"The Message" | Cozy Halloween

Mia, the Teenage Witch, burst into the room with her usual whirlwind of excitement. “Aunt Ophelia, let’s go to a séance. It is Halloween month!”
 
Aunt Ophelia didn’t even look up from her teacup. “No, I am not going to a séance. That is too spooky for me.”
 
“But it’ll be so much fun!” Mia insisted. “We can discover what lies ahead in our future.”
 
“Fun?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “By trying to communicate with the undead? That sounds absurd.”
 
Mia crossed her arms. “But you do enjoy Halloween, don’t you?”
 
“No,” Ophelia replied calmly. “I don’t celebrate it.”
 
“But you write amazing Halloween tales!”
 
“My Halloween stories are lighthearted and fun,” Ophelia said, softening. “I weave in themes of Christianity, and writing is therapy for me. But summoning spirits to glimpse the future? That’s not a realm I explore.”
 
“Come on, let’s try it. Please?”
 
“I’m sorry, but no.”
 
Mia sighed dramatically. “You mortals are so easily frightened, Aunt Ophelia.”
 
Ophelia blinked. “Mortals?”
 
But before she could ask, Mia was already out the door.
 
The night air greeted her like an old friend as she hopped onto her broomstick. The moon hung low and golden, casting long shadows across the rooftops. Lanterns flickered on porches, and the scent of cinnamon drifted from open windows.
 
Mia soared higher, her cloak snapping behind her like a banner of mischief. If Aunt Ophelia wouldn’t come, she’d find answers herself.
 
She landed outside a narrow brick building squeezed between a bakery and an abandoned bookstore. A crooked wooden sign read: Madame Lavinia, Medium of the Veil. A single candle glowed in the window, flicking as if aware of Mia’s arrival.
Inside, the room was dim and heavy with incense. A crystal ball sat in the center of a round table, glowing faintly blue. Mia took her seat, heart fluttering with anticipation.
Madame Lavinia closed her eyes, whispering ancient words that made the air thicken.
 
The crystal ball brightened.
 
A cold breeze swept through the room.
 
Then came the message.
 
A voice, thin, trembling, and echoing from somewhere far beyond, whispered a truth Mia never expected: “Aunt Ophelia is an immortal witch, bound long ago by a spell she never chose.”
 
The spirit revealed fragments of a past Ophelia had buried: a spell cast by Merlin himself, binding her to a life she never wanted, tying her to a warlock whose icy heart left her longing for warmth, for being loved like a mortal, for a life she could shape on her own terms.
 
Mia held her breath, stunned by what she heard. Her aunt, the calm, tea‑sipping storyteller, was a witch of ancient power. A witch who had chosen to hide her truth immortal identity.
 
Joy swelled in Mia’s chest, but so did something else: respect.
 
This was Ophelia’s secret, not hers to expose.
 
As the séance ended, Mia rose quietly, whispering, “I’ll wait until she’s ready.”
 
She stepped back into the night, broomstick in hand, carrying a message that would change everything, yet choosing to keep it safe until the moment her aunt decided to speak her truth.

.....
 
(Copyright © 2026 by Mia Z. Edwards. All rights reserved.)