The Witch

They set off, each step carefully measured, the tension palpable in the air. Pally led the way, his hand steady on the lantern, while Ellendia and Merwinn swept their surroundings with alert eyes. At the rear, William cast regular glances around, his movements calculated and methodical. In his mind, each member of the group had a role to play, and he made sure every one of them stayed in their place.

Yet despite their coordination, a sense of latent danger weighed upon them, a feeling that the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Ellendia shivered, though she could not tell whether it was from the cold or from the visions she thought she glimpsed. "These trees… it's as if they're watching us," she whispered, breaking the silence.
Merwinn tightened his grip on his sword, his gaze sweeping the shadows as if they might leap at any moment. "It's not just an impression, they are watching us," he murmured, his throat tight.
Ellendia turned her head sharply toward him. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.
William frowned, his posture still alert. "What do you mean by that?" he asked in a low but incisive tone, ready to analyse the slightest piece of information.
Pally, who had not ceased to walk on, turned slightly. The flickering glow of the lantern in his hand lit up a thin, almost sinister smile. "He's right," he declared calmly. "The witch knows we are moving toward her dwelling."
Then, raising the lantern a little higher, he gestured with his chin toward a shape taking form between the trees. "And there is her dwelling."
Before them, nestled in the heart of the woods, stood a cottage embedded in the base of a gigantic mushroom. Its walls, made of dark, damp wood, seemed to have grown naturally out of the forest itself. The mushroom, immense and imposing, formed an organic roof that curved elegantly, covered in moss and phosphorescent lichen, casting a strange glow into the surrounding darkness.
A chimney rose in a spiral at its peak, and from it drifted a thin, pale smoke, undulating like a serpent in the night. The flickering light of a lantern inside threw dancing shadows across a small round window, like a watchful eye keeping them under surveillance. The air around the cottage felt denser, charged with a muffled murmur that the silence of the forest only amplified.
Ellendia swallowed, her bow rising instinctively. "Is it… here?" she whispered, a note of disbelief in her voice.
Pally nodded, his gaze fixed on the cottage. "It's here."

They approached the cottage, each holding their breath. The snow muffled their footsteps, but the air seemed to vibrate with an invisible tension. Pally clutched the lantern, his eyes fixed on the flickering light inside. As he drew closer, sounds escaped from within: the gurgling of a cauldron at a boil, the shrill creaking of utensils being stirred, and sometimes a sharp clack that echoed like a shard of shattered glass. A heavy odour, mingling notes of burnt herbs, damp earth, and something more acrid, more ancient, hung in the air, growing stronger with each step, invading their senses and weighing down their breath.

The clatter of utensils knocking together inside, mingled with indistinct whispers and stifled sniggers, broke off abruptly at the first knock upon the door. The silence that followed was almost worse than the noise, heavy and menacing, as though the house itself were holding its breath.

A few moments later, a movement came at door-height. A small hole, roughly carved into the wood, revealed an eye. It was large, bloodshot, and swept nervously across the outside. Its slitted pupil, like that of a serpent, shone with a strange gleam in the darkness. When it made out who stood before the door, the eye narrowed slightly, expressing an obvious malice, as if the person behind it were grinning from ear to ear, savouring in advance what was to come.

Ellendia, caught off guard, started and stifled a cry, stepping back, her hands trembling on her bow. Instinctively, Merwinn stretched an arm before her, as if to shield her, his gaze fixed on the door, torn between fear and vigilance.

The door opened slowly with a sinister creak, revealing the towering silhouette of the witch. She stood there, framed by the flickering light from within, a wide twisted smile upon her face. Her thin lips stretched, baring yellow, pointed teeth, while she stared at them with an almost devouring intensity.
"Well, well, well…" she said in a hoarse, drawling voice, a cackling laugh following her words. "My favourite children… hee hee hee."

Every child took an instinctive step back, their faces wavering between astonishment, unease, and a quiet dread. Then, suddenly, she opened her bulging eyes wide and leaned her face slightly out of the shadows, with an exaggerated expression. "I was expecting you!" she said, ending with a chilling smile.

