Chapter 23 Danni
DANNI
The gust of wind I’d felt as Harmony and Sarah were leaving convinced me I needed more than just my sweater to go out.
I looked in the front closet and sure enough—there was a coat just for me.
It was soft, woolen, and sky blue with bright red buttons and a satin lining the color of cherry lollipops.
It looked exactly like the one I’d worn as a child, right down to the little embroidered acorns on the pockets.
Except now it fit my adult curves perfectly, as though the cottage had conjured up a grown-up version just for me.
I found that wearing it made me as happy as it had when I was little—I couldn’t help smiling as I explored the embroidery on the front pockets with my fingers.
But the coat wasn’t the only thoughtful gift I found.
There were thick wool socks folded neatly on the bench by the door and a pair of buttery-soft, brown leather boots standing ready on the welcome mat.
They came up to my knees and hugged my calves like they’d been custom-made just for me.
I pulled them on and felt wrapped in warmth and love and caring.
Grandma would have approved, I thought. Maybe it’s her spirit in this place, still looking after me.
I slipped the six gold coins into my coat pocket—they felt satisfyingly heavy and warm against my fingertips—and stepped outside into the crisp embrace of a Hidden Hollow afternoon.
The air was brisk and clean, scented with chimney smoke and the earthy perfume of fallen leaves.
Red, gold, and flame-orange trees lined Main Street like fireworks frozen mid-burst, their branches tossing gently in the breeze with a low, musical rustling sound.
Pumpkins and gourds clustered on every porch step—getting ready for Halloween, or “All Hallows Eve” as they called it here.
As I crossed Main Street, I saw a group of women who must be witches laughing outside The Red Lion. They were wearing flowing velvet cloaks, and one had a cloud of living bees orbiting her head like a halo. Another levitated a silver spoon in lazy spirals around her teacup.
Now those were real witches, I thought to myself. But surely I wasn’t one of them…was I? I remembered the many memories Goody Albright’s tea had brought to the surface of my mind. Could I do something magical if I tried?
I decided not to try—not yet, anyway. I was still getting used to the town and its ways. Right now, I just wanted to enjoy the magical scenery all around me.
Further down the street, I could see the frosted windows of The Lost Lamb Bakery, its door swinging open to let out a puff of warm cinnamon-sugar air. A tiny pixie with shimmering, gossamer wings stood on a step stool in the doorway, waving a sugar-dusted croissant at passersby.
Okay, I thought, if I don’t get to the grocery store now, I’ll blow all six coins in that bakery.
So I kept walking, boots crunching on crisp leaves, breath fogging just slightly in the cool air.
A few more steps brought me to the old slate sign that read Goodman Kreeches Grocery in curly, old-fashioned letters.
It looked like something out of a 1920s storybook—arched windows, painted trim, and a green door with a brass bell that jingled merrily as I pushed it open.
Warmth rushed out to meet me, thick with scents—fresh-cut hay…
roasted coffee beans…smoked meats…cinnamon…
and something musky and wild that reminded me faintly of the woods.
The aisles were a charming chaos of strange products on mismatched shelves—things I’d never even heard of before, all there for sale.
I wandered in slowly, drinking it all in. I’ve always loved grocery shopping in strange, new stores and Goodman Kreeches was absolutely the strangest store I’d ever been in.
A floating orb of light drifted past my head and giggled when I reached for it. It flitted away, giving a flirtatious little bounce as it went.
Nearby, a tall, thin woman with feathers instead of hair offered me a tiny silver cup filled with a swirling lavender liquid.
“Unicorn milk smoothie—it’s healing and good for the joints,” she said with a wink. “Try it, dearie—you’ll be glad you did.”
I took a cautious sip—and was immediately hit with the strangest sensation. It tasted like vanilla and crushed almonds and cool mountain water and the moment I drank it, my joints felt…springier. My knees and back were less achy too.
“Thank you,” I said, as I gave back the cup. “This stuff is great!”
“It’s on sale today only—two gold for a jug,” she told me.
Since I only had six gold to my name, I decided to pass. But I promised myself if I got more money later, I’d definitely buy a jug of the stuff.
