Spider-Witch is a fictional character in the Marvel Comics universe. She is a fusion of two popular characters, Spider-Man and Scarlet Witch. Spider-Witch possesses the powers and abilities of both heroes, making her an incredibly powerful and versatile superhero. Her origin story involves a mystical accident that fuses the DNA of Peter Parker (Spider-Man) and Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch). This merging of powers results in a unique combination of spider-like abilities and reality-altering magic. Spider-Witch has enhanced strength, agility, and the ability to stick to walls, similar to Spider-Man.
“Certainly so, the horseman threw a pumpkin at him and struck Ichabod off the horse.”
In the very next school year, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore managed to escape Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge and Percy Weasley after they came to arrest him, and the next day a rumor spread that Fudge was in St. I buried ya bones and whatnot over by that tree, he replied and pointed towards an ancient oak with branches exploding magnificently, as for your skin, well I watched him reach into a ripe orange pumpkin that sat beside him, a fresh face gleaming wickedly towards me.
Spider-Witch has enhanced strength, agility, and the ability to stick to walls, similar to Spider-Man. She can also conjure energy blasts, create force fields, and manipulate probability, like Scarlet Witch. As a character, Spider-Witch represents the best of both worlds.
The Pumpkin Man
I never wanted to get older. My youthfulness was spectacular, and life could not get any better. Age, was my greatest fear.
On a cool Saturday evening, I pinned up my auburn colored hair, dabbled a bit more make-up on my face, and slid on my black dress. It was so devilish of me to wear a skirt that revealed, not only my ankles, but my knees as well. My parents were already asleep when I slipped out of our house and met Martin around the corner.
A heavy October moon shined so brightly that we almost didn’t need the headlights of his imported ‘23 Alvis. It’s sleek, torpedo, frame rumbled through the vacant countryside towards the Twin Hills west of town. It was Halloween, 1925, and a friend of Martin’s was hosting a barn dance outside the city limits. There were going to be dozens of attendees.
My parents frowned upon anything that was fun, especially on “Satan’s Eve” as they called Halloween. I believe that I inherited my spirit from an aunt, who I had always thought to be very pretty and adventurous despite her bad luck with men. I think that’s what always inspired me to do such wrongful deeds.
The party was in the midst of a cotton field, the barn an old building that Martin’s great grandfather constructed in the 1860s. It was indeed a very lively festival, with plenty of liquor and spirits of the non-supernatural kind. It was all going well until Martin excused himself from me to fetch a drink.
When he didn’t come back after a couple of songs, I decided to go and look for him to make sure everything was okay. I wish now, even more than then, that I hadn’t.
I found Martin with another woman at the side of the barn. The shoulder strap on one side of her blue dress was hanging down her arm, while Martin’s vest had already been unfastened. Although I considered myself untamable, adultery is the line I never crossed.
Before Martin could react, I grabbed a fistful of mud and threw it across both of their faces. To this day, I still hope that there was some sort of farm manure in that mud!
The pitch darkness of the night welcomed me with opened arms. I tore away from the dance and went storming through the cotton fields, as far away from the party lanterns as I could run. I heard Martin holler my name a few times, but it was all to no affect. How I wish, now, that I had turned back and just gotten drunk and made out with one of his friends or something.
Blinded by tears and furiously mad, I charged headlong through a thick line of trees at the edge of the cotton field. I had no idea where I was going, but all I knew was that I wanted to get lost in the woods and find a place to cry.
I crossed a creek, and then went further towards the base of a hill. Drifting through the silence, I heard the unmistakable sound of a mandolin being softly strummed on the height of the rise in front of me. I started ascending towards the direction.
There was a trail on the crest of the hill. An old one, that was cut through the woods at least fifty years beforehand. Wagon ruts were still deeply embedded in the surface, and the bright beams of moonlight illuminated the whole scene.
A wooden wagon, with a strange shack like structure covering the back portion of the buggy, was parked off the shoulder of the trail. The dim glow and soft crackle of a campfire lit up the darkness of the night in front of it all. Warm melodies from the mandolin drew me closer to investigate.
