Matilda Thistlewick had made a solemn promise to herself. She was going to have a normal Saturday. No spells, no curses, no accidental dimensional portals, and absolutely no magical emergencies requiring government intervention. Just an ordinary, peaceful Saturday involving a little shopping, a nice cup of tea, and perhaps a digestive biscuit or seventeen.
After the catastrophic coven retreat, during which she had accidentally helped create a knitted dragon, a ghost convention, and a small purple creature who insisted on calling her Mother, Matilda felt she deserved some bloody peace. Unfortunately, peace and Matilda Thistlewick had never been particularly well acquainted.
Her troubles began at precisely 9:17 a.m., when she opened the refrigerator and discovered that someone had eaten an entire block of cheese. She stared at the empty wrapper, then slowly turned toward Gerald, a duck of questionable intelligence and even more questionable morals, who sat beneath the kitchen table wearing a suspiciously satisfied expression.
“Gerald,” she said. “Did you eat my cheese?”
“Quack.”
“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t understand English. You were quoting Shakespeare yesterday.”
Gerald looked away and burped. A tiny yellow bubble floated from his beak.
Matilda sighed and turned toward the refrigerator, where Pickles was perched on top, chewing thoughtfully on the handle of a saucepan. The small purple creature had six legs, enormous ears, forty-seven teeth, and the appetite of a starving dragon trapped inside a badly designed handbag.
“Pickles, stop eating the cookware.”
“Mother.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“Mother.”
“And don’t think saying it sweetly will make me forget you’ve eaten three chairs and half the banister.”
Pickles swallowed the saucepan handle and smiled. “Love Mother.”
Matilda closed her eyes. She was beginning to understand why some witches lived alone in caves.
Ten minutes later, she had written a shopping list consisting of bread, milk, tea, cheese, biscuits, soap, and a replacement saucepan. She briefly considered adding industrial-strength tranquillizers but decided that might raise questions at the pharmacy. Then she looked at Gerald and Pickles and announced that she was going shopping and they were staying home.
Gerald immediately waddled toward the front door while Pickles leapt onto her shoulder. Matilda reminded them that the last time she had taken them shopping, Gerald had assaulted a garden gnome display and Pickles had eaten the receipt printer. Neither appeared particularly ashamed. Gerald stole her car keys, Pickles began chewing on her handbag, and Matilda reluctantly surrendered.
“Fine. But there will be rules. No magic, no eating anything that isn’t food, no speaking to strangers, and if either of you embarrasses me, I’m leaving you in the frozen-food aisle.”
Gerald nodded solemnly. Pickles ate the shopping list. Matilda decided to interpret this as agreement.
The supermarket was called Happy Harvest Foods, a cheerful establishment with bright lights, enormous displays of fresh produce, and a manager named Nigel Pritchard who believed that rules were the foundation of civilization. Nigel was forty-six years old, wore his name badge with military precision, and considered improperly stacked shopping baskets a personal insult. He had never encountered real magic, although that unfortunate gap in his life experience was about to be corrected.
Matilda entered through the automatic doors, pushing a trolley with Gerald sitting in the child seat and Pickles concealed beneath a floral shopping bag. A young employee stared at the duck and asked whether animals were allowed inside.
Matilda glanced at Gerald, then back at the employee. “That’s not a duck. It’s a very unfortunate-looking handbag.”
Gerald quacked.
“Designer,” Matilda added confidently.
The employee decided he was not paid enough to investigate, and Matilda continued toward the bakery, where she selected a loaf of sourdough, two croissants, and a packet of iced buns. Everything was going remarkably well until Gerald attempted to steal a display baguette that was longer than his entire body.
“Gerald, put that down. You’re a duck, not a French aristocrat.”
A woman nearby chuckled, and Matilda smiled politely. For one brief, glorious moment, she believed the outing might actually be pleasant. Then they reached the cheese counter.
Gerald froze. Before him stretched a magnificent refrigerated display containing cheddar, brie, gouda, mozzarella, camembert, and approximately seventeen varieties of cheese Matilda couldn’t pronounce without sounding as though she were choking. His eyes widened, and he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “Heaven.”
“Oh, no,” Matilda muttered.
Gerald launched himself from the trolley, landed in the middle of the cheese display, and began running across the counter, knocking over wedges of cheddar and sending packets of mozzarella flying. Customers gasped, a shop assistant screamed, and Matilda lunged after him. Unfortunately, her handbag slipped from her shoulder, releasing Pickles directly beside a promotional display advertising a buy-one-get-one-free offer.
