Matilda Thistlewick had reached an age where she believed she deserved three things in life: comfortable shoes, uninterrupted afternoon naps, and the right to tell people to bugger off without providing an explanation.
At one hundred and forty-four years old, she felt these were perfectly reasonable expectations. Well, the universe apparently had other plans.
It began on a Thursday morning when a pink envelope arrived through her kitchen window, narrowly missing the teapot and striking Gerald the duck directly in the forehead.
Gerald was unimpressed. “Quack.”
“Language, Gerald,” Matilda muttered, retrieving the envelope from beneath his webbed foot.
The envelope smelled of lavender, expensive perfume, and the sort of optimism Matilda found deeply suspicious.
Inside was an invitation.
Congratulations, Matilda Thistlewick!
You have been personally selected to attend the Annual Moonflower Coven Wellness Retreat!
Three glorious days of healing, sisterhood, meditation, spiritual alignment, and reconnecting with your inner goddess!
Activities include moonlit yoga, crystal therapy, guided emotional release, aura cleansing, and communal manifestation circles. Attendance is mandatory.
Matilda read the final sentence twice.
Then she turned the invitation over, searching for the words just kidding but there were none.
“Oh, absolutely bloody not.”
Gerald quacked in agreement as Matilda tossed the invitation into the fireplace. The flames turned pink and the invitation floated back out, completely unharmed.
ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY, it now read in enormous glittering letters.
Matilda sighed. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.
She hadn’t even finished her tea.
The Moonflower Coven Retreat was held at an exclusive countryside estate called Whispering Willow Sanctuary, a sprawling collection of cottages, gardens, and ancient oak trees that had once belonged to a particularly unpleasant warlock. The estate had since been converted into a luxury spiritual retreat by a witch named Seraphina Moonblossom, who had discovered that mortals would pay extraordinary amounts of money to sit in a field and be told to breathe.
Seraphina was one hundred and twelve years old but insisted she was “eternally twenty-nine.”
She wore flowing white dresses, spoke in a voice usually reserved for guided meditation recordings, and referred to every inconvenience as “an opportunity for energetic growth.”
Matilda disliked her immediately.
When Matilda arrived on Friday afternoon, Seraphina greeted her at the entrance with outstretched arms.
“Matilda! Welcome, beautiful soul!”
Matilda stared at her. “Have we met?”
“Our spirits have always known each other.”
“Well, mine has apparently forgotten.”
Seraphina laughed. Matilda did not.
Behind Seraphina stood eleven other witches, all wearing matching lavender robes and expressions of varying enthusiasm.
There was Beatrice Bogbottom, a retired potion mistress who had been banned from three apothecaries for threatening customers.
Penelope Starwhisper, a young witch who documented every magical experience for her social media followers.
Agnes Nightshade, who specialized in curses and had once hexed a parking meter for rejecting her coins.
Dorothea Grimble, a grandmotherly hedge witch who knitted enchanted scarves that occasionally strangled their owners.
And eight others whose names Matilda immediately forgot because she had spotted a buffet table.
“Are those sausage rolls?”
Seraphina placed a hand over her heart.
“Matilda, darling, we nourish ourselves here with pure, plant-based, high-vibrational foods.”
Matilda looked at the buffet. There were twelve bowls of leaves, a tray of suspiciously damp crackers, and something labelled Activated Moonseed Pâté.
“Good grief. Have the caterers been arrested?”
Gerald waddled past her and began eating a decorative fern. The retreat’s first activity was called The Sacred Circle of Emotional Vulnerability. Matilda had hoped this meant everyone would sit quietly for an hour.
It did not.
The witches gathered on cushions beneath a large oak tree while Seraphina lit incense and began speaking about releasing emotional burdens.
“Today,” she announced, “we shall share something that weighs heavily upon our hearts.”
Matilda considered mentioning the price of butter but opted to instead remain silent.
Beatrice went first. “I have spent thirty years carrying resentment toward my sister.”
Seraphina nodded sympathetically. “And why is that, dear Beatrice?”
“She stole my favourite cauldron.”
“Perhaps you could explore forgiveness.”
“Perhaps she could return my bloody cauldron.”
Agnes raised her hand. “I once cursed a man because he parked in my driveway.”
Seraphina smiled. “And what did that teach you?”
“That turning someone into a traffic cone is remarkably effective.”
Penelope was livestreaming.
“Guys, this is SO healing,” she whispered into her phone. “The energy here is literally transformative.”
