The Tale of Reverend Jack In the Box – A Sinister Tra(ske)gedy

by TheTVJunkie

Summary:

Reverend Traske is one nasty, hypocritical bigot and the young Sanderson sisters have every right to hate him.

Being exiled was a sure death sentence and when Sarah and Mary stupidly followed their big sister in the dark and gloomy Forbidden Woods, Traske must have been pretty sure that he never would see any of them again; the evils and carnivores of said forest certainly putting a quick and ghastly ending to their blasphemous lives.

Or so he thought.

But what, pray tell, might happen if he was gravely mistaken? What if, decades later, the adult witches would get them in their clutches and take an act of truly horrible revenge on him? Hmmmmm... ;)

This gruesome little tale comes in the form of a poem.

Chapter 1: Written Version (Complete)

Disclaimer: I do not own "Hocus Pocus", or anything related to it. This story is based on characters and situations created by Disney and is owned by them and whoever may hold the rights at this very moment you're reading this, various publishers, and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening or artwork are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Please see it as an homage and transformative work. Thank you. Writing fanfiction is the only affordable therapy.

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!!! PLEASE NOTE! DO NOT SEND ME MESSAGES TRYING TO TRICK/SCAM/PRESSURE ME INTO YOU MAKING PAID ART COMMISSIONS OR DO BETA-READING OR WHATEVER FOR ANY OF MY STORIES!!! It's shocking just how many people have tried that lately, so I keep this short – you'll be blocked and reported!!! If you want to create free fan art, that's fine with me; you read my story for free as well, so that's only fair.

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A/N: Hello, dear readers!^^ I quickly wanted to share a creepy Hocus Pocus poem with you! :D It will neither be found in my official timeline nor is it part of the main collection. Just some thoughts on what might have happened if the Sandersons sisters had ever had the chance to take revenge on Reverend Traske, the plot loosely follows my prequel fic "They That Sow Wind Shall Reap the Whirlwind", including some of its original characters (aunt Cara, Ma and Grandma Sanderson) who will not be explained here, same as the fact that the Sandersons did actually have some land and small farmhouse instead of the pitiful little hut we've seen in HP2. Once again, please heed the tags, for this tale might be considered...disturbing by some people. Still, enjoy!

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There once was a Rev'rend named Traske

Who cowardly hid behind a mask

of godliness and piosity

that bigot monstrosity

joined forces with the mayor

under the pretence of holy prayer

 

The witch, she shall hang!

His vitriolic voice rang

to divert the suspicion from his very own scam

Thus, he'd heartlessly make

the witch's daughters partake

 

in their dear mother's horrid execution

…that hateful Traske was in his savage resolution

 

Both men had made plans to quickly get their hands

on the fruitful, vast acres of the Sanderson lands

while the little brats, oh what vile a crime,

would certainly make Traske such pretty a dime

 

And they better should! For their own sake!

or they might end up burning

brightly at the stake

 

So imagine his dread when, all of a sudden, he met

the eerie sister of the witch who was irrevocably dead

The creepy aunt from a faraway land

now rightfully held a protective hand

over her orphaned nieces three

who went by the names Winifred, Sarah and Mary

 

The traumatised girls' lives briefly changed for the better

especially in a way that greatly would matter

since just as the auntie had ominously told them

the little witches' powers would start to unfold then

 

Cara took them to the woods, which were all gloomy and forbidden

to their grandma's old cottage, which sat safely hidden

all secluded and crooked and long past its prime

away from prying eyes, just like fallen out of time

 

But bad fortune would strike and rear its ugly head

bringing the siblings desperation and horrible dread

just when their poor auntie had met her untimely demise

Traske was back with a vengeance, to no big surprise

You are banned from this town! What was yours is now mine!

He implemented his old plan, so stone-cold in design

 

Bereft of their homestead and with no one to save them

the girls fled to the woods on the outskirts of Salem

 

For long years, the sisters lived in their cottage of old

and while their powers kept growing manyfold

'twas a life of hardship, and hunger and sorrow

made them ardently crave for retaliation to follow

 

Imagine the terror! The outcry! The fright!

when children went missing, stolen away in the night

only one small corpse was found

gnawed down to the bone, artfully displayed on the ground

Its bitemarks clearly human, for everyone to see

the witches, in safe distance, all while watching with spiteful glee

 

Oh, Rev'rend Traske! Whatever shall we do?