“Thank you, maybe later,” I told her. Right now I needed to find something more practical—something I could make for lunch. It had been some time since my toast and tea breakfast and my stomach was growling.
I passed a rack of enchanted teas that rearranged themselves when I stared at them too long. One box labeled “Lucid Lemon Dream” had mist curling from the top flap, and another named “Starfire Spice” glowed faintly purple.
A large wooden barrel near the end of the aisle was filled with singing apples—each one crooning softly in harmony with the others.
I paused to listen to a trio of magical, bright red apples singing a lullaby in what sounded like Elvish, their skins sparkling like sugar crystals.
Next to them, a bin of enchanted garlic cloves vibrated like tuning forks.
They would hum a warning whenever a vampire got too close—or so the sign above them claimed.
I spotted a shelf labeled “For Fauns and Satyrs Only,” holding jars of candied mushrooms, pine-needle jerky, and acorn butter. The mushrooms glowed faintly under a dim lantern that swung by itself overhead, casting flickering golden light.
This place is unbelievable, I thought. I was enchanted by both the variety and the strangeness. But where was the human food?
The butcher counter was manned by a tall Orc with green skin and tusks wearing a white apron and a paper hat. He was slicing slabs of shimmering meat labeled “Mooncalf Steak.” Beside him were a pile of “Dire Hog Sausages—only two silver apiece.”
“You wanna sample?” he grunted, when he saw me watching.
“No, thank you,” I said, moving on quickly. I had no idea what a Mooncalf or a Dire Hog were, and I wasn’t anxious to eat either one until I found out.
I continued my shopping—which by now had turned into people watching as well—if the individuals I encountered could be called people.
A big, muscular blond man with translucent gills at his neck was buying jars of pickled seaweed, while a green-skinned goblin toddler tried to climb into the candy barrel behind him.
I went down another aisle which featured a display of floating jars of jam that rotated slowly in midair, each one glowing with a different hue.
One was labeled “Elderberry & Enchantment,” another “Marmalade of Memory.” A hovering sample spoon offered me a taste—I took it, and instantly remembered the smell of my Grandma’s spice cabinet and the exact feeling of my first kiss.
That’s…intense. I blinked, my heart thudding. I need to stay focused. Where is the human food around here?
“Looking for something in particular?” a voice at my elbow asked.
I turned—and let out a tiny gasp.
The man floating three inches above the wooden floorboards had translucent skin, wispy white hair, and a kind smile. His eyes twinkled like starlight, and he was dressed in an old-fashioned grocer’s apron. There was a checkered bowtie at his neck.
He was also completely transparent.
“Oh…who are you?” I asked the ghost—because that was what he must be, right?
“Why, I’m Goodman Kreeches, at your service,” he said, doffing an invisible hat and giving me a wide, translucent smile. “Now what can I help you find, dear girl? If you don’t mind me saying so, you look rather lost. This must be your first time in our fine establishment.”
“It is. Um, I’m looking for tuna and mayonnaise,” I said. “I was, uh, going to make tuna salad for lunch.”
“Right this way,” he said, floating down the aisle ahead of me. “You want the human food aisle. It’s quite popular with many of our local witches who moved here from out of town. Of which, I assume you’re one?”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Um, yes. I guess I am,” I said weakly. “At least, Goody Albright seems to think so.”
“Well then, you must be a witch. She’s been here from the beginning—she knows a witch when she sees one,” he said gravely. “Ah—here we are.”
We turned the corner into another aisle full of items and I saw a few familiar products this time. There were cereal boxes and condiments—including the brand of mayonnaise I liked.
As we passed a shelf stacked with jars and tins, I heard a dry whisper:
"You don’t want tuna—try the chicken…"
I froze.
“Did…someone say something?”
The shelf to my left rustled.
"Try the chicken. It’s in brine. Very moist."
I blinked at it. Was it…talking to me?
“Oh, don’t bother with that lot,” Goodman Kreeches said cheerfully. “These shelves are downright bossy if you let them be. You get what you want and don’t pay them any mind.”
I stared at the shelf, which had gone suspiciously quiet. It held familiar cans of both chicken and tuna—including the dolphin safe kind I always bought.
“All right,” I muttered. “Tuna it is.”