Sitting on a scratched up stool by the fire, in a vest of dark maroon, with a shirt as white as the moon; was an old man with frail strands of gray hair cascading from his head to his broad shoulders. Standing over the waterfall of hair, like some form of a watchtower, was a faded top hat that looked like it had been made of seal skin. It had seen many miles and many years, but the hat completed the man’s vintage appearance.
Laying on the other side of the campfire from the old man, listening to the music, was the gray bulk of a horse that seemed older than the very hill I was standing upon. It saw me from the distance, and immediately lifted its head and neighed hazardously at me.
The mandolin fell silent, and the old man spun around and looked my direction.
“Who’s there? Speak or the Devil will have ya, before mornin’!”
I inched into the flickering glow of the campfire, noticing a finely painted advertisement on the side of the wagon.
Dr. Thomas F. Driggar Supplier of the finest medicines and herbs in North America
“I don’t mean to stir you, sir.” I said back to him. “I was lost in the woods and heard your songs.”
“What were ya doin’ in the forests after nightfall, lass? Ain’t ya frightened of banshees or witches?” The man said back to me in a thick Irish accent. He grabbed a faded green frock coat from behind him, and slid it on.
“No sir, I’m nearly eighteen. Ghost stories don’t frighten me anymore.” I replied as I stepped into the flickering firelight. He cocked his head at me, one eye sparkling blue, the other a shimmering discolored pupil of gray.
“Not frightened, eh? But we’re all scared of somethin’ though. Even ol’ Gunpowder here, though he be over a century old, he’s still a blasted coward after sundown.”
“A century old?” I exclaimed.
“Ah, older than that even! Got him from a Dutch in a village north of Tarry Town, New York, I did. Years ago it seems now. Poor ol’ cuss, got chased across the countryside by a headless Hessian with a wimperin’ Connecticut schoolmaster on his saddle.”
I smiled at him. “You’re saying that this horse is the one Ichabod Crane rode upon in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow?”
“Legend only to those that don’t believe in legends, lass. And what is your name?”
“Shirley, Shirley Lampton. May I join you at the fire? I’ve had a most difficult evening.”
The old man glanced me over with his good eye, not certain if I were trying to murder him or make a profit as I could tell. Finally, he smiled.
“Ya don’t look like a banshee or witch to me, deary, so ya more than welcome here! Care for some Joe?” I glanced at the pot boiling over the fire.
“No, but thank you. Do you have anything stronger than coffee though?”
Again, as the campfire crackled and shimmered across his elderly face, he grinned. “I’ve got a bottle of Scotch. Not as agreeable to womenfolk, but a lass like you, I can tell ya’s in need of it.”
I smiled warmly back at him. “Scotch sounds fine.”
In the hours that passed, the old man and I talked and laughed like we were old friends. He was a traveling medicine man, lost in a modern world of automotives and pharmaceutical stores. He lived in the wilderness, doing his best to stay clear of highways and property owners. Through our entire conversations, I never once expected him to be the predator that he silently was.
At long last, the moon had almost settled into the center of the sky. November was only a few minutes away.
“Shirley, my dear friend,” he asked as I finished my third cup of Scotch, “I know I asked ya earlier, lass, but I think I know what it be that you’re afraid of now.”
“Oh, and what do you believe it to be?” I answered.
“Growin’ old, like me and Gunpowder over there.”
“No, it’s not a flattering image. I confess, but please don’t be offended.”
He laughed. “Me? Ol’ Irish Driggar, as the boys called me at Gettysburg, offended? It takes more than a comment like that to ruffle up my feathers. But why are you so scared of getting older?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I think it has to do with my Aunt Charolette. She was always so fun and full of life when I was a kid. My parents are the complete opposite of my aunt, no life, no fun. They’re weighed down by the yoke of hardships, never much even on smiling or joking. I never wanted that.”
