The first thing Amy noticed was that her feet hurt. Her toes seemed to be growing stiff and hard and warty, meaty tissue grew between them. She'd thought that it was eczema at first, but now she was worried and had visited a doctor.
Who was absolutely no help at all. Or at least, he thought she had a severe and lethal form of skin cancer. And she was beyond anything that medicine could offer her. He'd suggested a priest. She suggested he go fuck a choir boy.
Being who she was, the man had left to do just that.
Still in shock from the news, Amy had left the hospital and taken stock of her options.
If she was beyond medical science's ability to help her, that left magic. And she had a lot of that. So Amy was currently hidden in a vacation home near Salem. It was a good enough place, but the cottage next door had been taken two days after her arrival by a batty old Norwegian woman with a clowder of huge, staring cats.
But that didn't matter since Amy got all her groceries brought in anyway, because of the second thing she noticed, the horrible stench. Every time she passed a child, she nearly gagged. Filthy things. So she plotted and studied her spellbooks and never left the house. She'd found quite early on that most of the spells that cured required a sacrifice. And most of the spells worked better if the sacrifice was young. And intelligent. The books suggested otters and monkeys.
Amy had a better idea. There was a school for gifted children in Boston, and no doubt she could find a nice young child genius. That should tick all the boxes and give her spell a nice boost. She grinned, baring teeth that were tinged with blue. She didn't know why, but her spit had discoloured. She could've asked the oncologist, but he was in jail after almost having been lynched by the congregation of the church where he had assaulted two choirboys during Mass. It was a nice thought. Children were evil little things anyway.
Amy studied her image in the mirror, then looked down her naked body at her feet.
They had become hard, almost blocky as the days passed, the toes growing and clumping together. As long as she wore broad-nosed shoes she was fine, but anything more elegant pinched and hurt, though not as much as she expected it would what with tumours and all. Her fingernails had changed too, crowing curled and thick, like a cat’s claws, but not retractable.
Her hair started to fall out, in great ragged hunks, leaving smooth, bare scalp. All in all she didn't make a very attractive picture.
She grimaced. “Not to worry. Another few spells will soon fix that. Plenty of kids to go around,” she murmured to herself. She studied her reflection. She mapped out what changes she would make, and how many children it would take. *Best get a few pretty girls. There have to be a few pretty and intelligent girls out there.*
She picked up the glass of coke she’d poured earlier and took a few healthy swigs. She blinked at her hands and then screamed as she started to shrink and fur began to grow all over her body, her hands became tiny paws with tiny claws and suddenly she blinked at herself in the mirror, in the shape of a mouse.
“Willow! It has to be WILLOW!” she squeaked. Intent on undoing the spell she hastened towards the work table she'd set up. She never even noticed the five cats that were released into the house. End Note: The Witches is a book by Roald Dahl. The appearance and oddities of witches are described therein. I do not own these notions, nor claim to.