Mavis Beacon Teaches Witchcraft

“Mavis Beacon Teaches Witchcraft!”

“What?”

My roommate Josh held up an oversized 1990’s software box. A smiling African-American woman holding a broomstick beamed on the cover. Behind her was a cauldon and a sky blue pentagram.

“Where the hell did you get that from?” I asked.

“My last expedition to Goodwill,” he said.

“I thought she taught typing drills and proper hand placement,” I said.

“Well, it looks like the company branched out!” he said.

Josh had been going through a bit of a rough patch since he lost his job. He hasn’t handled the firing too well, and now he spends his days lurking around thrift shops trying to find what he calls “crazy deals.” He’s turning into a hoarder, buying up everything he considers nostalgic.

“Dude, come on, why do you keep buying this shit? Is this another $50 bottle of Crystal Pepsi? Or a copy of Crossfire that’s missing all the metal balls? Or a Super Nintendo that sparks and smells like a chain smoker?”

“Relax,” he said, “I paid two bucks for it. You gonna come install this with me or not?”

Josh tore open the box; a jewel-cased CD-rom and a 1993 software catalogue falls out.  He popped the disc into his PC and dialog box warned us that we must be running at least Windows 3.1x. The opening screen displayed the title “Mavis Beacon Teaches Witchcraft” over top of a brown 8-bit school teacher’s desk. The program prompted us for a difficulty level.

“Better start at ‘Beginner’,” I suggested.

We start in the category “Basic Thaumaturgy.” The first section had an animation of a toilet exploding and was labeled, “Blowing up the Throne.” There was a short list of ingredients: a light-bulb, a pack of Hubba Bubba gum, and a toilet.

Below that was a series of instructions that Josh read aloud: “First, chew up the gum until it is smooth and pliable enough to be spread thinly over the light-bulb. Then, find a toilet and place the gum coated bulb in the toilet. FInally, leave a safe distance between yourself and the toilet and utter the following words: “E Dolpx Eteliot Eh Tekam.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said. “Are we really doing this?” Going by the the grin on Josh’s face, I knew we were.

Josh had a pack of Hubba Bubba gum amongst the dregs of his Halloween candy; he filled his mouth with the flamingo pink cubes and chewed. I told him I thought this is asinine and that I don’t want to put one of our lightbulbs in the toilet, so Josh grabbed one from the hallway outside of our apartment. He used a towel so he wouldn’t burn his hands and unscrewed it off the roof.  He removed the chewed gum from his mouth and carefully kneaded it over the still warm bulb. After a modest effort and sticky fingers, we had an unevenly coated pink pear-shaped something.

Everything in place, we gathered around the toilet.

“This is stupendously stupid,” I said.

Josh shushed me and dropped the gum-bulb into the toilet. He told me to step back and I rolled my eyes. We both retreated around the corner and Josh said the magic words: “E Dolpx Eteliot Eh Tekam!”

The explosion that followed shook the apartment; water gushed out of the cracked toilet bowl and flooded the bathroom. I rushed in to turn off the water and placed all of our towles on the ground to absorb the water.

I shook my head. There had to be some stupid science going on here; maybe the dyes in the gum interacted with the porcelain of the toilet bowl until enough pressure built up in the bulb causing a modest, but non-magical, pop. . .

Josh knew what I was thinking. “Man, you can’t rationalize this one. You’re going to have to accept that something magical has happened here!”

We returned to the computer with a new sense of reverence for Mavis Beacon. We discovered there were dozens of modules, each describing in detail how to perform all kinds of mystical acts. Every spell required mundane items mixed with ridiculous nostalgic ingredients: a VHS copy of Honey I Shrunk the Kids, an original Gameboy, a velociraptor action figure, and so on. Josh had every required ingredient squirreled away in his room and even I had to admit his hoarding and love of retro collectibles had paid off.

We toiled away into the night casting more spells: we grew human eyes on a potato (“The All-seeing Spud”); we made a sombrero that enables us see in the dark (“Mexican Sunrise”); we created a super soaker that transformers water into alcohol (“The Wine Shooter”); and we converted a VCR remote into a wand of telekinesis (“The Wireless Puppet”).

It was 4 A.M. when we see the message, “Congratulations!” We were promoted to the second difficulty level: “The Dark Arts.”  A portrait of Mavis Beacon popped up followed by a short audio clip: “In this section, the rewards are greater but the costs are steeper. Remember not to deviate from the spell in any way, or the spell will destroy you!”

The next spell on the list was called “King Croesus” and it promised wealth beyond our imagination. All we needed was five elastic bands, a yellow highlighter, a ball-peen hammer and a bottle of Crystal Pepsi.

Josh’s eye light up when he read the last ingredient. “See? Aren’t you glad I bought that old bottle of Crystal Pepsi? You said it was a waste of money and I was wasting my life! Who’s laughing now!”

I didn’t like where this was going. “Josh, we should probably call it quits. This is getting serious now. You heard what she said, there’s the possibility it will destroy us if we don’t follow the steps exactly. What if we mess up?”

“Dude, if you’re too chicken, I’ll do the whole thing on my own. When I’m filthy rich you’ll see who was wrong.”

He read the instructions aloud: “Wrap all of the elastics around the bottle, coat them with a layer of yellow highlighter, say the words ‘H’cir Repus Em Ekam’ and  smash the bottle with the hammer. Money will fall from the sky!”

Josh made all the preparations and I loomed anxiously in the background. He proceeded through all the steps, said the magic words, smashed the bottle, and waited expectantly.

Nothing happened.

“Where’s all the money?”

“I need to admit something Josh. . .” I said.

Then I explained: Josh was out of town a few weeks ago and I got really drunk. I decided I’d drink Josh’s Crystal Pepsi. He was so proud of that goddamn thing. I chugged it down and it tasted the way you’d expect twenty-six year old soda would taste. I threw up pretty hard for an hour. When I sobered up a bit I was feeling pretty rotten about what I did, so I filled it full of tap water. It was transparent just like the Crystal Pepsi, so I didn’t think he’d ever know the truth.

As soon as I stopped talking Josh started choking. One-hundred dollar bills started flowing from his mouth. He collapsed to the ground, heaving and shaking, surrounded by a pool of stomach acid coated currency.

After Josh had stopped convulsing, I stepped over thousands of dollars worth of wet bills, and I checked Josh’s pulse. He was clearly dead.

I  knew Mavis Beacon would help. I loaded up the program and found the next spell: “Back From the Dead and Ready to Rock!” It promised to bring Josh back to life, all I needed was to find a three paper clips, a jug of Draino and some Beanie Babies. . .