She wanted to cuss, to curse, to throw open the front door and bathe her unwanted guest in flame from the point of her wand. Instead, she extended both arms as though steadying herself on a tightrope, and sauntered toward the front of the house calmly.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Fleebee casually opened the door. “Yes?”

“Good morning to you!” enthused the ruddy-cheeked man. “Am I speaking to the lady of the house?” His greying mustache dancing with every syllable.

Fleebee smoothed out her black frock and looked around emphatically. “Of course, you stupid... I mean, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The man winced a little, bent his knees, then righted himself, as though absorbing the mixed greeting. “I am Pharb Sellem—traveling salesman extraordinaire—and I’m here to offer you, Madam, the deal of a lifetime!” Pharb thrust a chubby hand into the pocket of his bright purple jacket and raised his eyebrows higher than any decent fellow should.

“Could you please get to the point?” spat Fleebee, her teeth clenched. Pharb cleared his throat before pulling a long leather satchel from his back and depositing it on the cobbled path before him. He then unraveled the luggage to reveal a bundle of items not at all unfamiliar to Fleebee and her ilk. “Broomsticks?” questioned Fleebee.

“Tut tut, Madam, not just any old broomsticks! These are the finest magical transport vessels crafted by the craftiest craftsmen in the world, and imported into the Wonderful Land of Oz from the mystical Land of Ev!”

“The Land of Ev?”

“Yes.”

“The domain of the Nome King?”

“Well... yes.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” said Fleebee flatly.

“Yes... I mean, no!” said Pharb, tugging at his well-oiled facial hair. “Might I pop inside for a moment, so that I might better explain the features of these very fine products?”

Fleebee scratched her long, warty nose, and took a deep breath. ‘Be good today,’ she whispered to herself. “Please... do come in.”

Pharb picked up his brooms, skipped a little, looked back over his shoulder at Fleebee’s front garden, and made his way inside the mushroom-shaped structure. He glanced about the place, taking in the taxidermy crows and dead house plants, before sitting his ample behind on the settee. “Lovely place you have here,” he oozed. “Pretty country this way too.”

“Just deliver your sales pitch, Sellem... if you please.”

“Let’s get down to brass tacks. These brooms will outfly anything you’ve ever ridden in your lifetime, hands down!”

“And the cost?” Fleebee flopped into a well-worn armchair near the fireplace.

“Well, money being such a point of contention in these parts, I’ve come to offer my excellent range for nothing more than a trifle.”

“Which is?”

“A spell.”

“And what manner of spell, precisely?”

Pharb’s eyes found the floorboards. “A curse, if I may be so bold. One so venomous in its intent as to lay my enemies to waste.”

Fleebee stood up, her eyes glassy. “What makes you think I’m so hard up for a broom, that I’d grant you such a thing in return?”

“Oh, come on now. You’re the Wicked Witch of the North West. A lesser-known hag, to be sure. But everyone knows you lot live for this kind of thing. I thought you might simply be pleased that someone like me even knows who you are. I offer my wares as nothing more than a kindness.”

Fleebee blinked away tears. “You think so little of me?” Pharb looked away awkwardly, peering out into the front yard through the living room window. “And what is your fascination with my front garden?” The witch stormed outside in time to catch sight of a tiny figure emerging from her shrubbery and disappearing over the grassy hill toward the shiny gold road beyond. She returned to find Pharb packing up to leave.

“My apologies, Madam. I’ll be off then.”

Fleebee gestured with a single finger and the man was tossed across the room and pinned to the far wall. “Who’s your friend?” she demanded hoarsely.

“I d-don't know what you mean.”

“WHO?”

“That was Bim-Baum... A munchkin... Just an acquaintance.”

Fleebee flicked her wrist and Pharb slid up the wall, banging his head on the ceiling. “And?”

“Okay, okay!” Pharb was released, subsequently slamming onto the floor so hard that his teeth rattled. “He bet me that I couldn’t talk my way into your home and get you to part with an evil spell. There was some gossip that you were trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“And you wanted to prove that I couldn’t manage it?”

Pharb’s face tightened. “We like our good witches good and our wicked ones wicked. That way there’s no confusion.”

“I see.” Fleebee sniffed at the air; the ball was right after all—rain was coming. “Want to know why my plants are all dead?”

“Go on,” muttered Pharb, standing and dusting himself off.

“It’s funny... I literally have green thumbs. But no talent for gardening. I never bothered to re-pot my house plants. With no room for growth, they just gave up.”

“Probably dangerous too... with the whole water issue.” Pharb put his hands up over his face and adopted a screechy voice, “I’m melting! I’m melting!” Fleebee’s eyes found his and he fell silent.

The Wicked Witch of the North West walked through her door, stepping out into the cool mid-morning rain. Steam rose from her bubbling skin and she smiled as her body surrendered, a spreading green pool winding its way between the stones of the front path to the garden beds on either side.

Today was a day for change. Today was a day to be good.

Or die trying.