It began on a crisp morning, just after fog had lifted off the hills like a spirit finally letting go. Ma had ventured out of the holler on a quiet errand, fetching dried sumac and a spool of blessed thread. It was the kind of task she normally sent the cousins on, but something in her bones said she needed the air. She wore her travel shawl, hair down, boots dusty, and just enough witchfire in her eyes to keep most trouble at bay.
But not him.
Somewhere between the crossroads and the river fork, he appeared, a cloaked wanderer with that sanctified swagger of a man who thought he’d been sent, not born. He eyed Ma like a prophet spotting prophecy.
She ignored him, of course.
But he followed.
Didn’t say much. Just lingered a few steps behind, hummin’ some Gregorian nonsense and scribbling in a too fancy notebook. When they reached the holler, he paused at the edge of the wardline. Couldn’t come in; Ma’s spellwork saw to that.
But he left a scroll.
Daggered right into the fence post with a rusted purity ring, tied in red ribbon like it was some sacred offering. Smelled of incense and ego.
By midmorning, Jules had stormed onto the cabin porch where Ma was enjoying her tea, eyes blazing, clutching the scroll like it owed her money.
"WHO left this sanctified side eye manifesto on our post?"
"Name's Sir Benediction," Ma muttered, sipping her morning chicory tea. "Followed me from the creek."
Jules unrolled the parchment and squinted. "Oh for the love of holy vinegar... He titled it 'We Should Chat.'"
Pa wandered up just then, leaning in the doorway of the open cabin door, one boot unlaced, belt loose in his hand.
Ma leaned in to read the script. “No longer lookin’ for unicorns,” she read aloud.
“Well, ain’t that convenient,” Jules said. “Cuz you damn sure ain’t catchin’ one in this holler.”
The manuscript went on for pages, detailing a holy wish list longer than a drought year and just about as dry.
“He wants absolute control, total ownership,” Ma said calmly, taking the scroll from Jules and flipping to the next page.
“Ooooooooh honey,” Jules cackled, grabbing it back from her. “He tried to collar a witch without even bringin’ a peace offering or readin’ the damn warning carved on the tree out front.”
Pa glanced at the parchment, and smirked. "He tryin' to leash you?"
"Apparently," Ma replied.
Pa shook his head slowly. “Well, good luck to him. Best hope you’ve had your nap before he tries somethin’ that foolish.”
Jules began to read, voice dripping with disbelief. "Let’s see... ‘You will not be in debt. You will not have children by another man. You will have a religious heart. You will wear a chastity belt. You will surrender all control to me, and you must also have a high credit score and not misuse apostrophes. AND, you will not have ruined your beauty by becoming FAT!’” She threw the scroll up in the air. "This ain’t a scroll, it’s a threat disguised as a resume."
"Chastity belt," Ma said flatly. “Only belt I ever let near me is leather, wide, and worn in, and it belongs to Pa.”
Pa, still leaning in the doorway, just raised an eyebrow. "Only use mine when invited," he muttered. "But I prefer to use bare hands. It’s her who clamors for the damn leather."
Ma didn’t deny it. Just sipped her tea, then said, “I like your hands, too.”
Jules rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to know a damn thing.”
Ma chuckled. “Liar. You love tea. Especially spicy tea.”
“Look, look!” Jules exclaimed, ignoring what Ma had said. “Said he’s called to guide strong women into ‘God honoring submission.’”
Pa chuckled, shifting the belt through his fingers with that familiar quiet menace. “He’s gonna need God, alright, dealing with you two.”
Jules howled. “I oughta turn him into a toad with IBS and send him hoppin’ back across county lines. Or use that Eucharist blood for my blood magic on the next full moon. Return to sender spell, with a spiritual wedgie and a side of regret.”
Ma chuckled. "Don’t waste the powder, or the wine. Let the cousins have it."
And oh, did they.
By midday, Ellie Mae, Nickie, RG, Krypto, Alexis, Looty and several of the others had gathered in the shade near the war barn.
“Good Lord,” exclaimed Ellie. ““He wrote all that and still said less than Pa does in one sentence.”
Nickie squinted, still reading. “Ain’t never seen someone describe exactly why they’re single in this much detail.”
“Right,” said Goodfella. “Time for a Return to Sender.”
Scroll still in hand, they took turns reading lines aloud and then scribbling their own counter demands onto a fresh scroll.
“Condition #1: Must be able to three star any TH15 while wearing only boots and a towel.”
“Condition #2: Must not smell like theology, Axe body spray, or desperation.”
“Condition #3: Must accept that ‘Ma said no’ is legally binding, like goblin law binding.”
“Condition #4: Must not speak in commandments unless you are personally prepared to be struck by lightning or Jules.
“Condition #5: Must not bring a scroll longer than Pa’s patience. (It ain’t long.)”
“Condition #6: Must survive three rounds of roasting on the porch without crying or quoting scripture.”
“Condition #7: Must understand that apostrophes are optional, but basic respect is not.”
“Condition #8: Must not write ‘God-honoring’ anything unless God Himself signed off on it in ink and thunder.”
“Condition #9: Must accept that possums outrank you
“Condition #10: Scrolls sent without consent will be eaten by possums. Or hexed by Jules.”
Back on the porch, Ma, Jules, and Pa continued their commentary, the laughter low but layered.
"The part about not having another man’s children," Ma said, "that one’s rich."
Jules snorted. "Hell, wouldn’t be an issue if Pa knew how to pull out."
Pa didn’t miss a beat. "Pulling out is for chumps."
Ma arched a brow. "Not all these goblins are natural born to us, anyhow."
The three of them shared a look.
The cousins, listening nearby, went dead quiet.
Jules grinned. "Ain’t sayin’ who. But y’all can wonder."
The scroll, now twice as long and ten times as ridiculous, complete with devil horns doodled over Sir Benediction’s name and a serpent drawn winding between his demands, was rolled back up and stuffed in a cracked boot. Jules tied it with a jute string laced with stinging nettle, hemlock, and a hex of humility.
“Let’s send it back,” she said. “By possum.”
“Or flaming arrow,” Pa offered.
Ma considered. “Let the fireflies carry it. Slower, but more poetic.”
Pa gave her a side glance. “You’re gonna end up gettin’ yourself stalked if you send that. Don’t need this guy skulking our gates.”
Ma shrugged. “Won’t be the first time I’ve had a stalker.”
Jules snorted. “He’ll definitely be prayin’ to the gods if that happens.”
That night, the holler glowed faintly with laughter, moonlight, and the soft flit of cursed fireflies ferrying a scroll of goblin justice back across the ridge.
Sir Benediction would receive his reply.
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