The Pinkberry Incident

The Pinkberry is a delicious little berry that grows in clusters, usually close to streams and in partially shady spots around the Everwood Forest. It doesn't start out as what we now know as Pinkberry. In fact, I didn't even know about it until quite recently. You see, the Pinkberry, as I like to call it, starts off as a blueberry; what actually turns it into a Pinkberry is timing. Perfect timing, to be precise. You would have to collect ripe blueberries, but only at the precise moment when the last rays of the waning moon turn into a new moon and are reflected back onto the berries by a flowing stream. And that is no small, simple feat.

This little round ball of sweetness is the root of this story, and though small, it makes up for it in power. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

To understand how it all happened, we need to go back to the beginning, because to get to where we are now, so many things had to happen that it almost feels like magic itself led us down a path.

It was a sequence of events that resulted in the great Pinkberry Incident, which turned the whole kitchen into an explosion of pinkberry color (which, funny enough, is not pink, but rather a bluish lilac), and well, all the other consequences, but we will get to that.

It all started on the eve of the harvest festival. A great celebration that would last a whole week, brimming with music, games, festivities, and local merchants with their best wares and confections. It's our most popular festivity, and even people from nearby towns come to visit and enjoy it. Every little shop and artisan awaits this event because it is the one week a year when most of us make a sizeable portion of our seasonal earnings, not to mention the potential to exponentially grow if you are starting out. One delighted customer can turn your whole business around; you only have to make an exceptional bite of tasty magic and win the golden spoon of bragging rights. Sounds simple enough, but let me tell you it is not.

I had been trying for three years to even get an honorable mention, but the competition was tough, and I am just one witch in a small shop on the outskirts of town. I settled down here on purpose, to be closer to the lovely forest. It had the perfect stream nearby; this was very practical for tending my small garden of fruits and berries, the essential ingredients of my jams & jellies shop. Naturally, foraging for nearby ingredients was no casual coincidence. I chose this spot from among the more popular ones available; most thought I was making a mistake, being so far from the market square. But I prefer fresh ingredients. To me, this is the only way to the best-tasting magical jams and jellies that I want to make.

It was a very busy day, what with getting my festival stock ready, finishing the competition jam, and tending to my regular customers. Mulberry, my cat, greeted customers and kept an eye on the jam stock, as he so loves to do. He takes his guardian job rather seriously; all jams and jellies are accounted for under his careful watch. I remember the day I found him as a kitten. I was freshly out of witching academy and had been foraging for berries when I found him scared and dirty beneath a mulberry bush. I quickly scooped him up, and the rest was history.

The weather had started to pick up, and it was getting rather windy; it seemed like a storm was brewing up, and being so close to the festival, I was not happy about it. I don't have the luxury of a shop in the square, and a market stall in bad weather isn't on anyone's happy list.

By now, it was almost sunset, and the rain had started to get serious.

"I don't believe we will have any more customers for today," I said to Mulberry. "You can go relax by the fire."

On the plus side, this would let me focus on finishing the rest of my jam and jelly batches, not to mention my hopefully honorable-mention-worthy or, dare I say, award-winning jam.

In the blink of an eye, the rainy afternoon had turned into a full-on stormy night. Luckily, I had jarred my last batch and was just finishing up my cleaning. Thunder and rain were having a showdown outside. Mulberry was trying to sleep on the kitchen chair closer to me rather than cozying up by the living room fireplace; we are thunderbuddies, and being close by is part of those duties.

By now, the wind was so fierce that my windowpanes were shaking as if in fear. I had set down some towels since some water was trickling inside. I began to worry, and the constant flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder grew more unnerving by the minute.

I had barely set down my cleaning rag when a tremendous, deafening sound and the brightest flash of lightning made Mulberry and me scream. He jumped into my arms, and I instinctively crouched down to hide under the table. In an instant, it seemed the storm had come inside my cottage; the wind busted open my front door and windows. I held onto Mulberry tightly and huddled over him for protection. His scared meows made me realize I had to act, or the wind would wreck the whole kitchen. So I carefully peeled him away from my apron and told him to stay under the table. I crawled toward the front windows; the plan was to close the storm guards, then secure the front door. Once below the windows, I summoned some courage and quickly stood up to close them up good.

As I pushed against the wind, flashing lightning illuminated the front porch, and for an instant I thought I saw a shadowy figure bolt toward the now-sprawling open door of the cottage. "No time to panic; focus on closing everything down," I thought. So I slowly, as safely as I could, went around the cottage, closing my doors and windows and bolting them down with the storm guards, making it very dark and almost impossible to see. The wind and rain had put out the fire and all the lamps, and we had no light source other than our magical, faintly glowing pendants.

