**I don't own any of this and I don't claim to....I just liked the movie and thought it'd be interesting to find out how Winifred Sanderson, the eldest of the Sanderson Sisters, got her freaky book of magic. (Oh, and I really enjoy bad boys in black, so that's why the Devil's so gorgeous.) Enjoy! R&R, if you'd be so kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Gift of Magic
Winifred Sanderson was a normal child, when compared to her sisters. Her siblings, Mary and Sarah, and herself were odd, but it was nothing too noticeable early on. As babies they were babies, and as toddlers they toddled; but as they grew older unorthodox happenings followed them wherever they went. Sarah's voice enchanted full-grown men by the time she was eight, and Mary had a strange tendency to see things before others had, smell things before they had, and hear things before they had.
Winnie, though, was left with little more than coincidences that could be passed as nothing, although her curly red hair set her apart in their Pilgrim community, as most citizens had bland hair of chestnut. Mary had a cropped mane of midnight black, and Sarah had locks of golden white. Winifred, also the eldest of the sisters, had green eyes like laurel leaves and front teeth slightly larger than the rest. Winifred loved green colours and had dyed scarves, her apron, and a shawl of her own in the shade, much to her parents' dismay.
Their parents were faces in the crowd in the early days, as plain as dirt and just as interesting. They reared their daughters with religious hands and mouths, making sure the more antisocial Winnie, specifically, became the more she was pushed to obey her elders and faith alike.
She became restless in her little town near the forest, her home within it and her heart without it. Loving nothing more than wandering the woods in the daylight, she spent all the time she could spare out amongst the friendly fauna.
Strangely, their parents passed away in the night, of causes unknown; the night was the eve before Winnie's birthday. They were buried, and the eldest daughter tended to herself and her sisters from that day on in their same home. Despite such misfortune, time undoubtedly moved onward. And soon enough, Winifred was sixteen years old.
"Where are you going, Winnie?" Sarah shouted after her sister as she sat drawing near the moat in the mud with a stick. It was autumn, and the leaves were fiery all around their home in the noonday sun. Her older sister said nothing in reply, and Sarah shrugged, resuming her artwork. She hummed to herself and twisted her hair idly with her fingers.
"Where's she going?" Mary asked from the front door with an apple in hand. Sarah shrugged again; Mary fiddled with the ties on her bonnet that held her jaw too tightly and stared off into the trees.
~
Winnie was in a fit today. Feeling useless around the house and unwanted anywhere else, she took to the woods where she might find some peace. It had not yet become chilly for the season, as it was sure to do in a few days, so her clothing was nothing heavy. She wore the earth tones in her dress and shoes, and ripped off her bonnet as she strode through the fallen leaves. Her hair like blood and gold fell in a cascade past her shoulders, billowing out behind her. She donned her green clothing as often as possible, as she did at the moment, touching tree trunks with her rough palms as she passed them.
Mumbling to herself, she happened upon a field of dying wheat and weeds, stiff as straw or moldy and weak, far from her property. The sun began to set, she had been out so long, and signs of animal or human life had all but vanished. The sky greyed with clouds suddenly, and a burst of yellow light and fierce gales tore down out of the heavens, focused at her feet. With a shriek she jumped back, landing on her seat and clutching wildly at her shawl in the wind. Face turned upward, she hugged herself and breathed heavily, frightened out of her wits. An invisible force clutched the high collar of her white blouse and heaved her off the ground and onto her black-footed shoes. Light in her eyes, she was blinded momentarily, rubbing her lids and screwing up her face. The wind calmed and silence was left in it's wake.
As the light cleared and her vision returned, a man in a black hat and a black suit not of the time stood propped against a wooden cane. He was neither old nor young, but of an age to be a man and an attractive one if anything. His eyes and hair were black like soot and his skin was without blush. A red ribbon tied his hair back at the nape of his neck, and his fingernails were long and glassy. As the brightness of the ribbon registered in the girl's mind, she noticed how the same color ringed the man's irises curiously. He tapped his fingers against the handle of his cane in a deep rhythm that echoed throughout the clearing.
"What's your name, girl?" Mouth agape, she had been paying more attention to his physical form than his words. Without more than a reflex or instinct to guide her, she answered.
"Winifred Sanderson," she stuttered, blinking wildly.
"Scratch," he replied, bowing his head and tipping his hat to her. "But I bet you can guess who I really am." His eyes twinkled like onyx. Winnie took a step back, shuddering like a frightened animal. "I'm here to give you a gift," he went on, standing upright and straightening the cuffs of his sleeves as he paid no attention to her reaction. The cane stood on end of it's own accord. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and produced what appeared to be a large leather-bound book that should have been much too large to conceal in such a garment. This he balanced upon the cane and continued, "You are a very special girl. You and your sisters, of course." What a smooth voice.
At this statement, her fear melted into a feeling of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.
"What of my sisters?" Her eyes glowed menacingly in spite of the deeper confusion in her mind.
