Written for the 250-word Microfiction Challenge 2023

Prompts: 250 words. Ghost Story. Action: Smelling smoke. Word: Familiar

Achieved: Honorary Mention Round 1

Clarence became my Familiar, the day I saved his blush-pink skin from the claws of a spectral cat. Clarence was pretty. I blasted that cat into oblivion.

Clarence said I was due a comeuppance.

He said, ‘You’re too glib. Blasé about who, what, you’re dealing with.’

I understood the constraints placed on earthbound souls. They had little power.

‘Dear imp,’ I answered. ‘I am not afeared of ghouls nor ghosts. They are but angsty, needy pests. Submissive and pliable. Slave to my desires.’

‘Madame,’ said Clarence. ‘They are a maelstrom of discontent. You think them compliant because they appear helpless. Your high-handedness and conceit is evident and the spirits have taken against you.

‘There are beings of power among them. Your life is forfeit.’

‘Poppycock,’ I said. ‘I have magicked with lost souls for centuries and even the most disenchanted passively accepted their lot.’

Yet, there were stirrings of discontent. Breath upon my neck. Shriek as I prepared potions. Objects thrown in anger. The smell of fire and brimstone wafted through my cottage. I was surprised by visions of inferno.

I hung rue, sage and chamomile against evil and put Clarence at the centre of all my bindings, the magnet, if you like.

When the dark phantasm swallowed Clarence in lieu of this witch, he cried; he begged for my protection. I was resolute. I was primary in my affections.

The ashes of his being, atoms of starlight, escaped into the night.

Instead of triumphant, I felt adrift. Desolate.