“And what happened to your aunt?”
I took a deep breath, steadying the beat of my heart, and took the final swig of my last bit of Scotch. “She died. Three years ago, in an automobile accident. She and her boyfriend, at the time, got drunk and drove off a bridge. He lived, but Aunt Charolette didn’t.”
“And how did her death affect you?”
“When they learned about how she died, my parents blamed Aunt Charlotte for inviting her own demise. They said that Satan had come to collect her dues, that God did not have a place for such un-lady like women in Heaven. That night, I prayed to whichever entity was listening, that I could live forever; so that I could enjoy life however I wanted to enjoy it.”
“And are you enjoying it now?” He asked me.
“Yes. Even though Martin betrayed my trust and love tonight, I’ll move on and find someone better. I always do.”
The old man nodded his head, and looked up towards the moon. Gunpowder seemed to have noticed him as well and turned his heavy snout at him.
“I’d like to show you something, lass. Don’t move your pretty little self from that chair, I’ll be right back.”
I watched him, curiously, as he got up from his stool and walked up into his wooden shack. He emerged a few moments later with a rotten pumpkin.
“What is that?” I asked him.
“The secret to living forever, lass. Gunpowder and I have seen a whole century pass because of this.”
“A rotten pumpkin?” I said as he came and sat back on his seat.
“Oh, ah, but it’s not just a rotten pumpkin. Do you recall how the story about the schoolmaster and the Headless Horseman ended?”
“Certainly so, the horseman threw a pumpkin at him and struck Ichabod off the horse.”
“Right ya are lass, and this pumpkin here,” he held the rotten vegetable up to my face, “was grown from one of the seeds of that demon’s weapon. They were scattered about Ichabod’s hat, and the farmer I purchased Gunpowder from a hundred years ago, had collected the seeds in a bag. He called them the Devil’s Roots, because Gunpowder had ate one, but never died.”
“You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you?” I asked him with a slight grin on my soft lips.
“No,” he replied with a grin that was half covered in a slanted shadow, “but if there’s a chance that you could live forever, just as you are right now, would you trust me lass?”
I flashed my eyes at him in disbelief, but also resolution. Firmly, I nodded my head.
“When I turn this pumpkin around, listen to my voice, and stare into its eyes.”
He turned the pumpkin around, and looking back at me was a black and moldy face that had been carved out of it years ago. Driggar’s voice resounded deeply in my mind, deeper with every word he uttered. A strange light, as bright as the pale October moon, grew brighter and brighter from with-in the pumpkin’s hollowed out shell.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. There was something…supernaturally attracting me to keep staring into the rotting face of the Jack-o-Lantern. Even when I noticed bits and pieces of my skin getting sucked into the pumpkin, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
I was startled awake by the sudden screech of a wagon wheel. I had fallen to the cold ground and looked, for a moment, bedazzled at the changing trees of the woods around me. I picked myself up and instantly saw Gunpowder reigned and ready to lead the carriage downhill. His fur seemed younger than before, a healthy mass of gray and black.
“Awake are ya, lass?” I heard a young man call out to me in a thick Irish accent.
I stood up, and saw a dashing middle aged man in a black seal skin top hat and green frock coat sitting in the front bench of the wagon. His features had retreated many years.
“What did you do to me?” I asked him.
“I gave ya the best medicine I had, lass. Look at your hands.”
I lifted my arms, raising my hands to my face…and screamed. The flesh, the bones, the ligaments, the muscles…all of it, gone!
“Quiet down lass, folks be thinkin’ this trail be haunted by a banshee if they hear you!”
“What did you do to me?” I asked him again through weeping breaths.
“You get to live forever now, lass! Just the way ya were last night.”
“You turned me into a ghost! You bastard. You turned me into—“
“How ya like that, eh Gunpowder? You do a woman a favor and she gets ruffled by it. A ghost gets to live forever, lass. More so, you’ve extended mine and Gunpowder’s life by a year as well.”
