The Witch’s Scrapbook – A Humorous Retelling of Magic, Memory, and Second Chances

Once upon a time, there was a witch named Winifred—but her one and only friend called her “Fred.” That friend was Brian the Bat: a small, scrappy creature with tattered wings, big ears, and a voice much bigger than his tiny frame.

Fred wasn’t wicked in the capital-E Evil sense. Sure, she’d cursed a few princes, hexed a couple of princesses, and maybe scattered a few poisonous apples here and there—but that was just part of the job description. Every witch needed a portfolio. Or so she thought.

One afternoon, while attempting to perfect a particularly absurd potion (designed to turn fish into baboons—because why not?), Fred found herself in need of powdered black cat whiskers. The jar was perched precariously atop the highest shelf of her dusty ingredients cabinet. Determined, she climbed onto a wobbly old chair. Predictably, the chair leg snapped, and down Fred tumbled, arms flailing. On her way down, she managed to grab an enormous canister labeled LIQUEFIED FROG EYES — EXTREMELY SLIMY, which promptly dislodged, clunked her square on the head, and sent her crashing to the floor.

Brian fluttered frantically to her side.
“Fred! Fred! Speak to me! Are you okay?”

Fred opened one eye, groaned, and then looked up at Brian, bewildered.
“Who…who are you? And who’s Fred?”

Brian gasped. “Oh no…amnesia! That fall must’ve knocked your memories right out of your head!”

Ever the loyal companion, Brian took it upon himself to help Fred recover who she was. He guided her around her ramshackle cottage, pointing out dusty cauldrons, crooked brooms, and jars of ingredients with labels like Newt Toes and Shadow Essence. But Fred still looked unconvinced.

So Brian pulled out her prized possession: The Scrapbook of Spells. An enormous, leather-bound tome crammed with yellowed pages, spell diagrams, clippings, and proud photos of her magical “accomplishments.”

“See?” said Brian, pointing to the first page. “That’s the time you made a poison apple to curse that pale-skinned princess.”

Fred blinked. “A poison apple? I cursed a princess? Wow! So…did she die?”

“Not exactly,” Brian muttered. “A prince came along, kissed her, and she woke up after two days.”

Fred frowned. “Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”

Flipping to another page, Fred’s eyes brightened. “What about this? It looks like I trapped a girl with long hair in a tower!”

“True!” Brian said. “You locked her up so she’d stay hidden forever.”

“And she’s still there?”

Brian scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, no. A prince climbed her hair, rescued her, and they lived happily ever after.”

Fred groaned. “Another prince?! Are they everywhere?”

“Pretty much,” Brian said sheepishly.

Page after page, Fred examined her villainous history—turning a prince into a frog? Kissed and restored. Transforming a handsome suitor into a monstrous beast? Kissed, transformed back, married.

“Is every single spell I’ve cast undone by kissing?!” Fred shouted in exasperation.

Brian hesitated. “Er…yes. Pretty much. Kissing is like…the ultimate undo button.”

Fred sighed deeply, slumping into a chair. “So I’m not a very good witch then, am I?”

Brian tried to rally her spirits. “Come on! You also grew magic beans! Remember those?”

“Magic beans? What do they do?”

“They grow enormous beanstalks that lead to enchanted kingdoms in the clouds, ruled by terrifying giants!”

Fred’s eyes lit up. “Now that’s more like it. How many poor souls have I sent to their doom with those?”

Brian winced. “One. And he killed the giant. Now the kingdom’s just…up there. Peaceful, loaded with treasure, no giants.”

Fred threw up her hands. “Unbelievable! I couldn’t even manage a deadly vegetable.”

Defeated, Fred grabbed an old suitcase and began shoving her belongings inside.

“What are you doing?” Brian cried.

“Packing. Clearly, I was a disaster as a witch. If I can’t even pull off a half-decent curse without someone smooching it away, what’s the point? I’m giving it up. I’ll…I’ll do something else!”

“Fred, wait! You can’t just leave. You’re a witch! A little amnesia doesn’t change that.”

Fred snapped the suitcase shut. “A witch who can’t curse properly isn’t much of anything. Farewell, Batsy.”

And with that, she stomped out the door, leaving Brian the Bat flapping helplessly behind.

Where did she go? Well, after wandering for a few weeks and trying out various jobs—barista, dog walker, street magician—Fred discovered she had an unexpected gift: cooking. Years of potion brewing had made her an expert in mixing, boiling, and seasoning, and soon she opened a small, charming seaside restaurant.

She named it Fred’s Fresh Fried Fish & Chips.

Locals loved her crispy batter, her inventive sauces, and her quirky sense of humor. Tourists flocked to the shop for the food, but stayed for Fred’s unpredictable storytelling and Brian’s nightly musical performances (he’d taught himself to play the ukulele).

Fred never did regain her memory, but she decided that didn’t matter. She wasn’t a terrible witch—she just wasn’t that kind of witch. Maybe the world didn’t need another scheming spellcaster. Maybe it needed a woman with a deep fryer, a sharp wit, and a best friend who was a bat with a penchant for jazz.

And so, Winifred—Fred, to her friends—lived not wickedly ever after, but happily ever after.

Moral of the Story

Even if you’re not good at what you thought you were meant to be, there’s always another path where your unique skills can shine. Failure isn’t the end—it’s just a clue to try something new.