Image: Google Images – labelled for re-use.

If you ventured into Miss Marble’s kitchen, you would find an array of terracotta containers each holding a variety of wooden spoons.

She had an attachment to each and every one. They were very useful implements, and she used them daily both in her kitchen and her outside shed where her cauldrons worked around the clock preparing the potions she was always in demand for.

Miss Marble was a witch and had lived at 46 Grimace Street for a very long time.

She had spoons her mother had given to her, and she knew the magical qualities of each one.

The spoons working her cauldrons were very large spoons.

Today they were hard at work stirring the necessary ingredients for a hair restoring potion, a forget-me-not potion and one, which she was always in demand for, a garden-loving potion.

Miss Marble was aware that the potion she painted onto the spoons was not long lasting as like everything else they suffered wear and tear. So over the years, she had recognised the symptoms of fatigue. A flagging spoon did no one any good, least of all the potion at hand.

Miss Marble had discovered that once a spoon had been painted it only required her to stand the spoon in the potion for twenty-four hours, which was enough to replenish it.

A replenished spoon was often quite agitated; it wanted to work and would jump about in the terracotta container making its intentions clear.

It didn’t surprise her when one afternoon her neighbour Mansur Stigglefod, wandered into her kitchen only to be hit by a flying spoon and then spent the next few minutes ducking and weaving as she made her escape.

When the dishevelled Mansur returned to Miss Marble, she related her encounter to which Miss Marble said she had plans to mix up some stew for dinner that night and she’d made the mistake of mentioning it to her dog Sal who immediately began salivating at the prospect. Salivating was something Sal did a lot, hence his name.

So Miss Marble enlisted Mansur’s help to cut the vegetables and meat for the stew. Mansur was a bit unsure about going back into the kitchen, but Miss Marble assured her all would be well.

All the while she was cutting out of the corner of her eye she could see the spoons jostling with each other and Miss Marble in her soothing voice quietening them down.

With everything cut and in the pot she whistled, and a spoon leapt from its resting place and plunged itself in to mix. With slow circular motions, the stew was stirred while in the background two other spoons jumped about in anticipation.

“Cake,” announced Miss Marble and soon another spoon was happy mixing.

The last spoon was put to work making an apple slice which required finer work, but it seemed as long as there was something to do they were all happy.

Mansur stood back and marvelled at the scene, spoons mixing and spoons clicking as if singing to each other.

“They like to do that,” said Miss Marble, “ a side effect of the potion I’m afraid, don’t know why that happened but they’re happy, and that’s all that matters.”

At their feet, Sal wagged his tail in anticipation.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/08/tale-weaver-162-fairy-tale-an-item-of-magic/