Much Ado About Turnips

My first FlashFiction story.  Enjoy!

Finish That Thought #9  (Judge's comments)
Prompt: "If [she] had known [he] would be there again, [she] would have brought [her] [magic wand]."
Special Challenge:  Include at least one original verse of poetry (4 lines)

If she had known it would be there again, she would have brought her magic wand. Honestly, how else does one deal with an eight-foot ogre who insists on eating all of your turnips? Placing neatly manicured hands on her petal-clad hips, she surveyed the damage done by her unwelcome guest as a frown tugged the corners of her pursed lips. Smashed squashes and tangled tomato vines littered what used to be meticulously laid rows of vegetables only hours before. Even her hardy carrots had been trampled underfoot by the clumsy brute which was now digging up her turnip bed with a stupid grin on its grotesque face.

“Ooooo, I wish I could turn it into a frog!” she fumed. “It would serve Matilda right for not keeping her pet on a leash!” However, being only a pixie-in-training, Hetty knew she was no match for an angry witch, and so such thoughts flitted out of her head. Just when she had started to calm herself down, the gruesome creature began singing a ditty while squishing her turnips into jelly.

“Happy ogre smash and crunch
Little turnips for some lunch!
Yummy, yummy for the tummy
Turnip juice is very gummy---”

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” Startled, the ogre turned its enormous head to blink its dull eyes at her as pink and purple sparkles shot out from Hetty’s ears, nostrils, and mouth then exploded like fireworks.

“Those are my turnips, you nincompoop!” Hetty screeched, her freckled cheeks now purple with rage. “If I catch you in my garden one more time, I swear I AM going to turn you into a horrid little green frog and then your mistress will boil you in her cauldron!”

But she might as well have said, “Gobblety-gook” for all the good it did. When the show was over, the ogre turned back to its feast and crushed a few more turnips into its mouth. Hetty was just about to storm back to her mushroom for her wand when a long nose snaked its way over her fence followed by a wide-brimmed black hat and drooping eyebrows.

“Ah, there you are, Horace,” a smooth voice cooed. Immediately, the ogre struggled to its feet and trumped over to the fence, produce tumbling from its clothes like dead flies from a light fixture. “Are you helping nice Miss Hetty again?” the voice continued.

“Helping?!?” Hetty squeaked, unable to say more.

“We’re so lucky to have such an understanding neighbour like you, dearie,” Matilda crooned. “Ogres can be such a handful. You are so lucky to have a magic wand to fix all of your troubles.”

Hetty found herself swayed by the enchanting words of the witch, “Yes, very lucky. Have a good day and be a good boy, Horace.” She waved them good-bye and waltzed back to her house. As soon as she closed the little wooden door behind her, the spell broke like a water balloon, dumping reality on her once more.

“Darn witch magic!” she muttered.