At that precise moment, the traffic cone Agnes had mentioned appeared beside the oak tree.
It was orange.
It was furious.
And it began shouting.
“AGNES! YOU PROMISED YOU’D CHANGE ME BACK!”
The circle fell silent.
Seraphina closed her eyes.
“Let us honour this unexpected emotional manifestation.”
Matilda rubbed her forehead.
“It’s a man named Trevor, you absolute turnip.”
Trevor the traffic cone continued shouting until Agnes reluctantly restored him to human form.
Unfortunately, she forgot his trousers.
Trevor fled into the woods wearing nothing but a reflective safety vest.
Matilda decided the retreat was going splendidly.
That evening, the witches gathered for moonlit yoga.
Seraphina stood on a raised platform surrounded by candles.
“Let us connect our bodies with the infinite wisdom of the universe.”
Matilda sat on her mat.
Her knees cracked.
The sound echoed across the garden.
“Was that thunder?” Penelope whispered.
“No,” Matilda replied. “That was 1887.”
Seraphina instructed everyone to move into the downward-facing dog position.
Matilda bent forward.
Her back made a noise like a cupboard falling down a staircase.
Gerald, who had been sleeping nearby, woke in alarm.
“Quack!”
“Yes, Gerald, I heard it too.”
Then Seraphina introduced a breathing exercise.
“Imagine your worries leaving your body as a beautiful cloud of light.”
Unfortunately, Dorothea Grimble took the instruction literally.
A glowing purple cloud emerged from her mouth.
It hovered above the group.
Then it began raining tiny frogs.
Within seconds, the garden was covered in amphibians.
Penelope screamed.
Beatrice slipped.
Agnes threatened to curse the weather.
And Matilda, still trapped in downward-facing dog, was struck on the backside by a particularly enthusiastic toad.
“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF HECATE’S KNICKERS!”
Seraphina remained calm.
“Remember, ladies, resistance creates suffering.”
Matilda stood upright.
“Well, I’m about to create suffering with my walking stick.”
The yoga session ended early.
By Saturday morning, Matilda had decided she would rather spend the weekend having her teeth extracted by a goblin.
Unfortunately, leaving the estate was impossible.
Seraphina had placed a magical boundary around the grounds to encourage “complete immersion in the healing experience.”
Matilda discovered this when she attempted to escape through the rose garden.
She walked through the gate.
There was a flash of pink light.
And she reappeared beside the breakfast buffet.
A sign materialized above her head.
YOU CANNOT RUN FROM YOUR HEALING.
Matilda stared at it. “Watch me.”
She tried again. The same thing happened. On her third attempt, the boundary deposited her directly into a bowl of chia pudding.
Gerald watched from beneath a table. “Quack.”
“Not one word.”
Saturday’s main activity was the Great Manifestation Ceremony. According to Seraphina, the witches would gather beneath the full moon, combine their intentions, and invite abundance into their lives. Matilda thought this sounded dangerous and she was correct.
At precisely nine o’clock, the witches stood in a circle around an enormous crystal. Seraphina raised her arms.
“Tonight, we release limitation and welcome infinite possibility!” The crystal began glowing.
Penelope whispered, “I manifest ten million followers.”
Beatrice muttered, “I manifest my sister returning my cauldron.”
Agnes said, “I manifest a world where people learn how to bloody park.”
Dorothea smiled.
“I manifest an endless supply of wool.”
Matilda folded her arms. “I manifest a decent cup of tea and an immediate exit.”
Seraphina began chanting. The crystal pulsed, the ground trembled and the universe, apparently having had enough of everyone’s nonsense, decided to grant every wish simultaneously.
Penelope’s phone exploded with notifications. Her follower count jumped from forty-two thousand to ten million. Unfortunately, every single follower was a ghost. Within seconds, thousands of translucent figures began appearing around the estate, demanding selfies.
Beatrice’s missing cauldron materialized above her head. It landed on the lawn with a deafening crash. Her sister appeared immediately afterward, shouting that Beatrice had stolen it first.
Agnes’s manifestation resulted in every vehicle within fifty miles parking itself in perfect alignment. Unfortunately, this included moving vehicles. Across the countryside, cars abandoned roads and neatly arranged themselves in supermarket car parks.
Dorothea’s endless supply of wool arrived in the form of an enormous, rapidly growing ball of yarn. Within minutes, it had swallowed three cottages, a gazebo, and half the ornamental pond.