Her gaze settled upon each of them, slowly, one by one, as if she were reading something written upon their faces. Her eyes lingered first on William, and her smile twisted.
"Oh... a grieving heart that whets its blades in the dark..." she murmured.
Then upon Merwinn and Ellendia, side by side.
"Two souls that do not yet know it, but burn with the same fire..."
And at last upon Pally. Her smile widened, her eyes gleamed, and her voice climbed a notch, almost gluttonous.
"And you... a little daredevil who runs toward what ought to make him flee."
She joined her bony hands, her fingers interlacing like the legs of an insect, and let out a low, throaty laugh of satisfaction.
"Fate has been generous with me tonight... hee hee hee."

The witch was everything one could imagine… and worse still. Her hooked nose, twisted like a dead branch, loomed over a face marked by time and excess. Her bulging eyes, rimmed with deep wrinkles, seemed almost to start from her skull, watching each of them with a famished curiosity. A prominent hump deformed her stooped back, making her look like a creature crouched and ready to pounce. Her body, entirely hidden beneath a great dark cloth that trailed upon the floor, let glimpse only her thin, bony hands. Her fingers, endlessly long, were tipped with cracked, yellowed nails that seemed more dangerous than claws.

She seemed amused by their silence, and her shoulders twitched lightly with contained laughter, as if she were savouring their discomfort.
Pally felt a wave of disgust rise in his throat. He drew in a deep breath, pushing the sensation away. Calm down. Keep your composure, he thought, before putting on a forced smile and answering in an exaggeratedly friendly tone: "Aaahh, Auntie! So good to see you!"
His voice, though steeped in false warmth, seemed to startle his friends, who briefly glanced at him. The witch, for her part, burst into a shrill laugh, her teeth glittering in the flickering light. She narrowed her serpent eyes, that same mischievous air spreading across her face. "The pleasure is mutual, my boy… mutual indeed…" she murmured, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Then, abruptly, she made a sharp movement, her lanky arms spreading wide as if to welcome them. "Oh, but what manners!" she exclaimed, her intonations oscillating between the theatrical and the grotesque. "Come in, come in, I beg you! It's freezing cold out there. You must be all shrivelled up, my poor darlings…"
She stepped back slowly, her gestures exaggerated as though calculated to amplify their unease. With one arm she swung the door wider open, revealing the interior of the cottage. A flickering light danced upon the walls, which were covered with strange trinkets and dusty phials, while an acrid, spiced scent floated in the air.

The four children entered, their hesitant steps sinking into the damp, uneven earthen floor. The interior was narrower than they had imagined, as if the walls of the mushroom-house were closing in upon them, breathing with an organic slowness. Shelves cluttered with phials, cloudy jars and crackled tomes covered the walls, and dried plants hung from the ceiling, their withered leaves forming a strange canopy above their heads. The whole place smelled of staleness, mould, and antiquity, as if nothing had moved here in decades.
At the centre of the room enthroned a broad cauldron of blackened iron, set upon a hearth of glowing embers. A thick vapour escaped from it, rolling over the edges like a living mist, diffusing a heavy odour of sulphur and burnt herbs. But beneath this acridity, another scent broke through, sweet, warm, almost comforting... gingerbread!? Pally wrinkled his nose. It did not fit. That scent had no business here, and everything within her screamed trap, a sweet, crude bait meant to draw one in, to tempt a taste, to dip a finger. He met Merwinn's gaze; Merwinn had plainly felt the same. Neither of them drew any closer.
Ellendia, however, had no such memories to warn her. Fascinated in spite of herself, she took a step toward the cauldron, drawn by the sweet vapour. Merwinn seized her wrist without a word. She looked at him, surprised, and saw in his eyes something she had never seen in him before. Fear. Real fear. She stepped back.
The liquid within gave off a dull, steady gurgling, like a beating heart. Gnarled roots crossed the floor around the cauldron, breaking the surface of the earth like veins, making every step around it treacherous.
"Make yourselves at home, my darlings," the witch called from the back of the room, a snicker in her voice. "But mind where you put your feet... hee hee hee."

Behind them, the door swung shut. The sharp clap was followed by a metallic sound, heavy and final, that of a bolt turned twice over. Ellendia spun around, her bow rising instinctively. Merwinn felt his stomach tighten. William, without moving his head, cast a sidelong glance toward the door, then toward the small window on the left. He had already marked it.
Pally, for his part, did not turn. He kept his eyes fixed on the witch, let a silence pass, then sketched a faint smile in the corner of his mouth, almost gentle, and said in a calm voice:
"So, Auntie, I imagine you know why we're here?"