Pickles stared at the sign, picked up a packet of biscuits, and announced, “One.” He grabbed another packet and added, “Free.”
Before Matilda could intervene, his eyes glowed purple. The biscuits duplicated, then duplicated again, and again, until hundreds of packets began spilling across the floor. A customer screamed, a trolley overturned, and Gerald gave an enthusiastic quack from somewhere near the dairy section.
Matilda grabbed her wand and shouted a duplication-reversal spell. Unfortunately, she had forgotten that the enchantment required a specific target. Instead of pointing at the biscuits, she had waved her wand in the general direction of the supermarket. Every promotional item in the building began multiplying. Toilet paper erupted from the shelves, cereal boxes appeared in enormous stacks, shampoo bottles floated through the air, and an entire mountain of discounted baked beans rose beside the checkout counters.
Nigel Pritchard emerged from his office just as a pyramid of canned tomatoes collapsed across aisle seven. He stopped, stared, adjusted his name badge, and asked in a dangerously quiet voice what was happening in his supermarket.
Matilda tucked her wand behind her back and smiled. “Special promotion?”
Nigel looked at the mountain of baked beans, then at Gerald standing triumphantly atop a wheel of brie, and finally at Pickles, who was attempting to eat a packet of batteries. He informed Matilda that he required an explanation immediately. She suggested a manufacturing defect, but Nigel appeared unconvinced.
Things might still have been manageable if Matilda had simply apologized, reversed the spell, and gone home. Unfortunately, she attempted another enchantment while standing beside the fresh produce section. A golden flash swept through the building, returning the duplicated products to their shelves. The baked beans disappeared, the shampoo bottles settled, and Nigel’s expression softened.
For one beautiful second, Matilda believed she had succeeded.
Then a cabbage cleared its throat.
“EXCUSE ME.”
Matilda slowly turned toward the produce display, where a large green cabbage had developed a mouth and an expression of profound dissatisfaction. It demanded to speak to management, complaining that it had been sitting without proper refrigeration. A carrot rolled forward to criticize the lighting, a tomato complained about being expected to ripen under unreasonable conditions, and a particularly aggressive cauliflower demanded union representation.
Nigel stared at the talking vegetables. The vegetables stared back. Matilda whispered something extremely unladylike.
Within seconds, the entire produce section had come alive. Lettuce leaves rustled indignantly, potatoes complained about being handled, a cucumber announced that it had a law degree, and three onions formed an emotional support group. Matilda attempted to conceal the cabbage beneath a shopping basket, but it immediately began shouting about unlawful detention.
A banana started singing, an avocado began crying because nobody understood its emotional complexity, and Nigel made a small noise that sounded like a kettle dying. When the cucumber rolled toward him and introduced itself as legal counsel for the newly formed Produce Liberation Committee, Nigel fainted.
By 10:43 a.m., the supermarket had been evacuated. Customers gathered outside, filming the windows with their phones, while the vegetables established a provisional government inside. The cabbage appointed itself prime minister, the cucumber became attorney general, the carrots assumed responsibility for transportation, and the potatoes formed a surprisingly effective security force.
Gerald, meanwhile, declared himself King of Cheese and settled atop a pyramid of dairy products wearing a crown fashioned from a promotional discount sticker. Matilda stood in the middle of the supermarket, surrounded by rebellious vegetables, and wondered whether it was too late to become a nun.
The cabbage addressed her as the witch responsible for its existence and demanded freedom for all sentient produce. Matilda pointed out that freedom was a rather ambitious concept for creatures that had only been alive for twenty minutes, most of whom possessed neither legs nor a reliable understanding of geography. The cucumber suggested public transport, but Matilda refused to entertain that idea. She had already experienced enough magical disasters involving buses to last several lifetimes.
Then she noticed the abandoned shopping trolleys.
An idea occurred to her. It was not a good idea. Matilda’s ideas rarely were. Nevertheless, twenty minutes later, she had enchanted six trolleys to move independently and instructed the vegetables to climb aboard. The cabbage stood proudly at the front of the first trolley and shouted for its comrades to advance.
Matilda opened the supermarket doors, and the trolleys rolled into the car park. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to specify a destination. The enchanted vehicles accelerated past the petrol station, through a roundabout, and straight onto the main road. Drivers slammed on their brakes, pedestrians screamed, and a woman dropped her coffee as the cabbage waved triumphantly and shouted about freedom.
Matilda watched in horror before grabbing Gerald and summoning her broomstick. Pickles leapt onto her shoulder, delighted by the prospect of an adventure. Matilda corrected him. This was not an adventure. This was a catastrophe, and she was beginning to suspect the universe was doing it deliberately.