"It's safe to come out now," I called to Mulberry.

"Let's try to get this fire started," I said, hoping the logs weren't too wet to burn.

We managed to get a small fire going with the few dry pieces of wood we had left; some lamps were soggy, and some were broken. We were down to one candle and the small fire.

"I guess tonight will be a cozy, dimly lit night, Mulberry." Turning bad luck into a feature was one of my specialties.

A sudden realization hit us both, and as we looked at each other, I said loudly, "The jars!" We rushed to the stock pantry as fast as we could, balancing the candle and trying not to blow it out. As we pushed the door aside, faint light washed over the neatly stacked, intact jars. A sigh of relief escaped us both. They were safe; we were safe; the house was a mess, but we could fix that.

"Come, Mulberry, let's just go to bed."

His little round fluffy face jerked towards me, and his eyes opened wide in realization as a little frown formed. He was not happy about not being able to do his routine security march around the house. So, wanting to make him a bit happy under the circumstances, I said, "Ok, ok, we can do a quick lookaround, but there is a huge mess, and we have very little light, so even you with your fantastical eyesight will have a bit of a hard time doing a 'proper inspection'." A little pout formed as he reluctantly gave it a once-over from where he stood.

"Alright, let's go; time for bed. We will deal with this in the morning."

We climbed the stairs, tired; all day's work and tonight's misadventure had taken what energy we had left, and precious sleep was all we needed.

The storm raged; thunder and lightning battled the wind to see who could be the loudest. So we went under the covers and somehow drifted into sleep.

It was almost morning, still a bit dark, when a huge commotion suddenly came from downstairs. We bolted upright, and as I hurriedly blew on my candle to relight it, we heard the heart-raising crash of glass.

Mulberry started to hiss and yell like I'd never heard him do before. We both ran downstairs to see what was going on. A big knot formed in the pit of my stomach, and I kept repeating, not the jams, not the jams, with each step I took.

By the time we got to the pantry, the breaking-glass sounds had stopped, but my heart pounded even harder. Almost all my stock and the competition jar lay broken and scattered on the floor. Only a few jars were still standing.

"Oh no!" I cried out as I panicked, then bolted to the kitchen.

"No, no, no, no, not the competition jam reserve!" I kept repeating. And there it was, right in front of me, the whole dreadful scene. I slumped to the floor; the cauldron was tilted to the side and empty. What happened? How could this be!

The loud hiss and creaks coming from Mulberry startled me, and right next to the window was a startled, frantic furble.

"Mulberry!" I loudly called to him. "Careful, wait, let's get him out." "Wait till I get the back door open, and then you can shoo it out."

He looked at me and nodded. His Guardship was now on duty. "But be careful, it's not his fault." Mulberry's expression softened a lil; anyone could understand being afraid and hungry under a storm.

After a few trials and runarounds, we got the furble outside safely; by now, morning had brightened the cottage. The mess was very visible. We had almost no jams or jellies to sell, no competition jam to enter, and a huge mess to clean. My optimistic feature wasn't going to work this time.

I flopped down onto my kitchen chair and let the tears roll down my cheeks as Mulberry tried to comfort me with his steady supply of purrs.

I hugged him tightly and buried my face in his fur, crying and releasing all my frustration. I did not stay there long; letting my feelings out was good, but so was getting back on my feet and doing something about it.

"We have a lot to do, so now we have to get to work," I said to Mulberry. The first day of the festival is mostly merchants setting up their shops, and almost no visitors have arrived yet. We had some time to salvage the situation.

"Ok, let's see what we can do. Perhaps I can take the jars I have left over to Gwen's stall." She was my best friend and a fellow merchant, and I knew she would help me sell them while I came back here and cleaned this mess up. Not to mention, to see if I could make some more for the rest of the festival. We can't miss out on this festival's earnings. We won't be able to enter the competition, though, because I had used all my harvested blueberries, so there were none left. But we need to focus on the earnings; the competition will have to wait another year.

We spent the morning taking the jars over to Gwen's stall and then telling her all about my misadventure. She treated me to a coffee and a pie cookie. That was her specialty, and because of this, she was my most loyal and biggest customer. My jams made her pie cookies very delicious, but her crust game was on another level.

When we finally got back to the cottage, it was around noon. I spent almost three hours cleaning up the whole cottage. Now it was time to go get the fruits and ingredients from my earth cellar. Luckily, my garden had been abundant this year, and I had plenty to spare. No blueberries left, though, so no competition jam, I sourly remembered.

