Farmer John and the Wicked Witch of the Central Region

This is a story about the wickedest witch in all of the land. They didn’t even make a movie about her, that’s how wicked she was. She had so many people in her dungeon, she had to hire a big company to make her a second dungeon. That’s how wicked she was.

So one day, this wickedest of witches hopped on her broomstick to find some new princes and princesses to throw in her brand-new dungeon. And she was flying through the air, with her big, pointy black hat, and her long, pointy black shoes, and the mole on her chin, which was so big she had to duct tape it down to her face just so the wind didn’t knock into it and send her off course.

And she was using her special wicked vision to scan for the happiest princes and princesses (because she loved throwing the happy ones into her dungeons the best), when all of a sudden, she heard a crack.

“What the heck?”

It was her broomstick.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me! I just had this thing serviced last month!”

Then she heard another crack.

“Oh, like I need this today!”

She grabbed a roll of emergency duct tape and began making an

emergency repair. But it was too late. The broom cracked in half, and down she went.

“Oh nooooo! For crying out louuuuuuuud !”


A minute later, the witch landed smack-dab in the middle of a cornfield in Southern Ohio. Of course, this wicked witch had never seen a cornfield before, so she had no idea where she was.

“Drats! Where the heck am I?”

The witch stood up and dusted off her black dress, straightened out her hat, and set out looking for the other half of her broom.

“Where are you, ya old mop?” she said, pushing the tall green stalks out of her way. “There you are. Now, if I could just remember that spell, the one that puts things together . . . hmm . . . I’m so used to the one that rips everything apart.”

The witch reached into her cloak for her wand, but it was gone!

“Oh no!”

She searched inside every pocket and underneath her hat. She even shook out her witchy black hair, but no wand!

“I must’ve lost it in the free fall! Great. How am I supposed to get anywhere without my gosh darn magic wand?”

Then she heard a loud, scary noise in the distance. The witch dropped to her knees and hid behind a corn-stalk, peeking between the leaves.

Approaching the witch was the strangest green dragon she’d ever seen, except instead of walking, it had giant rolling legs. Of course it wasn’t a dragon at all. It was a tractor. But this witch had never seen a tractor before.

Helpless without her magic wand, the witch pulled out a white kerchief from her pocket and began waving it around, yelling, “Mayday, mayday! I

surrender!” Then the dragon stopped, and out stepped a man wearing blue jean overalls, with a piece of straw sticking out from between his two front teeth.

He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

The witch wiped the sweat dripping down the long bridge of her crooked nose. “I thought you were a dragon!”

“No, ma’am. I’m a farmer. And this here’s my farm!”

The witch looked around, confused.

“Looks like you could use some help,” the farmer said.

“Ach . . .You’re telling me! It has not been a good day. See, I’m a wicked witch, and I was riding on my broomstick, out on a day’s work, and the darn thing split… And whoom! Down I went.”

“Gosh, ma’am. I’m sorry to hear that. Are you hurt?”

“Just a bruised backside. Nothing a little eye of newt can’t fix.”

The farmer stared at the witch in awe. “You know, I’ve never met a real witch before.”

“You don’t say?”

“Say, you’re not by any chance . . . the Wicked Witch of the East?”

“Nope.”

“The West?”

“No, no. I’m from the Central Region. The name’s Gladys.”

“The Wicked Witch of the Central Region? Huh. I’ve never heard of you

before.”

“Most people haven’t. We’ve never been defeated, so people don’t like to talk about us much. No one likes an unhappy ending, you know.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ms. Gladys.”

“It is? Never heard that before.”

The farmer smiled and stepped toward the witch, offering to shake her hand. “Well, my name’s Farmer John,” he said.

The witch shook his hand. “Huh. Don’t think I ever met a real farmer

before.”

“Well, how ’bout that.”

“Listen, uh, Farmer John . . . You think you could help me find my magic wand? It must’ve fallen out of my cloak on the free fall. And without it, I can’t get home.”

“I’d be glad to give you a ride.”

“All the way to the Evil Kingdom?”

“Oh, right. Well, sure, I’ll help you look for it, ma’am.”

“I appreciate it.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Oh, about yay big. Six or seven inches. It’s one of a kind. Handcrafted from the lacerated tail-bone of a saber-toothed skunk.”