The townsfolk kept pleading, for they had no clue

that he was to blame, the clergyman's hideous, foul game

had brought upon them this debacle, yet the man felt no shame

 

Nah, he thought to himself, how could it be?

Never were those infernal women the Sanderson three!

He deemed them long dead, fallen prey to the threat

of the dark forest they had headed to in anxious upset

 

And still, decades later,

no changes await there

Salem's children kept disappearing

mostly the young ones, the most endearing

often led to their doom by a voice most mellifluous

they followed the sweet sound, not at all suspicious

 

Meanwhile, Traske had grown old and at his high age almost bold

since one day he ventured along the woods, the nearby wheaten fields he had strolled

 

 

Then, out of nowhere,

it had struck,

came swooping down and scooping him up!

 

Not a single shocked cry he was able to utter

not a word of protest or distress, he could mutter

while the Rev'rend dangled helpless, and utmost dang'rously

high 'bove the forest's pine treetops

 and creepily whisp'ring canopy

 

 Traske would fall from the sky with solid a thud,

was sure his life had ended… or had it not?

He gave a pained groan, yet not willing to atone

and in between whining, he did realise that he wasn't alone

 

In front of him, before his very eyes,

he watched in awe when to his outright surprise,

no bird of prey landed

but a charming and fair-haired woman descended

 

The appeal, though, was short-lived after he spotted her broom

't made the Rev'rend recoil, and he began to duplicitously fume

 

You prurient witch! Wicked wench! Devil's daughter!

Repent for your sins and prepare to go to slaughter!

 

Int'rrupted was his tirade, his accusations so severe

for a growl behind him sounded

 

My my, what do we have here?

 

Traske found himself lifted, effortlessly thrown over the strong shoulder

of the sturdy brunette witch, 'twas no use to cajole her

Upside down, he was dropped without further ado

on the brittle, creaking flooring of their abode askew

 

All blood drained from his face, the man's complexion chalk-white

The Rev'rend's eyes wide in horror, his hands trembling at the sight

of the figure before him, someone he had long since assumed dead

stood

in all her terrifying glory

 

Winifred

 

Thee! the redhead seethed, venom lacing her every word

fuelled by 'bout half a cent'ry of abhorrence, and resentful hurt

 

True to the witch's nature of flamboyant eccentricity

the air around them promptly charged with sizzling electricity

Blinding lightning erupted along with Winnie's furious scream

thus the Rev'rend was roasted like in many a dream

 

Angry bolts danced up and down the witch's writhing foe

leaving Traske covered in blisters, neatly so, from tip to toe

Don't kill him just yet! He deserveth no quick death!

Mary and Sarah intervened, unwilling to grant the man his last breath  

Let him suffer, the wretched zealot! Make sure that it lingers!

Winnie agreed, dramatically raising her sharp-clawed fingers

reciting an incantation most momentous

making sure that for the Rev'rend it would hold grave consequences

 

With her theatrical gesture, the witch's curse would hit home

its wording incising itself into Traske's each and every bone

Eternal life he would have, but at a terrible price

for he was not to endure it in some animal's disguise

No, no, he was to keep his decrepit old body, with all its diseases

and th're came the evil twist – 'twas about to be kept

 

in pieces

 

Mary rejoiced, 'twas the skilled cook's field of expertise

had been butch'ring children for years and doing so with ease

She started at his fingers, hacked them off one by one

next from his wrist to his elbow

soon the whole first arm was gone

 

Meanwhile Sarah, all smiles, armed with a chisel and hammer

intoned an old nursery rhyme for the frightened scammer

 

The blonde siren seized his foot, with her enchanting words, she'd let him know

that, over the course of her mellow song, all of his "piggies" would have to go

 

The Rev'rend squalled in pain, so heavenwards he started to frantically pray

Oh Lord! I beseech thee, please take me away!

Release me from my ordeal, for I cannot win this unholy battle!