I looked at him in disbelief…in agonizing woe. I wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Where’s my body? Where’s my skin?”
“I buried ya bones and whatnot over by that tree,” he replied and pointed towards an ancient oak with branches exploding magnificently, “as for your skin, well…” I watched him reach into a ripe orange pumpkin that sat beside him, a fresh face gleaming wickedly towards me.
He pulled out a pumpkin seed, and with a crooked grin, tossed it into his mouth. His one gray eye sparkled in delight, then faded to a magnificent blue.
“I say we’re square now, lass. Farewell.”
He made a clicking sound with his breath, and Gunpowder started trotting away.
That was the last time I saw Dr. Thomas F. Driggar, “the Pumpkin Man,” as legends have now nicknamed him. I’m certain he’s still out there, somewhere. Turning people like me, who want to live forever, into ghosts in exchange for he and Gunpowder’s eternal mortality.
As for myself, I wish so strongly that I had just stayed at that barn dance. I would have moved along, finding another Martin, getting old until the day I finally passed. I’m hailed now as the “Woman of the Woods,” and I’ve watched the generations turn from one era into the next.
I am the ghost of the legends you don’t believe in. The story that has constantly been passed from parent to child, on cold autumn nights.
“Who’s there? Speak or the Devil will have ya, before mornin’!”
She has the street-level heroics of Spider-Man, swinging through the city, fighting crime, and protecting the innocent. At the same time, she showcases the immense power of Scarlet Witch, manipulating reality and battling cosmic threats. This duality makes Spider-Witch a formidable force and an asset to any superhero team. In the Marvel Comics, Spider-Witch has been featured in various storylines and team-ups. She has appeared alongside popular characters like the Avengers, the X-Men, and the Defenders. In these team-ups, Spider-Witch often contributes her unique blend of powers to defeat villains and save the day. Spider-Witch's emergence in the Marvel Comics universe adds a new dimension to the Spider-Man and Scarlet Witch mythos. It allows for different storytelling possibilities and showcases the strength and versatility of combining two beloved characters into one. Overall, Spider-Witch is an exciting and dynamic character in the Marvel Comics universe. Her fusion of Spider-Man and Scarlet Witch's powers makes her a force to be reckoned with. Whether swinging through the streets or altering reality, Spider-Witch brings a unique and powerful presence to the world of superheroes..
Reviews for "The Crossover Enigma: Spider-Witch's Interactions with Spider-Man and Other Marvel Heroes"
1. John - 2 stars - I was really disappointed with "Spidef witch marvel". The storyline was weak, and the acting felt forced. I've been a big fan of the Marvel movies, but this one just didn't do it for me. The special effects were decent, but they couldn't compensate for the lackluster plot. Overall, it was a letdown and not worth the hype.
2. Sarah - 1 star - "Spidef witch marvel" was a complete disaster. The writing was terrible, and the dialogue felt incredibly cheesy. The characters lacked depth, and I didn't feel invested in their stories at all. The pacing was off, and the movie seemed to drag on forever. I wouldn't recommend wasting your time or money on this film.
3. Michael - 2 stars - As a fan of the Marvel franchise, I was highly disappointed with "Spidef witch marvel". The film failed to capture the essence of the comics and felt disjointed. The plot was confusing, and the action scenes were underwhelming. The performances were average at best, and the villain was forgettable. Overall, it was a lackluster addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
4. Emily - 2.5 stars - "Spidef witch marvel" had its moments, but overall, it fell short of expectations. The storyline was convoluted and hard to follow. The character development was lacking, and I couldn't connect with any of the protagonists. The pacing was off, and the film felt unnecessarily long. While the special effects were impressive, they weren't enough to salvage the movie.
5. David - 1 star - "Spidef witch marvel" was an absolute disaster. The plot was nonsensical, the dialogue was cringe-worthy, and the acting was subpar. The attempts at humor fell flat, and I was left bored and unengaged throughout the entire film. It felt like a money grab rather than a well-crafted story. I wouldn't recommend this movie to anyone.