"Winnie, this book is yours. Take it," and as he spoke these words impatiently, the book floated to her at chest-height, stopped until she took it in her hands. It was heavy and smooth, with stitches running all across it. "This book will be your best friend. It is all the knowledge–my gift–that I have to give to you." Staring closer at the binding, she discovered it was sewn with— "Yes, human skin," he answered her private suspicion with a chuckle.
Half dropping and half throwing the book, the girl's eyes grew wide. It was to no avail, though–it again hovered before her, just inches away. Scratch laughed, stroking the fine silk of his vest with its ebony buttons; things like this must happen to him every day.
A strange warm sensation seeped from the book to Winnie's fingertips, traveling up her arms, through her veins, and into her heart, head, and eyes. She clutched the book to her chest and collapsed to the ground, rocking back and forth with it protectively in her grasp. Eyes glazed over, her breath rushed out of her lungs as a frost, and Scratch watched with amusement. Winnie shuddered again, still rocking, and took in a deep breath that burned like scalding water; this brought her back to consciousness.
He crouched down in front of her, staring her in the eye. "Do you know who I am?" he asked firmly.
"Satan, Master," she replied with a fiendish grin on her face. He smiled back warmly, cradling her jaw in his hand.
"And will you obey me?" He drew his face closer to her own.
"With all my heart," she sighed lovingly. The Devil studied her face for a moment longer before helping her to her feet. "Is this mine?"
"The book, yes. It is, and forever will be. But I do have gifts–."
"–For my sisters?" She seemed eager to have the privilege to spread the joy she felt at that moment to someone else.
"For Sarah," he produced something long and leathery from his pocket, "a lucky rat's tail. She'll be amused by it," he said under his breath. "And for Mary," being loud once again, "You'll find a cauldron buried beneath the hemlock at home. I expect you all to share it, of course," his eyes flashed fiercely.
"Yes, Master." Winnie bowed and let her hair fall in her face. An electricity ran through her limbs and an excitement was obvious behind her eyes. Her knuckles turned white from the tight grip she held on her book.
"I'll be seeing you." The Devil winked as he picked up the cane that stood behind him, twirled it, and vanished like a dissipating mist of red and gold. "Run home, Winnie," his voice echoed through the clearing even though his physical form no longer stood.
~
As if awakened from a deep trance, Winifred Sanderson ran home that autumn evening, as quickly as her shoes would carry her. The clouds disappeared from the sky, and moonlight guided her way through the woods. Soon enough, she was shouting for her sisters to join her in digging up the hemlock behind their house....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BlueInTheFace, 10-5-03
Finished 9:17pm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Gift of Magic
Winifred Sanderson was a normal child, when compared to her sisters. Her siblings, Mary and Sarah, and herself were odd, but it was nothing too noticeable early on. As babies they were babies, and as toddlers they toddled; but as they grew older unorthodox happenings followed them wherever they went. Sarah's voice enchanted full-grown men by the time she was eight, and Mary had a strange tendency to see things before others had, smell things before they had, and hear things before they had.
Winnie, though, was left with little more than coincidences that could be passed as nothing, although her curly red hair set her apart in their Pilgrim community, as most citizens had bland hair of chestnut. Mary had a cropped mane of midnight black, and Sarah had locks of golden white. Winifred, also the eldest of the sisters, had green eyes like laurel leaves and front teeth slightly larger than the rest. Winifred loved green colours and had dyed scarves, her apron, and a shawl of her own in the shade, much to her parents' dismay.
Their parents were faces in the crowd in the early days, as plain as dirt and just as interesting. They reared their daughters with religious hands and mouths, making sure the more antisocial Winnie, specifically, became the more she was pushed to obey her elders and faith alike.
She became restless in her little town near the forest, her home within it and her heart without it. Loving nothing more than wandering the woods in the daylight, she spent all the time she could spare out amongst the friendly fauna.
Strangely, their parents passed away in the night, of causes unknown; the night was the eve before Winnie's birthday. They were buried, and the eldest daughter tended to herself and her sisters from that day on in their same home. Despite such misfortune, time undoubtedly moved onward. And soon enough, Winifred was sixteen years old.
"Where are you going, Winnie?" Sarah shouted after her sister as she sat drawing near the moat in the mud with a stick. It was autumn, and the leaves were fiery all around their home in the noonday sun. Her older sister said nothing in reply, and Sarah shrugged, resuming her artwork. She hummed to herself and twisted her hair idly with her fingers.
"Where's she going?" Mary asked from the front door with an apple in hand. Sarah shrugged again; Mary fiddled with the ties on her bonnet that held her jaw too tightly and stared off into the trees.
~
Winnie was in a fit today. Feeling useless around the house and unwanted anywhere else, she took to the woods where she might find some peace. It had not yet become chilly for the season, as it was sure to do in a few days, so her clothing was nothing heavy. She wore the earth tones in her dress and shoes, and ripped off her bonnet as she strode through the fallen leaves. Her hair like blood and gold fell in a cascade past her shoulders, billowing out behind her. She donned her green clothing as often as possible, as she did at the moment, touching tree trunks with her rough palms as she passed them.