We reached a small section where cans of Campbell’s soup, Cheerios, peanut butter, and other familiar comforts sat beside more magical fare.
There were also some spices and seasonings—a few familiar like cinnamon and thyme and salt and pepper—and a few more exotic sounding.
Hummingbird dust, read one cannister. Pixie parmesan, read another.
I looked through them all, but didn’t see my favorite seasoning blend.
“Do you have Nature’s Seasons?” I asked Goodman Kreeches, who was hovering nearby. “It’s this spice blend I use on practically everything.”
The ghost shook his head sorrowfully.
“I’m afraid not, my dear. We can’t bring everything from the human world—wouldn’t have room to stock it all.
Though I am considering getting some magical expanding shelves that can store a lot more in a much smaller space.
They miniaturize the stock and then, when you pick it up, it grows to full size in your hand! ”
He spread his hands in a whoosh! motion, his faded eyes twinkling.
“That sounds great!” I said enthusiastically. “Where would you get those?”
“Well, they’re not actually very easy to come by,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of going to the Wishing Tree tomorrow night to see if I can get some there. Lots of people are going, I think.”
This was the second time someone had mentioned the Wishing Tree to me, and my curiosity was definitely piqued.
“Really? How does it work?” I asked.
“Oh, you just go outside the town’s magic bubble and say, ‘Wish I may, wish I might, find the Wishing Tree tonight.’ It should appear right in front of you.” Goodman Kreeches waved one see-through hand, as though the matter was exceedingly simple.
“Does it really grant wishes, though?” I couldn’t quite keep the skepticism out of my voice. “I mean, it gives you anything you ask for?”
“Within limits,” Goodman Kreeches said. “It won’t give you money—so don’t ask for gold. But it will grant you a lot of other things. You only get one wish though, so be sure you list everything you want and where you want it put quite clearly.”
“Where you want it put?” I asked, frowning.
“Well yes,” he said, as though it was obvious.
“You have to say, ‘I wish for such and so, and I want it to appear in my shop.’ Or house, or wherever. No sense in me asking for a shelving unit if it lands out in the woods and it’s too big to lift and get into the store.
” He spread his hands. “Of course, I can’t lift anything at all anymore, but I do have my helpers. Not that I can bring them with me.”
“You can’t? Why not?” I asked.
“Oh, because you can’t go with anyone else—the Wishing Tree only sees one person at a time.
Even if fifty folks go up together, they’ll all find themselves alone in front of it when they wish to see it,” he explained.
“And you have to go after sunset, when the forest is dark. You won’t see it otherwise, no matter how hard you wish to. ”
Alone in the dark forest, I thought, a small shiver curling down my spine. Even in a magical town, that sounded a little scary.
Still, I was already thinking about the list of things I’d need to open my own knitting shop.
Yarn—hundreds of skeins in every color. Also knitting needles—wooden ones, metal, and acrylic.
Measuring tapes…stitch markers…blocking mats…
ball winders. Pattern books…project bags…
pin cushions. A coffee and tea station for the knitters.
Cozy chairs and a big round table for knit nights…
Could the Wishing Tree really give me all that? And deliver it right to my house like some kind of magical delivery driver?
It sounded too good to be true. But then again, everything about Hidden Hollow—including the fact that I’d inherited a magical cottage that looked after me—sounded improbable. But here I was.
“I’m going tomorrow night as soon as it gets dark,” Goodman Kreeches said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m going to get that shelving unit—I’m not afraid. After all…” He gave me a wink. “I’m already a ghost.”
I frowned—what did he mean by that? I was about to ask when another customer came up, asking for directions to find the “dessert hay” whatever that was.
I nodded my thanks at the friendly old ghost and made my way to the front register, where a bored-looking fairy with translucent wings rang up my purchases. Her scanner beeped in several different tones, depending on whether she was scanning something magical or mundane.
I paid with three of my six coins and walked out with three left, a bag of groceries in hand, and my mind spinning.
The Wishing Tree.
Could it really give me what I needed?
As I walked back toward the cottage, leaves swirling around my boots and the tang of applewood smoke in the air, I couldn’t help whispering to myself:
Wish I may, wish I might…
But I didn’t finish the rhyme. Not yet.
Tomorrow night, I might just give it a try, though.