Summary: Which Witch is Which?- THOH. Springfield back in the Witch Trials, only everybody is about four years older. There are rumors flying about which witch has taken their children, killed their crops, and left a single pearl at the scene of the crime. All signs point to Marge, but is she the real witch around here?

"My crops!" Wiggum cried.

"My *BURP* corn!"

"Hey! Those ARE my crops! Gumble, say your own thing!"

"I don't have anything else."

"Then shut up!" Homer shouted.

"Hey hey HEY! We don't have enough money in the budget to let you all shout out what you're missing. Besides, we're all missing something and none of them are as important as mine."

A series of shouting and arguments occurred right after that.

"My daughter was taken just last night!"

"My crops are all dead! I can't feed my wife and two missing kids!"

"Oh! Won't somebody PLEASE think of the children?" (Guess who that is! She hasn't said it in god-knows-how-many seasons! Now she's a stuck-up snob.)

Lisa came running in from the forest, carrying several books in one hand and three pearls in the other. "If I may? I have something to point out."

Everybody groaned at the sight of her.

"If you look at the scene of the crime, of every crime, you'll find these pearls." she held out the hand with the silver pearls. They glinted in the sunlight.

Everybody crowded around, trying to catch a glimpse of what the witch left behind.

"So the witch has pearls, and plenty of them . . ." Homer said suspiciously.

"Hmmm . . . That's a good place to start, is to look for a woman- or man- who has plenty of pearls." Marge said -matter-of-factly. All eyes trailed to her neck, where her necklace was lined with them. Realizing this, she began to shake her head. "No, no. I've been the witch once in this thing, I'm not gonna be again!"

"Then who else would have pearls of this quality?" Sideshow Mel pushed his way through the crowd, stopping short of Marge. "When I was sick with pneumonia, you gave me what you called, and I quote, "a magic herb." Now, I owe you my life for that, but this is a greater cause. If you are not the witch, then I shall apologize later."

"But I'm not! I swear, I've been framed!"

"Don't listen to her! She's the witch and will kill the rest of our children! Why is it that hers' are three out of four the remaining few in the town?" Sideshow Bob accused.

Bart did a double-take. "You! No! don't listen to him! He's just trying to kill our mom! He's lying!"

The townsfolk ignored him, and instead took Marge to the old hanging tree. Francesca and Gino stood beside him, smiling.

"Thank you, Roberto."

"It was no problem whatsoever." He laughed. "They'll believe anything and anyone you call out. And, of course, it'll ruin that rotten stump's life."

"But mama, weren't you and Mrs. Simpson practicing ma-"

"Shhh! Not here! We speak of it only at home, do you understand me?"

"But everyone is at the hanging. We are alone. And missing it."

"Hurry then!" they rushed to the hanging, getting the final seats in the back.

Mayor Quimby and an executer were standing on either side of Marge. The noose was around her neck now, the pearls dangling in front of her face held by the mayor. "Listen. If you really are the witch, then you can use your magic to somehow escape your restrains. If you're not, then you'll die for no apparent reason and I'll apologize in hell."

Marge looked everyone in the eye, the Terwilligers last, before announcing, "Maybe I am the witch who has killed your crops. Taken your children. Or maybe she had an apprentice." A moment of awkward silence. "Oh, and Homer, don't forget to buy food, otherwise the pantry will be empty."

"Ooh! Thanks honey!" He turned to Lisa, who was silently crying. "Lisa, don't forget to keep the pantry full."

She said nothing, but glared at the Terwilliger family. All six of them were there now.

It was almost dream-like, how Marge fell. It seemed to be in slow motion to both of her daughters, to the Terwilligers too fast. When the corpse was cleared, everyone went back to their lives, hanging missing pictures and re-planting crops for the next witch to destroy.

The Simpsons went back to their home to mourn, whereas the Terwilligers had other ideas . . .

Bob's parents had gone back to their house now. Cecil had been invited over, and Bob was out in the fields, tending to the crops. Gino and Francesca were in the kitchen with Cecil now, enjoying a refreshing bowl of watermelon.

"Mama, can you answer my question now?" Gino looked up at his mother with a wide-eyed expression as innocent as it could get.

Oh yes, he knew about the witchcraft and wizardry. But the rest of them didn't know he knew as much as he did. They did their best to hide it from him, not until he was older.

