The witch sat hunkered down in a seedy Fred Meyer parking lot in the middle of what most might consider, undoubtedly, the shittiest part of the city. She was pissed. Thankfully, she had a solution to resolve her extreme irritation. Her only gripe, in the present moment, was her limitation to only one spell. On balance, the witch decided it may be better for all concerned that she could only invoke one spell. Realistically – things could get ugly real fast if she were an all-powerful witch. And she straight-up knew it.
The witch was fond of her classic 1960’s Ford Mustang. She loved the roomy interior, gigantic white steering wheel, throbbing stereo grooves, and the cherry red shining exterior that brought her pleasure just looking at it in the driveway every night.
But there was a problem. Other drivers.
As the witch entered the Fred Meyer parking lot on this day, she steered her classic vehicle slowly and methodically, taking care to stop for pedestrians and respect other drivers.
Suddenly, she witnessed another driver speeding through the parking lot at a speed completely ridiculous for a parking lot. She was immediately incensed. Her nose opened up in rage.
She tried to control her impulses – but it was too late. All her senses prepared for battle.
She kept a keen eye on this driver and his modern yellow (rather ugly) sportscar. She looped around and followed him. She kept her eyes fixed on his tail lights. She followed him until he approached a stop sign.
She waited until he was at a full stop.
She didn’t want to hurt him, per se, she just wanted to seriously fuck with his day. It is necessary for drivers to be at a full and complete stop if a witch is fully determined to pull this rather evil shit on them.
He slowed down and stopped.
She waited for a moment.
She blinked her eyes three times in rapid succession to invoke the spell.
All four of his tires blew out at the same time!
She smiled broadly and let out a cackle. She couldn’t see him, but she knew exactly what was happening inside his car.
He was shaking – overwhelmed by the split-second adrenaline release. He looked around rapidly, sweating, screaming expletives.
Pure, wonderful fear.
He didn’t understand what had happened. Not yet.
Has he been shot?! What was that sound? That bang? Why was it so loud?
Finally, he leaped out of the vehicle and quickly discovered the blown tires. His face changed. Now he was confused and angry. He circled around the back of the car, eyes scanning the asphalt as he struggled to locate the source of the blowout.
He placed his hands on the top of his head and paced, eyes still wildly darting around the pavement. His face contorted, and he began screaming into the air:
“Yo… what the FUCK did I run over, yo?!”
He screamed this several times.
The witch hunkered down and kept her distance, watching the scene with amusement and pleasure.
She placed her sunglasses over her eyes with a sigh. This is the part where she knew she was obligated to enforce Witch Ethics. It’s hard sometimes.
Witches must maintain self-control. They’ve been given a gift; the power itself is the reward. No gloating is allowed. But she’s only human. After all.
Her first instinct was to roll up next to him, while he was still suffering this dire stress, roll down her window and yell:
“HaaHAAA, oh look at that! LOOK at that! You better call triple AAA, bitch!”
The witch resisted this very strong impulse.
Such behavior is beneath the dignity of a witch.
And the witch considered herself highly Dignified. She wouldn’t break the ethics clause for nothing.
It would also arouse suspicion. He wouldn’t know that she’s a witch, mind you, but he’d quickly assume that she’d somehow been involved.
An enraged mind doesn’t require facts or details to arrive at rapid conclusions. The how doesn’t matter.
He’d simply sense, correctly, that this sneering little bitch sporting a red pixie cut had somehow, in some way, seriously destroyed all four of his tires at once.
And then the cops would be on to her, she figured.
They’d finally have a lead.
This wouldn’t be her first episode of tire destruction, oh no.
You see, tires would have already blown out in stopped vehicles all over town. Every time an asshole driver stumbled upon the great misfortune of the formidable Ms. Pumpkin – the Mighty Tire Witch – exploded tires and confusion would follow. Everywhere.
The city already had a hell of a problem on their hands before this one incident.
The problem slowly emerged, and city officials were rather slow to come to grips with the strange violence in their midst.
Eventually, word spread. Drivers began contacting insurance companies, and the insurance companies called the tire manufacturers. Companies began investigations. First, they suspected a problem with the actual tires.
They feared a horrific design issue. They figured the worst-case scenario facing motorists and the automotive industry was likely pending lawsuits and a massive recall on tires.
Soon enough, they discovered that wasn’t just one brand of tires.
Every brand of tire in existence was blowing out, and all 4 simultaneously in every incident of this kind.
Now things got Real.
The police were contacted; it became apparent that a criminal was afoot. But how?!
All four tires at once — always at stop lights, stop signs or in the driveway of motorist home residences. Always when other drivers are a safe distance away.
They scratched their heads for months. No evidence of bombs. No fingerprints. No meaningful witness statements.
There were witness statements all right — but all statements consisted of the witnesses observing spontaneous tire combustion without a suspect nearby.
Zero evidence of foul play.
One day, they brought in a savvy investigator from out of town. He uncovered the pattern and pinpointed the motive, but maddeningly so, because it didn’t bring him any closer to solving the case. There was still a complete absence of evidence and no suspects.
Detectives hate that shit.
He sat in his office reading police reports and victim statements, leaning forward a little with rolled up sleeves and a furrowed brow.
Suddenly, he gasped and looked up.
“TOM!”, he shouted, “Tom, get your ass over here, I think I got it!”
Tom circled the corner with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I’ve found a…. commonality, I think. A trend among the victims.”
The investigator stood up and paced back and forth, touching his chin in thought. He walked over to the window, pulled down the blinds and grabbed a marker from his desk. He paused for a moment, then walked over to the white board.
He began writing driver names on the white board in a neat column. He wrote driving infractions across from each name, separated by commas.
“HA!”, he yelled, “Do you see it?”
Tom squinted for a moment, then his face relaxed. He slowly smiled.
“Yes! Oh, hell yes, why didn’t we see this before!? Speeding tickets, moving violations, noise infractions from those god-awful subwoofers. Some of these people even parked in a handicapped zone! These drivers are all assholes! That’s the key!”
“Right!”, the detective yelled, “and these are just the ones that we know about! The remaining victims are probably just assholes who drive crazy all over town but manage to fly under the radar!”
Tom sipped his coffee and sighed. He paused for a moment. “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone is targeting asshole drivers indiscriminately, all over town, and taking out all four tires at once on their vehicles…”
“Yeah,” the investigator cut in, “and whoever it is, I mean, this is unprecedented. We’re dealing with a serious professional here. A real sophisticate.”
Meanwhile, the witch stood beside her classic mustang on top of a hill overlooking the ocean, leaning against the parked car.
She wore stylish sunglasses and a long red shawl draped over her shoulders, gently blowing in the wind.
Another day, another set of tires blown out.
Witch work is exhausting sometimes. Casting spells, even minor ones, can seriously tax her energy levels.
She decided it was time for a little relaxation. There’s nothing like a cup of black tea and a good book to unwind in moments like this.
“So, I want to kill this waitress
She’s worked here a year longer than I
If I did it fast, you know that’s an act of kindness…
But I believe in peace, bitch”