"Mulberry, I am going to get some ingredients from the earth cellar. I will be right back." He looked at me and nodded, standing guard in the kitchen arch. A low chuckle escaped me, followed by a smile.

"Oh, Mulberry, you take your jam duties very seriously," I said, and smiled warmly; he had cheered me back up just by being him.

As soon as I came out of the kitchen back door, I saw the state of my garden; it was mostly ok except for all the knocked-over trellises and plant pots.

"I have to get this straightened up right away," I said to Mulberry.

"Looks like I have garden duty; this will take a bit more time."

"Can you get started on setting up the recipe book for me, Mulberry? Get my apron and ladle too, please."

I then closed the door and got to work.

It was almost sundown by the time I finished fixing the garden and grabbing my ingredients. I came into the kitchen with my baskets and saw Mulberry with all my recipe and magical books sprawled on the floor. They had been in my family for generations; I had read most of them, but not all. He was avidly focused on one particular book. I called to him, and he jerked right up.

"Miawh mieh meh," he started, talking avidly. With one swift paw, he closed it up and started to strut towards me.

"Why, Mulberry! You went through all those books!? What has my little scholar been up to?" I said jokingly. He pranced toward me and back to my recipe book a few times.

"Meh meh miah, meh miawww, meh." He couldn't stand still, looking back and forth between me and the book. As I approached, I noticed he was looking at my competition entry recipe. My heart sank a lil as I said that we had no blueberries left to make it.

"Miah meh meh, miah." He chattered as he hurried toward my foraging equipment, which now sat by the kitchen door.

"I see what you have in mind. But Mulberry, it is almost nighttime, and after last night's storm I don't believe there will be any berries left around to pick." He, however, wouldn't stop chattering. With every little chippy miaw, the idea grew in my head; checking the bushes near the stream couldn't hurt. A bit of moon still remained, and the area was clear even at night. It wasn't that far off, and honestly, it couldn't hurt to check.

"Maybe there are some late-harvest berries left by the stream." A little ray of hope flickered in my eyes.

"It can't hurt to try, can it, now?" I said enthusiastically as I put on my boots and grabbed my satchel.

"Let's go on a tiny adventure; hopefully the forest will reward us!" No sooner had I finished speaking than Mulberry stood at the door, lamp handle in his mouth, ready to go.

Stepping out the door, we were greeted by a deep, earthy, rainy scent that filled our lungs with clean autumn air.

Walking away from the cottage into the clearing by the woods felt like a mix of emotions that made my feet feel like they were dancing on fire. I felt alive.

I went from hoping to find what we needed to excitement about walking around outside, and finally to focus: outside my gates was a wild world, and I am just a part of it.

It was a peaceful, roughly 20-minute journey, with the sun setting beautifully in front of us. We had a magical evening. It felt as though the warm, golden light was walking hand in hand with us, leading us toward a golden ticket that might turn everything around.

When we reached the clearing by the stream, with just a few glimmers left, we came to a few bushes that seemed to have withstood the winds. Perhaps it was because we were so close to the largewoods tree line, or perhaps the forest knew my needs. It could be enough, at least just for one batch.  

The sun had left just as we had finished the first bush. "Come on, Mulberry, let's get the other three quickly so we can head back home. We don't want to be out in the dark, so close to the woods."

One bush left. By now, we were in the better-lit part of the clearing. It was a sliver of a moon, and the light wasn't very "illuminating". But with our lamp, it wasn't so bad. Mulberry was very much in a hurry to inspect the whole bush. 

"You take the bottom part, and I'll take the top," I said to my foraging partner. "Not so many up here, eh?" I mumbled to myself as I gathered the few berries I could spot. All the while, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mulberry busy as a bee, hurriedly filling up the basket.

I slowly lifted my gaze from my sweet Mulberry. No sooner had my eyes rested on the edge of the forest than a chilling urgency made every hair on the back of my neck stand up. My heart almost jumped to my throat. A chill enveloped me as a frightened shriek almost escaped my lips; I tried to stifle it so I wouldn't give away our position. In case it wasn't already known. Glowing eyes. Many... too many to count. They started appearing at the edge of the woods. I felt Mulberry tense up. "Don't make any sudden moves; get in the sack," I whispered to Mulberry. He slowly slipped into my backsack as I lowered myself to the ground. I carefully put on the backsack, trying not to make a sound or move suddenly. I thought that if I stayed low to the ground, I could get as far from the woods as possible, at least until I needed a full sprint. 