“Wow, sounds like a real special thing you lost.”

“Oh, it is.”

The farmer and the wicked witch waded through the thick, tall cornfield for over an hour looking for the magic wand, but they just couldn’t find it.

“Hey, I think I found something,” Farmer John shouted, holding what looked like a handful of black straw, wrapped in red ribbon.

“Oh, that’s a bouquet of my aunt Elaine’s nose hair. She gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. It’s supposed to be good luck. Some good it’s doing today, though, huh?”

The farmer smiled politely, and quickly handed the nose hair back to the witch.

Pretty soon the sound of crickets filled the air. “Welp, ma’am,” the farmer said, looking at the sky. “It’s gettin’ pretty late—sun’ll be headed down ’fore we know it. I say you come back to the farm and have some supper with me and the family, get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll look some more in the mornin’.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” said the witch.

Just then, there was a loud grumbling. The witch covered her stomach with her hands, hoping the farmer hadn’t heard. Truth was, the witch was starving. She hadn’t eaten a thing since the three toasted dragon hoofs she wafted down at breakfast.

“You wouldn’t be intruding,” the farmer said. “Besides, the youngin’s’d be tickled to meet a real witch!”

“If you say so.”

“As long as you don’t throw us in a dungeon or anything.”

“Well, it’d be pretty hard to get you there without my wand.”

“Oh . . . right. Welp, come on, Ms. Gladys, let me help you up on the back of this big boy.”

Farmer John helped the witch up onto his tractor, and he started the

engine. The loud booming noise made the witch shudder, but as the tractor

began to roll, she found the ride enjoyable and marveled at the rows and rows of strange, tall green plants. “What do you call all this stuff, anyhow, Farmer John?" the witch asked.

“It’s called corn, ma’am.”

“Corn?”

“You’ll be having some for supper.”

“Is that anything like bunions?”

“Oh no, ma’am,” the farmer laughed. “Much tastier than bunions.”

As the wicked witch and the farmer pulled up to the big white farmhouse, a little boy in overalls and a little girl in pigtails ran over to greet them.

“Hey, Daddy!”

“Hey, Daddy!”

But when they saw the lady with the tall black hat sitting in the tractor, they both froze with fright.

“Hey, Susie, Little Johnny. I’d like you to meet someone special who’ll be joining us for supper tonight!”

“Wow, Daddy!” Susie said, looking nervously at the witch’s long, pointy nose and pointy black shoes. “Is she a real wicked witch?”

“Little Johnny, Susie, let’s address our guest by her proper name,

Ms. Gladys.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Gladys,” said Little Johnny. “Are you the Wicked Witch of the West?”

“No, children,” the farmer said, helping the witch off the tractor. Gladys is a Central Region witch.”

“I’ve never read about you before.”

“That’s a good thing, sonny,” said the witch, dusting off her black dress. “Wouldn’t want you getting any nightmares.”

“Are you gonna put us in a dungeon, Ms. Gladys?”

“You’re not a prince or a princess, are you?”

“Oh no! Not us,” said Susie. “We’re just regular kids!”

“That’s what I thought.”

A moment later, a pretty woman in a long flower-printed sundress walked

slowly over to greet them. “Mommy, Mommy, guess what! Guess what! We have a real witch comin’ over for supper!”

“Ms. Gladys, this is my wife, Missy.”

“Glad to meet you, Ms. Missy.”

“Well, good afternoon, Ms. Gladys! What brings you all the way to Southern Ohio?”

The witch sighed. “I have to admit, it wasn’t exactly a planned trip. I fell off my broomstick.”

“Out of the sky?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, goodness gracious, were you injured?”


“She was lucky,” Farmer John said. “The cornfield cushioned her fall.”

“Well, by all means, come inside, Ms. Gladys. You must be hungry as a fox!”

That night, the wicked witch ate fresh corn, stew and salad with the farmer’s family. “This is delicious stew, madam.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like it, Ms. Gladys.”

“Do I taste a little toe of frog?”

“Nope. No toe of frog!”

“Eye of frog?”

“Nope.”

“Eye of bat. That’s got to be it.”

“No,” Ms. Missy said, smiling. “No eyeballs or toes at all!”

