The Witch's Candelabra

Chapter 4 - The Enigmatic Visitor

That afternoon, years ago, I found myself playing in a corner of my father's pawn shop. I was dressing up a mannequin twice my size, having adorned it with a large black hat and some sequined clothing. The shop, with its myriad of curiosities, was my playground.

It was a period of upheaval for us. My mother had just left, leaving me and my dad to our own devices. Aunt Biddy hadn't yet moved in with her overbearing ways. How little did we know that her arrival would change everything.

"Excuse me, is anyone here?" A woman's voice disrupted my play. She stood at the counter, a vision in pink, her dress and feathered sunhat starkly contrasting with the shop's dusty ambiance. The potent aroma of her rose perfume filled the air. It was a quiet day, devoid of other customers.

My father, a middle-aged man with a kind face, emerged from the back room at the sound of the bell. "How can I help you, ma'am?" he asked, his voice gentle and accommodating.

The woman, with an air of impatience, slammed a heavy box onto the counter. "I need to get rid of this junk. This is a junk store, isn't it?" she snapped.

"We buy goods of value, if that's what you wish," my dad began, but she cut him off.

"I don't want any money for this junk. My husband's mother passed away, and he wouldn't let me throw it away. Do I look like I need the pennies this might be worth? I don't need the money, or the memories..." She sneered at the box as if it offended her.

My dad, ever the peacemaker, offered, "Would you like a donation receipt, then?"

"A what?" she scoffed.

"It's just to prove you gave it to a pawn shop and didn't just toss it away," he explained.

She waved her hand dismissively, her gold bracelets jingling. "Fine, just give me the receipt. I have better places to be." She tapped her red heels impatiently as my dad wrote up the receipt.

"Here you are, madam. One donation receipt for 'one box of goods,'" he said, handing it to her. She snatched it with her elegantly manicured fingers and strutted out. I watched her from behind the mannequin, her heels echoing on the cobblestone street long after she disappeared from sight.

"What a strange lady," my dad remarked, lifting me onto the counter.

"And in quite the hurry!" Aunt Biddy chimed in, emerging from the back room with her usual plump cheeriness.

Little did we know then, the contents of that box would introduce me to a world beyond my wildest imagination. The candelabra that lay within would become the cornerstone of my journey into magic.

***

"Yes, Papa! What kind of treasures did she leave for us?" I asked with childlike excitement.

My father, Jean-Louis, peered into the box, which seemed filled with miscellaneous household objects beneath white doilies. He began laying them out on the counter, and I leaned in eagerly over his shoulder. Beneath the doilies were some tea cups, a pot, and then, an old silver candelabra with five cups, lying horizontally. With his notebook beside him, he cataloged each item meticulously.

"Alright, calm down, Adelia!" he said, lifting me onto the side of the counter where my legs dangled freely, keeping me a safe distance from the box. "No touching yet, I need to catalog everything first!"

Despite his warning, I couldn't help but be drawn to the contents of the box. My gaze fixed on the silver candelabra. It sparkled as the light from outside illuminated its engraved floral etchings. Despite the caked red wax in its holders, remnants of long-ago burnings, it had such character. The wax dripped off the silver branches like frozen waterfalls of blood.