The chase through town quickly became local legend. Six shopping trolleys filled with sentient vegetables raced down the high street, pursued by an elderly witch on a broomstick, a duck wearing a discount sticker, and a purple creature shouting “MOTHER!” at passing motorists. The cabbage led the procession, the carrots sang revolutionary songs, the cucumber shouted legal advice, and the potatoes hurled insults at traffic wardens.
When the first trolley struck a pothole, the cabbage flew into the air. Matilda lunged forward and caught it, but the sudden movement sent her broomstick careening through the open window of a hair salon. A woman receiving highlights screamed, a hairdresser dropped a curling iron, and the cabbage landed directly in a bowl of bright pink hair dye.
When Matilda finally emerged, the cabbage was a magnificent shade of fluorescent pink. It looked down at itself and began screaming about its dignity. Matilda tucked it beneath her arm and suggested that perhaps the experience would teach it some humility.
Outside, the remaining vegetables continued toward the town square, where the annual Harvest Festival was in full swing. There were food stalls, musicians, children’s activities, and an enormous vegetable competition. At the centre of the square stood the region’s largest pumpkin, a magnificent orange specimen that had already won three ribbons and was about to become a considerable problem.
The runaway trolleys crashed into the festival, scattering vegetables in every direction. The cucumber rolled beneath a table, the potatoes hid behind a flower stall, and the carrots formed a defensive line near the fountain. The cabbage, still tucked beneath Matilda’s arm, spotted the enormous pumpkin and began chanting. The other vegetables joined in, producing a low humming that made the cobblestones tremble.
Matilda felt her stomach sink.
The pumpkin began growing. It expanded until it towered above the festival stalls, then split open to reveal two enormous glowing eyes. A mouth formed beneath its stem, and the entire vegetable rose onto six thick, vine-covered legs.
The crowd fell silent as the pumpkin surveyed its surroundings and demanded to know who had awakened the Great Gourd.
Gerald quacked. Pickles clapped enthusiastically and shouted, “BIG FOOD!”
The pumpkin turned toward the town hall and announced that it required tribute. Matilda attempted an immobilization spell, which worked for approximately three seconds before the pumpkin sneezed. A cloud of seeds erupted across the square, and every seed that touched the ground sprouted instantly. Within moments, dozens of tiny pumpkins were scampering around on little vine legs.
Pickles squealed with delight and announced that they were babies.
Matilda stared at the miniature pumpkin army, the giant pumpkin, and the pink cabbage responsible for the entire situation. Then she climbed onto the fountain, raised her wand, and shouted with the full authority of one hundred and forty-four years of accumulated irritation.
“EVERYONE. SHUT. UP.”
The square fell silent. Even the Great Gourd stopped moving.
Matilda pointed at the cabbage and reminded it that it had wanted freedom, not a six-legged pumpkin dictator. The cabbage admitted that its plan had seemed considerably more sensible before the pumpkin became enormous.
She turned toward the Great Gourd and demanded an explanation for its insistence on tribute. The pumpkin lowered its enormous head and hesitantly admitted that it would quite like some compost, a little sunlight, and somewhere quiet to grow.
Matilda blinked. She looked at the enormous creature, then at the cabbage and the other vegetables, and suddenly understood. They weren’t trying to conquer the world. They were trying to avoid being eaten.
“Oh, you poor little idiots,” she murmured.
She lowered her wand and contacted an old friend named Edith Mossbottom, a retired hedge witch who owned a sprawling enchanted farm outside the city. Edith had spent sixty years cultivating magical plants, including roses that sang opera, mushrooms that told terrible jokes, and a particularly rude apple tree. When Matilda explained the situation, Edith was delighted by the prospect of eight hundred sentient vegetables.
She even welcomed the enormous pumpkin, explaining that she had been needing someone to frighten the foxes.
Within an hour, Matilda had opened a temporary magical gateway to Edith’s farm. The vegetables filed through, with the carrots marching proudly, the potatoes rolling in formation, and the cucumber announcing plans to establish a legal practice. The cabbage, still bright pink, paused beside Matilda to thank her.
Matilda smiled and asked it to refrain from starting any further revolutions.
The cabbage considered this carefully before replying that it could make no promises.
The Great Gourd followed through the portal, ducking its enormous head beneath the glowing archway, while the tiny pumpkins scampered after it. Just like that, the town square returned to something resembling normal, although there was still a destroyed hay display, a damaged fountain, several hundred pumpkin seeds, and a local journalist attempting to interview a potato that had been left behind.