Keeping low to the ground, we scurried away without looking back, at least until the glowing eyes were out of sight. Then we hurried toward the first clearing. Mulberry was restless and attentive, so we kept a brisk pace.

The next clearing took the longest to reach, but the third one was closer to home, so I had the extra pep to get there and was intent on going into an all-out sprint. The lights in the cottage would be on, and running toward a light was an easy way to avoid getting lost in the woods when you are running from danger. 

The thought of reaching it gave me the energy boost I needed. My legs were killing me, and I was itching to sit down and put the sack down for a bit. I peeked up to my shoulder, where a berry-covered cat face and 2 paws now peeked back halfway out of the backsack. With a reassuring nod, he signaled it was ok to relax a bit, so I took him out of the sack. 

"Ok Mulberry, we are not that far away now. The next clearing is not far from this one. Probably 10 more minutes of walking, then another shorter run to the cottage. We are almost there." He perked up right away; excitement and relief flashed across his face as he fell into a slow, steady trot. His energy was contagious, one that I needed to take advantage of if we wanted to get back home and not fall prey to the many eyes that lay at the end of this path. 

We walked fast, my legs burning and my breathing growing heavier. Urgency drove me to pick up the pace. We had been lucky, so far, not to encounter any predators, and I did not want to test our lucky streak so close to the finish line. 

Just as the last clearing came into view, Mulberry jerked and stopped dead in his tracks; his hair stuck up in alarm, and a flash of fear turned into a hiss that made my eyes go wide as I scanned the surrounding tree line.

It stood a not-so-comfortable distance from us; a huge, dark figure darted across the trees as glowing eyes seemed to scan us in the distance.

Panic hit me like the lightning we had seen the night before. I could not defend us against something that big, a bear perhaps, or worse; our only option was to flee. "Run!" I said firmly to Mulberry as I turned away, touching his spiked hair. He turned forward, and we both ran as fast as we could.

Fear coursed through my back, and I pushed my legs hard into the ground, with Mulberry right beside me, pushing forward with all his might.

I could feel it closing in; I could hear heavy paws pounding behind us. I did not dare look back; I had to push harder and faster for our sake. Branches scraped my face as I darted through the bushes, but I didn't care; the gates to my cottage were in sight, and the loud steps were closing in.

A low growl gave away how close the thing running after us was. The forceful thud on the ground told me it was heavy and big. Maybe that's why it still hadn't reached us, but it also meant that if it did, we'd have no chance of escaping. 

Panic clouded my mind again. My thoughts raced. What do I do once I reach the gate? I kept thinking.

When we cross the entrance pillars, maybe everything will be ok. The cottage is protected; it won't be able to go in. At least I hoped so. We had no other option; we had to just run and see. 

The growls grew louder, and the thud of steps was almost on our heels. The pillar was right in front of us, and as we got a few feet away, the familiar glow brightened the gates. This gave a new surge of energy.

“Run, Mulberry, run!” I screamed.

Just as I felt what I now believe was a paw clawing at us, softly grazing my hair, the brightness consumed us; we were engulfed in the light of the barrier to my land. 

I fell, disoriented, to the ground. Rolling in the leaves, we halted to a stop. Mulberry stood quickly on guard in front of me, ready to fight, as I scrambled to my feet, bracing for the worst. But there was nothing behind us. Just the trees and the familiar scent of fresh crushed leaves. The barrier had returned the beast to the forest, just as its magic was meant to do.

Breathing heavily, I started to laugh, then cry, then laugh again. All the emotions came crashing down as fear left my body. Mulberry collapsed beside me as I slumped toward the floor. I placed my hand above him and stroked his fur. With my eyes wide open, I looked into his and said, "We made it. We are ok." 

The air was familiar. The garden where I stood was my land, the ground beneath us was our own, and right in front of me was our home.

Entering my cottage through the back kitchen door felt like a bucket of relief had fallen on top of me. I closed the door in one swift motion and slumped down onto the floor again. Mulberry promptly flopped down, all four legs sprawled out to the sides. I glanced over and was inspired to lie down on the cooling floor too.

After a few deep breaths, my muscles loosened, and I finally began to relax. I decided to look into the now-mushed blueberry sack, mostly stained with blueberry juice but in a weird lavender-purple color.

Some of the berries had a peculiar pinkish color. At the time, I assumed they were simply unripe. "How strange, Mulberry knows which ones to pick," I thought, but I just chuckled and kept inspecting the sack of paw-processed berry mush.

"Ohhh, these are definitely not up to health and safety standards, Mulberry," I said as a grin started to form. Mulberry's eyes held no trace of worry.