In the middle of everybody’s laughter, Ms. Missy started to choke.

“Forgive me, Ms. Gladys. I haven’t been feeling so well these days. I think I’m

gonna have to go lie down.”

After Ms. Missy left the table, coughing all the way down the hall to her bedroom, Farmer John stared sadly into his bowl of stew.

“Ms. Gladys,” Little Johnny said. “You think maybe you could help our

mother feel better? With one of your potions?”

Farmer John chuckled. “Ms. Gladys is a witch, Little Johnny, not a doctor.”

“Well, actually, Farmer John, I do have a degree in witch medicine.”

“See, Daddy! I knew she had to!”

“Well, Ms. Gladys . . . if you think you could help, by all means . . .”

Susie and Little Johnny jumped up from the table and ran toward the

bedroom. “Come on, Ms. Gladys, this way!”

In the bedroom, Ms. Missy was lying under the covers, pale and sweating.

“Mommy, guess what! Ms. Gladys says she might be able to help you!”

“Ms. Gladys, the witch?”

“She’s got a degree in witch medicine, Mommy!”

The witch stood beside the children. “I’d be glad to take a look, Ms. Missy, if you’d like me to.”

Ms. Missy caressed the children’s faces. “Well, it’s certainly worth a try, Ms. Gladys. I sure do appreciate the thought.”

The wicked witch squinted her eyes and took a good look at Ms. Missy. She lowered her face closer and closer, till her long nose was right in the crook of Ms. Missy’s armpit, and then, she sniffed. Ms. Missy’s eyes got real wide. “Don’t mind me,” said the witch. “The armpit is the first place a witch sniffs to diagnose disease.”

“I never knew that!” said Ms. Missy, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Just as I suspected,” the witch said. “You’ve got infagooma!”

“Infagooma?”

“Infection of the liver.” The witch looked at Farmer John. “She’ll need an albino beetle compress, right away.”

“Albino beetle compress?” Farmer John said. “How in the dickens do we get one of those?”

The witch opened her cloak, and on both sides, little tubes and jars were stacked neatly in rows, secured tightly with rope.

“Wow, look at all that stuff!” Susie cheered.

“You’re like a flying pharmacy, Ms. Gladys!” said Ms. Missy.

“Gotta be prepared—that’s what my aunt Elaine always says.”

The witch removed two squirming white beetles with red eyes from a

little glass tube and placed them on Ms. Missy’s liver, and right away, the beetles went to work. “They’ll eat the infection right through the skin!”

“Eww!” Susie and Little Johnny hollered.

“Oh, no. They love it. To them, it tastes just like pizza!”

The witch set the glass tube on Missy’s night table. “Just place two of these fellas on your liver every night for an hour, and you should be infagoomafree within the month.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Gladys. Funny, I’m actually feeling better already.”

The witch leaned in and whispered, “Are you a witch, Ms. Missy?”

“No, ma’am.

“ ’Cause only the evilest of witches get infagooma. My cousin had a bout of it once, from brewing a potion that turned a whole village into burlap!”

“I swear, Ms. Gladys, I’ve never brewed a potion in all my life!”


“Hmmm. Curious.”

“Some of our neighbors think Missy got sick from the spray we’ve been using to get rid of the bugs,” Farmer John said.

“A spray? To get rid of bugs?”

“Well, they started eating our crops. We almost lost everything. And then we heard about some other farmers who’d started using a spray that got rid of ’em.”

“Do you have any more of this spray, Farmer John? I’d like to take a look at it.”

“Sure do.”

Farmer John, along with Susie and Little Johnny, brought the wicked witch out to the shed, where 12 brown barrels were stacked on top of each other. “This is everything,” Farmer John said.

The witch pried open one of the barrels with her long black nail, took a sniff, and immediately started gagging. “Fat Betsy, this stuff’d take my warts off!”

“You think this is what gave Missy the . . . unfuguma?”

“Infagooma. It’s hard to say for sure, Farmer John. But just in case, I wouldn’t use it. Besides, if you want the bugs to stop eating your corn, why not just ask ’em to eat something else?”

The children giggled.

“Are you sayin’ I should talk to bugs, Ms. Gladys?”

