Page 48 of The Neighborhood Witch

“No,” Hugo replied. “Not at all.”

The smile returned to Alice’s face. “Great,” Alice said. “Hop on up. You’re going to learn how to fly.” She gave a final tap of the seat.

Hugo approached the broom. It hovered in the air, rose and fell ever so slightly, like a boat bobbing on calm waters. Hugo touched the smooth, polished handle. The broom jerked forward at the unfamiliar touch.

“Easy, boy. Easy,” Alice’s calm voice whispered, grabbing the broomstick before turning her attention back to Hugo. “He’s not used to other people touching, let alone riding him.”

“So, it thinks it’s a horse?”

“Well, sort of,” Alice explained. “Kind of. It’s a branch from a hickory tree that grew up on a horse farm. The tree was around a lot of horses and farm dogs. It observed and took on their personalities—”

“The tree thought it was a horse?” Hugo interrupted.

“And a dog,” Alice emphasized. She petted the head of the broomstick. Her fingers glided down the angled part of the handle toward the end.

“The tree thought it was a horse and a dog?”

Alice tilted her head toward Hugo. “He is a very loyal horse dog.”

“And you’re petting it?”

“Clearly,” Alice said with a confused expression as she turned her attention back to the broomstick.

Her fingers circled to the underside, scratching its would be chin. She focused on the broom’s would be face.

“But it’s a stick?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s a stick!”

Alice leered toward Hugo. Her eyebrows arched as they narrowed, and her eyes widened. “Do you want to ride him or not?”

“Does he have a name?”

A befuddled look overcame Alice’s face. “I’ve always called him broom.”

“Every horse and every dog has to have a name. You have to name him.” Hugo stood there, hands on his hips, with an impish grin. “He needs a name.”

Alice rose and crossed her arms. She shifted her weight to one side and tilted her head in the opposite direction. She paused. “Tell you what,” Alice said. “You survive this, and you can name him.”

Perking up, Hugo asked, “Survive?”

Alice glanced toward the broom and gave a wink. “He can be a little… temperamental. Like I said, he’s a loyal horse dog.”

Hugo approached the broom, hand outstretched, ready to grab the handle.

Alice stopped him. “No. No. Not like that. You have to introduce yourself first. Gain his trust.”

Hugo gave a discerning look and then moved around to the front of the broom. “Umm… Hi, broom.” He gave a half-assed wave. “I’m Hugo.”

“Pet him!” Alice instructed. “Pet him like you’re scratching Max between the eyes.”

Hugo placed his hands on his hips and leered at Alice. She smiled and nodded toward the broom. Hugo touched the end of the handle with two fingers. He lightly traced the handle along its nose, to the forehead, and around the neck before circling back on the underside chin. The broom waved up and down as it reacted to his touch. He petted the broom again, noticing every bump and little imperfections along the wooden handle. The broom gingerly moved forward, nudging Hugo in the stomach.

“I think someone likes you,” Alice said. “Ready to take a ride?”

Hugo nodded, and Alice led Hugo toward the seat. He placed a palm on the stick, slowly closing his fingers into a tight grip. Swinging his left leg over the broomstick, he straddled the seat between both legs. He sat back. The broom held its position in the air as it received Hugo’s weight.

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