But it was too late. He had already mastered the craft of voodoo, thanks to a member of the family."Marge and I used to practice together, si. But that was a long time ago. We split after a few years, over power; we used to fight over who had the most power. We took it too far, and many lives were lost. We . . . swore we wouldn't ever practice again. This is why I don't want you to start practicing, Gino. Marge never stopped. She's the one who took the children, killed the crops. We only use magic for good, Gino. Only for good, despite what we plan to do to the Simpson boy.

"Now, if you shall excuse me, I believe your father needs help." As she got up, Cecil and Gino looked out the window and saw that Bob was trying to fight off a herd of carnivorous sheep with, ironically, a rake. It looked like the sheep were winning.

Cecil laughed as one of them bit Bob's rear, making him jump several feet into the air. Gino chuckled, then turned to his uncle. "Why did we?"

"Why did we what?"

"Why did we do it? Why didn't we just kill the boy first?"

He made no reply for a while.

"You still hate her, don't you?"

He sighed, and patted his nephew on the head. "Hated. I wanted them to believe she did it. And I thought the townsfolk would get to her earlier. It took them longer than anticipated." he yawned. It was seven at night, and it had been a long day. "I'm going to head home."

"Aren't we going to practice tonight? The moon, she is waxing."

"No, there's tomorrow. Always *yawn* tomorrow. Goodnight." He left. Looking out the window, Gino could no longer see his parents.

Alone. I am alone.

Going into his bedroom, Gino got the book out from under the cot. It was ancient, the cover a wrinkled and molding red. He then got out the box.

Lifting the doll out, he flipped to the proper page. It was his first time casting, but he had seen lo zio Cecil do it numerous times with the children.

He spoke softly now, "Come to me mio caro, my precious, my fair maiden. Come to me. Ad me. Ad me! Ad me!" *

Maggie sat up in her bed.

Ad me.

She knew who he was. She knew what was happening, and what he had done.

Mio caro.

But she didn't care. Oh, she didn't care.

My precious!

It had been a while, since he last called her.

My fair maiden!

At least a month.

Ad me!

She got up and checked under the bed for the doll. Finding it, she whispered back, "I am coming, my love. We have much to discuss."

Gino opened his screen window, letting the fireflies come in. Letting the firefly come in. She was beautiful, even more so than last month. Margret had on her white night dress, and the waxing moon lit up her face. Her soul was a firefly, lighting up his darkness.

They embraced, and didn't let go until she pushed away, still grasping his hands. "She was my mother."

"And it was not my decision! It was my uncle's! You know what their relationship was, you knew that it would happen sooner or later."

"I know. But why wasn't it Bart? God, just let him die already!"

"Tonight. Tonight, I swear." he took out the doll Bob had made.

Maggie gasped. "But . . . This is black magic. Mama told me to never use black magic."

"As does mine. But they never heeded their own advice, now did they? At least, back in the day."

Maggie looked down at the figure of her brother. The brother who had made her cry all those times, including Lisa. Who had hidden and destroyed her dolls. The brother who had filled her lovers heart with darkness that only she had healed.

She took out a needle. "On three."

Gino took out another. "One."

"Two."

"Three."

They both stabbed it. "Beware Bart Simpson, for this is the knell, that sends ye to heaven or to hell."

Maggie took it in her hands. "Only a few days left. And I place it in the walls?"

"Of his room."

"Thank you." they hugged again, but were cut off by a door slamming shut.

"My parents! They mustn't see you!"

"I love you!" She jumped out the window, knowing full-well she and Gino would run away from this damned town. Escape into the world, explore, live life.

But as for now, they must take care of their parents. And who knows? Maybe things will be better without Bart there to ruin everything.

Why, he was the one who killed the kids. Cecil had only cast that one spell, just to light the flame. To lead the town into paranoia. But no, Bart was the one who had destroyed the crops and killed the other children. He had only used the paranoia to play a game of cat and mouse.

But soon, things will be back to normal. Soon, the world will be rid of Bart Simpson.

I honestly must say, this kept leading from one culprit to another. And I know fully well that's not how voodoo works, but this is a Treehouse of Horror. Unless it plays a bigger part in my stories, voodoo can't be explained all that well in a Simpsons fic.

*- Latin. "Ad me" means "Come to me."

*-Italian. "Mio caro" means "My love."