Cauldron Falls
Thecrestofthemost secluded waterfall in the world cascades over a rocky ledge into a round pool below. It’s crystal blue water bubbles with a white foam where the two bodies of water crash together. As the plunge pool spreads out into its round bowl-like shape, the water stills and spills towards a series of stair-stepping rocks that go on for a mile, or so, until the creek bed sinks into the earth, and calms the ripples of the falls. That’s where the town begins; at the quiet crook of the creek. There the water inches along its banks and follows the goings-on of a place known only to its inhabitants as Cauldron Falls.
To visit Cauldron Falls one just has to find the waterfall, and cauldron-shaped crystal blue pool, then follow the rippling creek southward, traveling between the towering hills that hide it from the rest of the world. But alas, the waterfall is buried deep in the most treacherous, hard to reach, uninhabitable part of the Appalachian Mountains. No normal human would dare attempt to find it, if they knew it existed, much less try to live there. Of course, Cauldron Falls wasn’t settled by humans.
There in this shadowy place carved out by the rushing waters of a waterfall, lives a band of witches and warlocks, descendants of escapees from Transylvania, who ran from the ruling grasp of the wretched Vampires that control all the lands surrounding the Black Sea. While their liberation was centuries ago, the fear of the pale-skinned, sharp-fanged predator keeps Cauldron Falls residents content to exist in their safe and secret bubble, insulated from the rest of the world.
But as progress will do, Cauldron Falls is not truly and completely cut-off. The quaint town blossomed into a booming business many, many years ago. And is now the main manufacturer and supplier of magical goods to the world. They are the broom makers, crystal miners, herb growers, potions masters, wand turners, and book binders of all things magical, especially witchy things. Keeping the old traditions alive, every truly magical implement in the world is made in Cauldron Falls in the same manner as they were in the old country. Being keepers of the craft and all its secrets, is the blessing and curse of the witches and warlocks who live in this town. Their fate comes with great pressure and power, which each of the residents of Cauldron Falls takes very seriously, and protect with their very lives.
However, like the uncontrollable consequences of a waterfall on the very environment that makes it beautiful, it’s hard to see the erosion happening just under the surface of something so perfect. While most of the residents of Cauldron Falls will continue forever to go about their business, keeping the crafts and all its glory alive, there is something not so right creeping through the night and into the forest around the falls. Born from the power, the perfection, the isolation, and the secrets that dwell in every home hidden deep in the mountains, an evil is growing. Where will it strike? What will it do? Who will it take? One might never know these answers without making the trek to the most magical, mysterious, and now murderous place on earth. Welcome to Cauldron Falls.
A Long While Ago
Peeringthroughthepeepholein the old oak door, Rhoda saw nothing but the expanse of yard unfolding beyond the front porch. It was a beautiful yard full of lush green grass, thriving bushes, and a blanket of budding flowers lining the walkway to the porch. She blinked and strained to see beyond the murky woods past the perimeter of the property. It was impossible to see through the thicket even on clear nights such as this. The midnight black-blue sky twinkled with a million stars, and a full pink moon hung low, lighting the yard, but not the forest. She stepped back and scratched under the bundle of wavy red hair piled on top of her head.
“I swear, Edgar, I heard a knock.” She closed her left eye and raised up on her tip-toes to look through the eyehole again.
Edgar towered above his wife, even in sock feet. Drawing in a scant breath, he rocked back on his heels and slipped his hands in his pants pockets. “Why don’t you try the mail slot? It’s more your size.” The slow southern words dribbled out of his mouth as a wicked smile spread across his weathered tan face.
“Oh. Edgar Hadwin. You’re a bad warlock.” Rhoda smirked and swatted in his direction, then squatted, to make herself eye level with the brass rectangle in the door. Before Rhoda could lift the flat brass flap, a soft rapping met their ears. Rhoda’s hand flew to her mouth, trapping any thought before it escaped. She searched her husband’s emerald eyes.
Edgar raised an eyebrow and held out his hand to help Rhoda back away from the mail slot. He pulled the small witch behind him and took a step closer to the big front door.
“I told you,” she whispered.
“Yes. Yes. You did say you heard a knock.” Edgar inched forward, cupped his hand to his ear and took a listen on the cold wood of the paneled door.
“Maybe it’s a lost familiar, coming to beg for shelter?” Rhoda said.
“Most lost familiars don’t come looking for shelter here, my dear.” Edgar said.
“True.” She lowered her voice, “but you never know. Just because we police their population doesn’t mean they hate us. Right? I mean this house is full of unwanted, or recently detached familiars all waiting for us to re-assign or re-train them. To give them back their magic, or find them a new witch to help. We do good work, Edgar.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Hate is a pretty strong word, darlin’. I’d say most familiars on the run just avoid us. That’s why this here tapping on our door after midnight, most likely ain’t a familiar in need.” Edgar grinned until the slight rapping hit the door again. He laid a finger on his lips and turned back to the door. Clutching his large hand gently around the antique doorknob, his body flickered with lavender magic. He was ready to fire if needed. Cranking the handle, he thrust the door open, and filled up the now gaping hole in their home with his mammoth frame.
Pinned to his backside Rhoda, peeked from under his arm and gasped. Scrambling from behind the mountain of a man trying to protect her, she shoved him out of the way and found her knees on the floor again, bending before a tiny child.
Edgar’s gaze followed his wife’s head and landed on a porcelain faced little girl, standing no more than two feet tall. “Is she a….” He shook his glowing hands and extinguished the lavender flames swaying in his aura, “human?”
“I don’t know.” Rhoda smiled at the tot, and motioned for Edgar to kneel beside her. He obeyed, and they both knelt in the doorframe of the front porch and studied their unexpected guest.
The little girl stood completely still, moving nothing but her deep brown eyes as they passed between the witch and warlock. Her springy red curls danced around her head with a breeze blowing across the porch. She shivered, and a cloud of pink glitter emanated from her minute body.
Rhoda and Edgar looked at each other and both sighed, “Not human.”
“She’s cold.” Rhoda looked the child over. With only a thin cotton dress protecting her from the elements, and no shoes on her tiny feet, she was certain the child was lost. She held out her hand as a loving smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Do you want to come inside, and warm up? Do you like hot chocolate?”
The child looked at Rhoda’s hand, then over her shoulder to the woods. Searching the tree line with her big brown eyes, she puffed out a small whimper. Raising her right arm toward Rhoda and Edgar, she showed them two small stuffed toys, a bear and a rabbit. “Honey. Bunny,” she said and pointed to the woods.
“She’s smart.” Edgar said. “That’s right bunnies live in the woods. Well, most of them. Some of them live here.” He rolled his eyes.
“Edgar.” Rhoda scolded and turned her attention back to the child. “Is that your bunny?”
“Honey. Bunny.” The child gripped both the bear and the bunny against her chest.
“They are very special, I see. Let’s get you and Honey and Bunny some hot chocolate and food.” Rhoda held out her hand again. The child laid her small fingers in Rhoda’s palm and whispered despondently, “bunny.”
The trio made their way down the long wide hallway, that ran front to back in the hundred-year-old Victorian house, to the kitchen that jutted off to the right. It was a bright working kitchen with copper pots hanging from the ceiling, wood plank shelves filled with herbs and spices, and a healthy number of candles stacked on a long, thick butcher block island.