The witch rolled her eyes and handed Farmer John another little vial from inside her cloak. “This stuff’ll let you communicate with any bug. And once you have their attention, just let ’em know that you’d prefer if they’d eat the weeds instead. You’d be surprised. Most bugs’ll be happy eating any old thing.”

The next day, the witch, Farmer John, Susie, and Little Johnny sprinkled the

special potion all through the cornfield, and then Farmer John made an

announcement: “Attention, bugs! Um . . . From now on, I’d really appreciate if you’d leave our corn be, and, uh, maybe chomp on some weeds instead.” Farmer John put down the bullhorn and the witch gave him a thumbs-up, and one by one, all the little bugs stopped eating the corn. Some even spat out the kernels. And instead, they all began chomping happily on weeds.

“My gosh,” Farmer John said. “It’s like magic!”

“Ms. Gladys?” asked Susie. “Do you think I could use this potion to get

mosquitoes to stop biting me?”

“Sure you can, Susie. At home, our mosquitoes never bite . . . Instead, they make the most delicious mosquito honey you ever had!”

Susie and Little Johnny both wrinkled their noses. “Ewww!”


By the time they were finished, it was too late to look for the witch’s broomstick. So Farmer John made a fire, and the whole family, even Ms. Missy, who was feeling a whole lot better, sat around telling ghost stories.

The witch was in the middle of telling this one story about the time her great-great-grandmammy scared a ghost so badly he started crying for his mommy, when all of a sudden, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps running through the field.

The wicked witch took to her feet, fishing through her cloak for a vial of fermented snake tongue, ready to defend her new friends, but when she saw the children laughing, she became confused.

“It’s just Ruffles, Ms. Gladys.  Our dog!”

Sure enough, a golden retriever covered in mud arrived a second later, and shook himself off all over everyone.

“Ruffles!”

“Daddy,” Little Johnny said. “What’s that in Ruffles’s mouth?”

Ruffles dropped the stick at the witch’s feet.

“I think Ruffles wants Ms. Gladys to play fetch,” Farmer John said.

“Hey!” said the wicked witch. “That’s not a stick! That’s my magic wand!”

Suddenly, there was silence around the campfire.

“Welp . . . I guess this means I’ll be going.”

“Oh, Ms. Gladys,” Ms. Missy said. “At least wait till morning. It’s dangerous out here at night!”

“It’s only dangerous ’cause I’m usually the one who’s out.”

“Oh, right.”

Susie and Johnny then grabbed hold of Ms. Gladys and wouldn’t let go.

“No! You can’t leave, Ms. Gladys!”

“Come on, children,” said Farmer John. “Ms. Gladys has business to take care of.”

“But we want her to stay!”


“You do?” the witch asked, surprised.

“Yes, Ms. Gladys!”

The witch then noticed something wet leaking from both her eyeballs.

“Darn it. How in the dickens did I catch a bout of gamagootis?”

“That’s not gamagootis, Ms. Gladys,” said Little Johnny. “Those are tears.”

“Tears?”

“You are more than welcome to stay with us, Ms. Gladys,” said Ms. Missy. “You’d be an asset here on the farm, and we’d love to have you.”

“And you can teach us how to play pin the tail on the wart-hog!” added

Susie.

“That’s awfully kind, but I do have a kingdom back home. And a dungeon quotient to fill.”

“But why do you have to put people in dungeons, Ms. Gladys? Isn’t that an awfully mean thing to do?”

“Susie!” her mother said. “That’s none of your business!”

“No, it’s alright, Ms. Missy. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that

before. I don’t know why I do it, Susie, to tell you the truth. I guess it’s just

tradition, really. My mother did it. Her mother did it. Her mother did it. Her mother did it. Well, you get the point . . . Gives a gal something to do when she wakes up in the morning.”

“Well, did you ever think of trying to do something else, Ms. Gladys?”

“I don't know how to do anything else, Little Johnny.”

“Sure you do! You cured my athlete’s foot, and Mother’s infagooma!”

“And you can talk to bugs!” added Susie.

“With all your knowledge, Gladys,” Ms. Missy said, “you could help people feel good all over the globe!”

“Sounds good on paper. But I just took out a loan to have a second

dungeon built.”