Mumbling to herself, she happened upon a field of dying wheat and weeds, stiff as straw or moldy and weak, far from her property. The sun began to set, she had been out so long, and signs of animal or human life had all but vanished. The sky greyed with clouds suddenly, and a burst of yellow light and fierce gales tore down out of the heavens, focused at her feet. With a shriek she jumped back, landing on her seat and clutching wildly at her shawl in the wind. Face turned upward, she hugged herself and breathed heavily, frightened out of her wits. An invisible force clutched the high collar of her white blouse and heaved her off the ground and onto her black-footed shoes. Light in her eyes, she was blinded momentarily, rubbing her lids and screwing up her face. The wind calmed and silence was left in it's wake.
As the light cleared and her vision returned, a man in a black hat and a black suit not of the time stood propped against a wooden cane. He was neither old nor young, but of an age to be a man and an attractive one if anything. His eyes and hair were black like soot and his skin was without blush. A red ribbon tied his hair back at the nape of his neck, and his fingernails were long and glassy. As the brightness of the ribbon registered in the girl's mind, she noticed how the same color ringed the man's irises curiously. He tapped his fingers against the handle of his cane in a deep rhythm that echoed throughout the clearing.
"What's your name, girl?" Mouth agape, she had been paying more attention to his physical form than his words. Without more than a reflex or instinct to guide her, she answered.
"Winifred Sanderson," she stuttered, blinking wildly.
"Scratch," he replied, bowing his head and tipping his hat to her. "But I bet you can guess who I really am." His eyes twinkled like onyx. Winnie took a step back, shuddering like a frightened animal. "I'm here to give you a gift," he went on, standing upright and straightening the cuffs of his sleeves as he paid no attention to her reaction. The cane stood on end of it's own accord. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and produced what appeared to be a large leather-bound book that should have been much too large to conceal in such a garment. This he balanced upon the cane and continued, "You are a very special girl. You and your sisters, of course." What a smooth voice.
At this statement, her fear melted into a feeling of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.
"What of my sisters?" Her eyes glowed menacingly in spite of the deeper confusion in her mind.
"Winnie, this book is yours. Take it," and as he spoke these words impatiently, the book floated to her at chest-height, stopped until she took it in her hands. It was heavy and smooth, with stitches running all across it. "This book will be your best friend. It is all the knowledge–my gift–that I have to give to you." Staring closer at the binding, she discovered it was sewn with— "Yes, human skin," he answered her private suspicion with a chuckle.
Half dropping and half throwing the book, the girl's eyes grew wide. It was to no avail, though–it again hovered before her, just inches away. Scratch laughed, stroking the fine silk of his vest with its ebony buttons; things like this must happen to him every day.
A strange warm sensation seeped from the book to Winnie's fingertips, traveling up her arms, through her veins, and into her heart, head, and eyes. She clutched the book to her chest and collapsed to the ground, rocking back and forth with it protectively in her grasp. Eyes glazed over, her breath rushed out of her lungs as a frost, and Scratch watched with amusement. Winnie shuddered again, still rocking, and took in a deep breath that burned like scalding water; this brought her back to consciousness.
He crouched down in front of her, staring her in the eye. "Do you know who I am?" he asked firmly.
"Satan, Master," she replied with a fiendish grin on her face. He smiled back warmly, cradling her jaw in his hand.
"And will you obey me?" He drew his face closer to her own.
"With all my heart," she sighed lovingly. The Devil studied her face for a moment longer before helping her to her feet. "Is this mine?"
"The book, yes. It is, and forever will be. But I do have gifts–."
"–For my sisters?" She seemed eager to have the privilege to spread the joy she felt at that moment to someone else.
"For Sarah," he produced something long and leathery from his pocket, "a lucky rat's tail. She'll be amused by it," he said under his breath. "And for Mary," being loud once again, "You'll find a cauldron buried beneath the hemlock at home. I expect you all to share it, of course," his eyes flashed fiercely.
"Yes, Master." Winnie bowed and let her hair fall in her face. An electricity ran through her limbs and an excitement was obvious behind her eyes. Her knuckles turned white from the tight grip she held on her book.
"I'll be seeing you." The Devil winked as he picked up the cane that stood behind him, twirled it, and vanished like a dissipating mist of red and gold. "Run home, Winnie," his voice echoed through the clearing even though his physical form no longer stood.
~
As if awakened from a deep trance, Winifred Sanderson ran home that autumn evening, as quickly as her shoes would carry her. The clouds disappeared from the sky, and moonlight guided her way through the woods. Soon enough, she was shouting for her sisters to join her in digging up the hemlock behind their house....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BlueInTheFace, 10-5-03
Finished 9:17pm