Witching Hour

 This is a short story I wrote for the Micro Monday Week 2 Challenge on r/shortstories. The prompt was: The call came at midnight. Enjoy!

The Barred owl came calling at her windowsill at midnight. The witch got up, earning her a grumpy meow from the cat snoozing in her lap. She was none too pleased herself about having to leave her home at the moment, but duty called. She headed downstairs to gather her supplies in a leather satchel she had made herself and stepped out into the soft light of the full moon. The night air was cool on her skin and she breathed in the warm scent of the forest. Gravel crunched under her feet as she headed into the woods, tree leaves and bushes rustling from the critters following her. Witches are rather friendly, unlike myths stating otherwise, and animals’ natural penchant for them was proof enough of this fact. As the witch reached her destination, she caught sight of a few figures standing together in the center of the clearing.

She approached her fellow apprentices and asked, “Were we not supposed to meet at three?”

“That’s what I said. I thought witching hour was three o’clock, but the messenger came at midnight.”

“Well, everyone is here, so we might as well start.”

Before they could get started on foraging as instructed by their preceptor, the owl appeared again, dropping a note to the ground. The witch picked it up and read aloud, “Sorry, folks. Witching hour is at three, come back then. Mushrooms won’t be ready for picking yet.”