He knew that whenever he was naughty and climbed into a basket of ingredients, I reserved its contents for his special Mulberry Preserves. Risking quality with mushed-up, dirty berries isn't the kinda jam I put out.

"Yeah, I know you know they are still good enough for a Mulberry Special. You smarty fluffs!" With his lil face of victory, he jerked up to his feet and jumped straight onto his favorite kitchen stool. It was jam time, and he was rather interested in this batch.

When the brewing was done, one generously filled jar sat on the kitchen preparation counter, still far too warm to handle. The kitchen smelled sweeter than ever; the moisture from the jam-making session had filled the whole kitchen of the cottage.

By now, Mulberry could hardly sit upright, and my eyes were fighting a losing battle to stay open. "I think it's time we go to bed!" I said in a slow, sleepy tone, a yawn escaping my mouth to signal the rest of my body to start moving. I started to turn towards the stairs as Mulberry slunk upwards to our home above the shop.

I was running through the forest. Barefoot. Fast and slow at the same time. I felt something following me, and I couldn't go faster. It seemed time was getting slower, but the desperation and fright that had tortured my being had jolted me right up in my bed. A wild second between a dream and my mind adjusting to reality made me spread my arms wide and feel around the dimly lit room. I was so tired I hadn't even blown out my kerowind candle lamp last night, and so its soft light let me quickly see around the room. 

Now steady and of sound mind, I looked around, focusing on the absence of my furry feet warmer. I began to guess where he might be, but a loud bang came from the kitchen downstairs and interrupted my train of thought. I leaped to my feet and rushed down the stairs.

With every step I took down, a faint light began to fill my path, more intense by the second. 

As soon as I reached the bottom of the stairwell, there they were, the glowing eyes, looking back at me all the way across the kitchen. Unlike the eyes from before, these seemed more familiar. They looked back with an expression I knew all too well: Uh-oh. I've been caught. And beneath those eyes hung the familiar glowing pendant that connected us.

"Mulberry!" I said in a surprised tone. 

His eyes glowed brightly, illuminating the whole kitchen. It seemed to have a mysterious glow on its own; with the lights out, I could easily make out the kitchen layout and some of the items, no details, but well enough to navigate swiftly. 

What was this fluorescent glow, and what were the particles covering my whole kitchen? I hurried to turn the lights on and get a better look at the situation. 

My eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light. For a second, I thought I had gone crazy; my entire kitchen had changed colors to this bluish-purplish tone, and even Mulberry's fur was a different color. "Mulberry!" I said even louder. "What is this?!"

I ran my fingers across the table. It seemed to have its original color underneath the glowy, powdery thing. Mulberry's eyes seemed normal, and when he shook himself hard, some of the dust fell off, and his color peeked through more. 

"Not again!" I let out as I realized I had to clean the whole kitchen again, and on top of that, give Mulberry a bath. "But how on earth did this happen?" I wondered aloud. As I looked around, away from the jam-snack-sneaking cat, there it was: an all-too-familiar journal, the exact one he had been so intently reading before our adventure. The one I now know as the journal of Botanicals in the Fields, written by my great-grandad, who brought my family to this town when it was founded not so long ago.

I can now appreciate all the careful sneakery and planning my jam-obsessed little guardship managed to pull off on a last-minute whim, all while I gathered the garden and ingredients.

He had read an observation in the journal written by my ancestor, and then just "Mehh miaw miaw meh" me into going into the forest, hoping to find his very own light at the end of the tunnel.

Literal light shooting from the eyeballs, perfect for "better rounds of nightly inspections".

We almost got unwanted level 10 scratchies from who-knows-how-many pounds of fluff and nails. All for better-equipped eyesight prompted by special Mulberry jam! I now call it Magical Lunar Sight Jam. 

According to my great-grandfather's journal, some Pinkberries, gathered during their color transformation at a specific moment and place, produce an unusually powerful fluorescent effect. When concentrated into jam and consumed in large quantities, that excess light may escape through the consumer's eyes. 

Since then, I've been working on a more stable and gentle Pinkberry preserve, one without the extraordinary eye-illuminating effects of Mulberry's special batch.

After an entirely unnecessary number of steps, twists, and turns, I can laugh about it, and actually feel good about it! For I have my perfect recipe for next year's entry, all ready and waiting to be made.

I can see it, and I can most certainly taste it. This can truly be an award-winning jam. 

As for Mulberry, he can definitely tell you it was all worth it. Jam Operations security can't be taken lightly, not after the last storm's untimely intruder. In Mulberry's opinion, it cost us jams and yums. But that will not happen anymore. Not under his watch, it won't!