And Matilda’s wish? A steaming cup of tea appeared in her hand and beside it materialized a glowing doorway.
Matilda stared. Then she smiled. “Well, would you look at that.”
She stepped toward the doorway. Unfortunately, Gerald chose that exact moment to chase a frog across the lawn. He collided with her ankle and Matilda stumbled. Her tea flew into the air. The cup struck the enormous crystal and the entire manifestation ceremony went spectacularly wrong.
The crystal shattered. A shockwave of purple magic raced across the estate, the ghosts began singing, the wool transformed into a giant knitted dragon, the parked cars started dancing and Seraphina Moonblossom, who had been attempting to maintain her serene expression, suddenly developed a magnificent pair of antlers.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Matilda looked at Seraphina. “Well,” she said, “at least you’ve finally grown something useful.”
Seraphina screamed, the knitted dragon roared, the ghosts applauded and Gerald laid an egg.
Matilda stared at the egg, then at Gerald. “You’re a boy.”
Gerald looked equally surprised and then the egg cracked. Out stepped a tiny purple creature with six legs, enormous ears, and the expression of someone who had already decided the world was disappointing.
It looked at Matilda and then it spoke. “Mother.”
Matilda dropped her walking stick. “Oh, absolutely not.”
The creature blinked. “Mother.”
“Don’t you start.”
Gerald quacked proudly. Matilda closed her eyes. She was going to need something considerably stronger than tea. By midnight, the estate was in complete chaos. The knitted dragon had claimed the dining hall as its territory. The ghosts were holding a karaoke competition in the orchard. The cars were performing synchronized choreography in the parking area. Seraphina’s antlers had grown so large she could no longer fit through doorways and the tiny purple creature, whom Dorothea had named Pickles, had developed an alarming fondness for eating furniture.
Matilda stood in the centre of the lawn, surveying the destruction. She had two options. She could attempt to reverse the magic herself or she could contact the International Council of Witches.
She considered this carefully and then she remembered that the council still blamed her for the incident involving the bestselling grimoire and the judgmental turnips. She would rather swallow a cactus.
“Right,” she announced. “Everyone listen!”
Nobody listened. Matilda raised her walking stick. A thunderclap shook the estate, the ghosts stopped singing, the dragon lowered its head and even Pickles paused halfway through eating a chair.
“THANK YOU.”
Matilda marched toward the broken crystal.
“Now, the problem is that you lot have been manifesting things without understanding what you’re asking for.”
Seraphina attempted to speak but Matilda pointed at her. “And you, Antlers, can be quiet.”
Seraphina closed her mouth.
“Magic,” Matilda continued, “isn’t a bloody vending machine. You don’t shove in a wish and expect the universe to deliver exactly what you want.”
Penelope raised her hand.
“But manifestation is about believing in limitless possibility.”
“Yes, dear. And gravity is about falling. Doesn’t mean you should jump off the roof to experience it.”
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully.
Matilda turned to the others.
“Your wishes were all about what you wanted. Not what you actually needed.”
She pointed at Penelope.
“You wanted followers. What you need is to put your phone down and have a proper conversation with someone who isn’t dead.” Penelope looked offended. Then she glanced at the ghosts. One was attempting to photograph himself with a Victorian camera. She slowly lowered her phone.
Matilda turned to Beatrice. “You wanted your cauldron back. What you need is to sort out thirty years of nonsense with your sister.” Beatrice crossed her arms.
“She started it.”
“You’re both over a hundred years old. Finish it.”
Agnes was next.
“You wanted everyone to park properly. What you need is to accept that some people are idiots and the world will continue turning regardless.”
Agnes sighed. “That’s going to be difficult.”
“I know, dear.”
Dorothea looked at the enormous knitted dragon. “And me?”
Matilda softened. “You wanted endless wool because you miss having people to knit for.”
Dorothea’s eyes filled with tears. “My grandchildren have all grown up.”
“Then perhaps,” Matilda said gently, “you could teach someone else.”
The knitted dragon lowered its enormous head and rested it beside Dorothea and she stroked its woollen nose.
“Oh,” she whispered. “You’re rather lovely, aren’t you?” The dragon purred. It sounded like a tumble dryer full of bricks.
Finally, Matilda turned to Seraphina. “And you.”
Seraphina stood very still. “You wanted everyone to have a perfect healing experience.”
“I only wanted to help.”
