Waste Not, Want Not

October winds carry chilled tidings over the lake's murky waters, promising a hard winter. Lillian stands on the shore, a colorful shawl wrapped tightly around her diminutive frame, head tilted upward, eyes closed in contemplative silence. Her tawny, yellowish-brown face is no longer etched with lines of worry but smooth; serene in the knowledge that another winter will pass her by unscathed.

Faint scents of daffodil and sweet grass in the air confirm the enchantment has worked, thank the goddess. Lillian’s offering has been accepted. All will be well. Sighing in relief, she turns on graceful feet and heads back to her lakeside cabin.

There are no roads leading to her little place. No beaten paths, no dirt trails, nothing connecting the cabin to the cities and towns of the outside world, surrounded on three sides by a maple forest, facing the lake. Yet there are signs of life. A clean, bearskin rug lays at the cabin’s threshold, fragrant herbs hang from bits of twine, and perhaps most telling, only a few fresh leaves are scattered on the front steps.

Pausing to lay a hand on the moss-covered log above her door, Lillian mutters another prayer of gratitude and steps inside.

“The goddess has granted safe passage through the winter,” Lillian says, hanging up her shawl. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

A muscular man dressed in overalls sits slumped at a modest table in front of the hearth where a small fire burns, filling the room with cozy heat. Lillian quickly kisses his bearded cheek, then removes the wooden bowl before him.

“Let me wash this for you,” she tells him, her tone warm and appreciative. “I’ll bring us another.”

Humming, she moves into the kitchen and empties the bowl’s poisonous contents before pulling down a cluster of herbs wrapped in yellow and pink ribbons hanging beneath the window. Once green and supple, the tiny wreath is now brown and brittle, but that’s fine. She’ll make another one next year to lure the next man or woman to her home.

Lillian had to admit he was a fine-looking specimen. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find him knocking on the door. “Oh my!” She’d exclaimed, taking in his broad shoulders and square jaw. “Aren’t you beautiful? What awful sin has brought such a majestic creature to my doorstep?”

They all had their dark secrets, and this one was no exception. He’d been a lumberjack, evidenced by the rather large axe he’d carried over one shoulder, its curved blade stained crimson along sharpened edges. The bloody shred of some poor woman’s blouse had been stuffed into one of his pockets. It seemed her visitor enjoyed cutting down more than just trees.

Now singing softly to herself, Lillian set down a much larger bowl before him and readied her knife. Waste not, want not, her mother always said. She got to work. The human body offers so many useful spell ingredients.