“Well, if you started your own herbal farm,” Farmer John said, “you could use those dungeons as underground silos, to store herbs and age tinctures.”

“But I don’t know anything about making people feel good, Farmer John. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m pretty talented at making them feel terrible.”

“I think you’re pretty great at making people feel good, Ms. Gladys,” Susie said, giving the witch a giant hug. The witch pulled out her white kerchief and blotted her eyeballs, which had once again begun to leak.

The next morning, the wicked witch laced up her boots and shined her magic wand, and went out to the yard to cast that spell she finally did remember to put her broom back together.

“Excuse me, Ms. Gladys?” said Farmer John.

“Why, hello, Farmer John, Ms. Missy, Susie, Little Johnny.”

“We have a gift for you!”

“For me?”

“In just a day you’ve cured my wife and saved our farm. And as a token of our appreciation, we’d like you to bring a little piece of our farm back to your kingdom.” The farmer pointed to his tractor.

“Your tractor?”

“That’s right.”

“But you need that!”

“We have another one. This one used to be my daddy’s. He started this farm with it, and we thought you could use it if you ever did want to start a farm of your own.”

The witch sniffled. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”

The witch hoisted herself up onto the tractor, and Farmer John threw her the keys. “Don’t need keys when you got one of these!” With a whip of her wand, the tractor lifted slowly off the ground and began rising up in the air.

Susie and Little Johnny were jumping up and down, and Farmer John and Ms. Missy were waving.

“Goodbye, Susie! Goodbye, Little Johnny! I’ll be back! I promise!”

And within minutes, the wicked witch was sailing through the air, back to her Evil Kingdom, waving to all the other wicked witches as she passed them by.

“Is that Gladys from Central Region, smiling and waving?”

“What the heck is she riding on?”

“So ostentatious!”

When the witch returned to her castle, she held a huge meeting with all her

sisters and shared the whole story of what happened.

“So you mean to tell us, you’re no longer wicked?”

“Well, I’m gonna keep the old name, just to avoid dealing with probate and changing all my credit cards . . . but, I’m not going to be wicked anymore. I’ve had a paradigm shift. From now on, I’m going to use my gifts creatively as opposed to destructively. And I’d like you all to join me.”

The witches deliberated for the rest of the evening, and by morning, they unanimously decided to free their princes and princesses and use their

dungeons as underground silos.

“Attention, princes and princesses! We’re closing the dungeons! You are all officially free to return to your Magic Kingdoms! Once again, all dungeons are

officially closed. Please gather your jewels and other belongings, and use the

ladders in the front and also in the rear!”

“But why?” one of them yelled.

“We’ve decided not to be wicked anymore. Instead, we’re creating a

community-supported herbal farm, concentrating on organic home remedies.”

“To turn people into frogs?” ribbeted one of the princes.

“No, to keep people happy and healthy and pursuing their true potential in life!”

It took an entire month to shuttle every last prince and princess back to their respective kingdoms. And to everyone’s surprise, some of the princes and

princesses actually decided to stay and lend their services. “A person has time to contemplate things in a dungeon. And really, we were so hoity-toity when we got here. And now we’d like to be a contribution to your cause, if that’s OK!”

Before long, the Central Region of Wicked Witches became the largest community-supported herbal farm in the entire world! Their website featured thousands and thousands of helpful potions and tonics, and the best mosquito honey available anywhere. All with guaranteed overnight delivery, by

broomstick, of course.

A year later, the wicked witch flew her tractor all the way back to Farmer John’s farm in Southern Ohio and lowered into the same tall cornfield she’d once

landed in by accident.

Susie and Little Johnny were busy milking cows when they noticed the flying tractor. “Ms. Gladys! Ms. Gladys!” they yelled, running toward the witch. “You’re back! We’ve missed you so, so much!”

Both the children wrapped their arms around the wicked witch, and the witch closed her eyes and smiled. “Oh, I’ve missed you, too!”

“Did you bring us some more mosquito honey?” Susie asked. “It’s the yummiest thing we ever tasted!”

“I told you!”

And for the rest of the weekend, the wicked witch shared fresh corn and stew and ghost stories with her special friends, and enjoyed the first happily- ever-after that any witch from the Central Region had ever experienced

before.

The End

-JLK