“I know. But healing isn’t perfect. People are messy. They get angry, they grieve, they laugh at inappropriate moments, and occasionally they turn their ex-husbands into traffic cones.”
Agnes coughed.
Matilda continued.
“You can’t force people to feel better by trapping them in a field and feeding them leaves.”
Seraphina looked down. For the first time all weekend, her voice lost its artificial sweetness.
“I suppose I was afraid that if everything wasn’t perfect, people wouldn’t come back.”
Matilda sighed. “Oh, love.” She placed a hand on Seraphina’s shoulder.
“Nobody needs perfection. They need somewhere they can be themselves.”
The antlers began shrinking, the air grew warmer and the broken crystal started glowing again.
Matilda smiled. “There we are.”
She instructed everyone to stand together. No chanting, no elaborate rituals, no dramatic declarations to the universe. Just twelve witches, one duck, a knitted dragon, and a small purple creature named Pickles.
“Think about something you’re grateful for,” Matilda said. “Something real.”
Beatrice thought about her sister.
Penelope thought about her friends.
Agnes thought about the people who had forgiven her for her temper.
Dorothea thought about teaching children to knit.
Seraphina thought about the imperfect, ridiculous women standing around her.
Matilda thought about her crooked little house, her favourite armchair, and the extraordinary comfort of a proper cup of tea.
Gerald thought about breadcrumbs.
Pickles thought about eating the gazebo.
A soft golden light spread across the lawn. The ghosts faded peacefully away. The cars returned to their owners. The giant ball of wool shrank into manageable baskets. The knitted dragon remained, but became small enough to curl up beside Dorothea’s feet. And the estate returned to something resembling normal. By Sunday morning, the retreat had been transformed.
Seraphina cancelled the remaining scheduled activities. Instead, the witches sat together in the garden, drinking tea, eating proper breakfast food, and telling stories. There were no manifestation circles, no mandatory emotional vulnerability, no lectures about energetic alignment – just laughter.
Beatrice and her sister finally made peace, though they agreed to share custody of the cauldron. Penelope turned off her phone. Agnes apologized to Trevor the traffic cone, who had returned wearing trousers and demanding compensation. Dorothea began planning knitting lessons for local children and Seraphina served sausage rolls. Actual sausage rolls. Matilda nearly wept.
At noon, the magical boundary disappeared so Matilda packed her bag. Gerald waddled beside her and Pickles followed, dragging a small table leg.
Matilda stopped. “No.”
Pickles blinked. “Mother.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
Matilda looked at Gerald. “This is your fault.”
Gerald quacked. She sighed. “Fine. But if you eat my furniture, I’m turning you into a lampshade.”
Pickles smiled. It had forty-seven teeth. Matilda decided to not investigate further.
As she reached the gate, Seraphina hurried after her. “Matilda!”
Matilda turned. Seraphina embraced her. “Thank you.”
Matilda stiffened then awkwardly patted her shoulder.
“Yes, well. Try not to summon any more emotional catastrophes.”
Seraphina laughed. “I was wondering something.”
Matilda narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”
“Would you consider leading next year’s retreat?”
Matilda stared at her. The birds stopped singing and somewhere, a squirrel dropped an acorn.
“Absolutely bloody not.”
Seraphina smiled. “I’ll send you an invitation.”
“Don’t you dare.” Matilda marched toward the road and Gerald waddled after her with Pickles scampering along behind them, carrying a stolen garden gnome.
For the first time all weekend, Matilda felt peaceful. She had survived. The world had not ended and she was finally going home.
Then her handbag began vibrating. She opened it and inside was a pink envelope. It smelled of lavender.
Matilda stared at it. Then the envelope opened itself.
Congratulations, Matilda Thistlewick!
You have been nominated as Head Instructor for the International Witchcraft Wellness Summit!
Location: Switzerland.
Duration: Seven days.
Attendance is mandatory.
Matilda slowly closed her handbag and looked at Gerald. Gerald looked at Pickles while Pickles ate the garden gnome.
Then Matilda tilted her head toward the sky and released a scream so magnificent that three weather systems changed direction.
“OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE BLOODY KIDDING ME!”
And somewhere in Switzerland, an ancient mountain spirit woke from a thousand-year slumber and smiled because it had been a very long time since anyone had caused a proper catastrophe.
And Matilda Thistlewick was coming.
Judging by the state of Switzerland’s future, this is definitely not the end.
A little magic is always waiting. Subscribe and step inside the circle. 🖤🔮✨
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