 

Traske's teary-eyed lament made Winnie give a lunatic cackle

 

Thy w'rds art in vain! Thee hast brought on thyself this disast'r!

No help shalt cometh to thy rescueth, f'r thee s'rveth the wrong mast'r!

 

The man stared at the irate witch with the fiery red hair

when she fetched a pair of rusty tongs

he almost fainted in despair

 

Ever so devoted, Mary halted in her fervent slaying

prying open the Rev'rend's mouth, his ugly teeth all decaying

yet the foul smell didn't spare Traske the imminent atrocity

the dark-haired witch, overzealous, praised her big sister's grandiosity

when Winifred, with relish, ripped out tooth after tooth

 

for the Rev'rend was sinking in

the inevitable truth

 

He shalt never leave this house, neither dead nor alive

with this heavy a blood loss 'twas impossible to survive

 

And still, there he was, strangely conscious, but neither safe nor sane

inwardly imploring God for the witches to end their wicked game

 

Chopped in half straight through, just right above the hips

all that remained for him to move was his head and his lips

Truly proficient with the cleaver, Mary had severed Traske limb by limb

Could it get any worse? Oh, it could! His prospects? Very grim

 

The Rev'rend's nightmare continued, now 'twas his eyes they were after

the malicious sisters gathered 'round him

chorusing in maniac laughter

 

Accompanied by the forest owls' uncanny screech

they then relieved him from his lids

 

one eye each

 

For Traske was supposed to watch their every diabolical deed

hence, to the next step, the witchy sisters would swiftly proceed

 

His bare torso was mounted, firmly secured, on one big spring

which was attached to an oversized box, and said box -  it could sing!

 

Let me play with him! Sarah begged, and when Winnie simply shrugged

the other two buckled to their task, deep in the big box Traske was stuffed

 

Squeaking all excitedly and with childlike enthusiasm

Sarah slowly turned the crank, activating the hellish mechanism

The toy played its foreboding tune, and out popped the foolish man

wailing and squealing, grotesquely so and on his spring,

Traske's accursed blood-smeared upper half did swing

 

His mere existence a mystical paradox –

from this day forth he would be known

as Rev'rend Jack in the Box

 

And if you, dearest reader,

wonder what became of the abomination that was Traske

I admire you for hoping against hope and your guts to even ask

 

Since, as you might know, my works mostly end in weird ways of karma

there's no "Happily Ever After", only tear-inducing drama

Rev'rend Traske is no exception, so let me get this straight

in these concluding paragraphs, you shall learn the remainder of his fate

 

The Rev'rend finally broke under his trauma, many moons had passed on by

all the heinousness he witnessed, all the people he saw die

 

Gone mad, Traske wouldn't stop yelling at the top of his lung

Winifred's solution was easy  –

 

 out with his tongue!

 

And rumour has it that, even today,

more than 300 years later,

Traske is still there in the darkness,

wide awake, the silenced prater

 

Cramped between jars and pickles, the air permeated by fust

 he abides in the witches' hidden cellar, gathering dust

Until the end of days, and 'tis is his sole Sisyphean chore,

is for him his miserable existence to deplore

 

Thus he remains,

all forgotten and trapped and in eternal dotage

under the floorboards

of the Sanderson Cottage

 

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A/N: Soooo, what do you think? Isn't this some fine and fitting revenge?^^

Chapter 2: Podfic Version of "Reverend Jack in the Box" (Part 01)

Disclaimer: I do not own "Hocus Pocus", or anything related to it. This story is based on characters and situations created by Disney and is owned by them and whoever may hold the rights at this very moment you're reading this, various publishers, and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening or artwork are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Please see it as a hommage and transformative work. Thank you.

 

A/N: Hello, dear readers! So this is my humble attempt at making an audio version of my dark poem in a more or less Winnie-esque voice. ;) :D I'll post it in several chunks, so stay tuned for updates. Comments are MUCH appreciated, I've never done a podfic before, so feedback would help me a lot.

Thank you! Enjoy! :)

 

You can listen to it here:

Reverend Jack in the Box (Part 01)

Reverend Jack in the Box (Part 02)

Part 03 is in the works.