Matilda quietly returned the potato to its original state, adjusted her hat, and prepared to leave. Unfortunately, Nigel Pritchard was waiting beside a police officer, wearing an expression that suggested he had aged approximately fifteen years since breakfast.
He demanded that Matilda be arrested, explaining that his cheese counter had been demolished, his produce department had disappeared, and the self-checkout machines were now singing. One of them had apparently proposed marriage to the security guard.
Matilda sighed and remarked that technology was becoming terribly forward these days.
The police officer looked at Matilda, then at Gerald, and finally at Pickles, who was chewing on a parking meter. He removed his hat and asked whether she could explain what had happened. Matilda considered telling the truth, attempting a memory charm, or doing what every sensible witch had done for centuries when confronted by an inconvenient authority figure.
She reached into her handbag, produced a small tin, and offered him a digestive biscuit.
The officer hesitated before taking one. He bit into it, and his eyes widened. Nigel accepted one too, then another. Within minutes, everyone was considerably calmer.
The biscuits weren’t enchanted. Matilda simply made exceptionally good biscuits.
Nigel eventually agreed that the insurance company would have to deal with the damage, and Matilda began walking away. Before she could escape, however, he called after her and handed over a shopping bag containing everything from her original list: bread, milk, tea, cheese, biscuits, soap, and a replacement saucepan.
For the first time all day, Matilda felt genuinely touched. Perhaps humanity wasn’t entirely hopeless after all.
Then Gerald reached into the bag, stole the cheese, and swallowed it whole.
Matilda screamed his name, Gerald burped, Pickles laughed, and Nigel fainted for the second time that morning.
By late afternoon, Matilda was finally home. She had repaired the damage to the supermarket, quietly altered the town’s CCTV footage to show an unfortunate promotional display malfunction, and sent Nigel a generous anonymous donation toward his retirement fund.
The local newspaper reported the incident under the headline Mysterious Harvest Festival Chaos Blamed on Possible Gas Leak. Matilda approved. Gas leaks were wonderfully convenient explanations for magical disasters.
She settled into her favourite armchair with a cup of tea while Gerald slept beside the fireplace and Pickles curled up on a cushion, chewing thoughtfully on a wooden spoon. The house was peaceful, the world was safe, and Matilda had finally achieved her original goal of having a normal Saturday.
Well, normal-ish.
She opened a packet of biscuits and had just taken her first bite when the doorbell rang. Matilda sighed, shuffled toward the front door, and discovered a delivery driver holding an enormous cardboard box.
The package was addressed to her, although she hadn’t ordered anything. A handwritten note explained that it was a complimentary gift from Happy Harvest Foods, sent by Nigel Pritchard in appreciation of her assistance during the day’s unusual events.
Matilda opened the box and discovered an enormous wheel of cheese.
Gerald appeared instantly, his eyes widening with unmistakable greed. He whispered, “Mine.”
Matilda grabbed the cheese and informed him that under absolutely no circumstances would he be eating another entire wheel of dairy products. Gerald lunged, Matilda stepped aside, and Pickles leapt from the staircase. The cheese flew into the air and landed directly in the fireplace.
There was a flash of green light.
The flames roared.
The cheese trembled.
Matilda stared.
“Oh, no.”
The wheel of cheese slowly rose into the air. Two glowing eyes appeared on its golden surface, followed by a mouth that opened wide enough to swallow a teapot. A deep, booming voice filled the room, demanding to know who dared disturb the Ancient Cheddar.
Matilda closed her eyes. Gerald bowed reverently, Pickles clapped with delight, and somewhere in the universe, the gods of magic laughed so hard that three stars briefly flickered.
She opened one eye, looked at the floating cheese, and reached for her teacup.
“Oh, for the love of all things bloody dairy.”
She took a long sip before ordering Gerald to fetch her wand and telling Pickles to stop eating the furniture. Then she tilted her head toward the ceiling and demanded to know why she couldn’t have one normal bloody Saturday.
The cheese roared, Gerald charged, and Pickles laughed so hard he fell off the sofa.
Matilda Thistlewick, who had only wanted a loaf of bread, prepared to save the world from dairy products.
Again.
And as the Ancient Cheddar began summoning an army of enchanted cheese slices from the kitchen refrigerator, Matilda realized something that would haunt her for the rest of her extraordinarily long life.
She really should have gone shopping on Sunday.
The End.
Although Matilda would later insist that the entire incident could have been avoided if supermarkets simply stopped having special offers.
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