Ghostly Touch

kids.
                  Zula stepped off the porch with the candy in one hand and her broom in the other. “He’s not the real Dracula,” she said. “Come get some candy.”
                  One little blond head turned toward her and said, “He’s not?”
                  Zula smiled. “No, he’s not. The real Dracula had to go back to Transyl-vania, so he won’t be bothering anyone tonight.” She held out the cauldron and slowly the little boy approached, then cautiously stuck his hand inside and pulled out a fistful of candy. Seeing that he didn’t lose a hand, the boy’s friends all came forward to get their share.
                  “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘trick or treat’? Zula asked as the others approached.
                  “You already gave us a trick,” a little redheaded girl said.
                  “And now you’re getting a treat.” Zula chuckled.
                  “Trick or treat,” they said as a group, and then fought one another to get their hands into the cauldron.
                  Zula watched as the children continued on to the next house, parents following behind, and then she went inside. Thaddeus wound his way through her legs and meowed until she lifted him to her shoulder. “You are getting too heavy for me to carry around like a baby,” she told the cat as she scratched his ears.
                  Zula paused before the portrait of great-grandma Zula. The resemblance was uncanny. The black hair, the dark eyes, the upturned nose and slightly pointed chin.  Not beautiful, but not an ugly duckling either.
                  “But thank you for not having a wart on your nose,” she told the portrait. Zula heard the music on the porch begin, followed by another scream and she knew Dracula had risen from his coffin once again.
                  The rest of the night went smoothly as children came for candy and Zula handed it out liberally. After all, she wasn’t the one that would have to put up with toddlers on a sugar high. Finally, sometime around ten the trick or treating subsided and the streets were quiet once again. Now was the time Zula had been waiting for. Midnight on All Hollow’s Eve was nearly upon her.
                                                                    ~ * ~
                  Zula had two hours to get ready, and went about putting the candy away and turning off the lights and music. Then she went upstairs.
    Slipping from the house dressed into a ceremonial robe, Zula carried a basket full of the items she needed to the backyard. She set the basket down and shed her robe, standing naked beneath the light of the full moon. A full moon on All Hollow’s Eve ensured her magic would be at its strongest and for what Zula was about to do, she needed all the magic she could get.
                  As a practicing lone witch, Zula had no coven from which to draw power or assist her in casting spells, so tonight was the night she would be at her strongest. She cast the circle and stepped into it, then placed candles and bowls full of herbs and flowers in their proper position. She placed a bowl of salt water with a white seashell in the bottom on the altar. Then she placed more shells around the bottom of the bowl from right to left, and placed fragrant censors in a “V” shape to encase the bowl and shells.
                  Well aware the full moon belonged to the goddess Jana, and all matters pertaining to beginnings belong to her as well, Zula felt fortunate that all the forces had come together on this night. Raising her Athame, she held the black handle in both hands high above her head, the shiny blade pointed at the moon, and began to chant the goddess’s name over and over.
                  At first, a mere whisper. “Jana. Jana. Jana,” Zula chanted quietly, and made the motion of cutting a circle around the moon with the tip of the blade.
    “Jana. Jana. Jana, ” she chanted more loudly and drew a larger circle with the Athame. “Jana. Jana. Jana.” Her voice grew as wind began to whip about, raising the herbs into a funnel shape that spun directly above the bowl.
    Zula sliced the blade in a straight line downward from the moon toward the bowl holding the seashell and the water began to churn as if it were