The witch looked at him, her head slightly tilted, an intrigued smile stretching her thin lips. Her serpent eyes narrowed, as if weighing this little boy who dared to speak to her in such a tone. Clever little thing. She did not answer. Instead, she turned away slowly, circled the cauldron with an ease that betrayed years of familiarity with every root, every hollow of the floor, and settled upon a small wooden stool behind it, half disappearing behind the vapour rising between them. Only her eyes remained visible, floating in the mist like two embers.
She picked up an old book from the edge of the table, tapped it gently with the tips of her hooked fingers to shake off the dust, and her mischievous smile stretched further as she broke the silence in a honeyed, faintly singing voice:
"Do you know why we call this forest the Sleeping Woods?" She let the question hang, her eyes slowly sweeping across each face. The children held their breath, suspended in a silence that only the gurgling of the cauldron dared to break. "Well, it is because nothing extraordinary ever happens here. Everything is calm… peaceful… asleep…" She briefly closed her eyes, tilting her head up slightly, as though savouring the word. Then her lids opened again, and her gaze slid sideways, without her head moving so much as a hair, her slitted pupils coming to rest upon Pally. "Until now… hee hee hee."

Pally felt unease rise within him, but he shot back quickly, as though to collect himself and find reassurance.
"Auntie, let me remind you of one thing. You swore an oath to Cirilla. Not a single hair on our heads."
The witch opened her eyes. Her smile did not waver, but something in her gaze shifted, a fleeting glint, quickly mastered.
"Oh, my boy..." she murmured, her voice unctuous. "When have I ever broken a promise, hmm? What is sworn is sworn. The forces that govern this world see to it that every word given is honoured... one way or another." She tilted her head, her smile stretching. "You are perfectly safe here... so long as you know where you put your feet, hee hee hee."

She had said nothing false. But she had said nothing reassuring either.

To catch his breath, he turned his gaze away from the witch, and his eyes came to rest upon the only thing that interested him now, the reason he had come. The crystal ball, set to his left amid the chaos of the table. It shimmered with a pale, steady glow, and in this place where everything seemed rotten, ancient and corrupted, the contrast was so striking that it appeared almost pure.

He looked back at the witch.
Too late. She had followed his eyes. She knew exactly what he had been looking at, and a wide smile split her face, baring her yellow, pointed teeth.
"Aaaah... so that's why," she said, her voice drawn out like poisoned honey. "And I who thought you had come to see me... hee hee hee."

She rose from her stool, seized the edge of the table with a bony hand, and pulled it toward her with a sharp motion. The table, massive and laden though it was, swung about as if it weighed nothing, with a high-pitched creak that made Merwinn start. The crystal ball came to rest before her. No one spoke of it, but all had seen the same thing: that old stooped woman, that frail body beneath her dark cloth, had just shifted with a single arm what two men would have struggled to move.
Then she set her stool back down, seated herself again with calculated slowness, the crystal ball now between her hands, and raised her eyes to Pally. Her smile had changed. It was no longer mocking. It was hungry.
"But are you truly ready to uncover your destiny?" The witch slowly extended her hand over the crystal ball, palm open, her hooked fingers hovering a few centimetres above its surface. She said nothing. She waited.
Pally stared at the hand, then at the ball, and something rose within him. The melody. The study. The lantern in the darkness. The heart-shaped music box, heavy and cold between his fingers. "My love will never die." And that silhouette, behind the door, drawing nearer… Who was he? Where did he truly come from?
The questions, all those he had buried, surged back up at once, like a wave that can no longer be held back. And in an impulse he did not quite control, something between need and compulsion, he nodded. Slowly. Without a word.
Merwinn watched him, brow furrowed, not quite sure of what was happening. He opened his mouth to say something, but no word came out. He did not recognise the look in his friend's eyes. Pally was no longer entirely there.
The witch closed her eyes. Her hand came to rest upon the crystal ball, and her whole body seemed to stiffen, as though crossed by an invisible current. Her breathing changed, grew slower, deeper, almost cavernous. Her lips moved without producing any sound, forming words in a tongue no one in the room could understand.
And the house changed.
At first it was imperceptible. A creak in the mezzanine floor, louder than before. Then the shadows on the walls began to move, not as before, not like shadows cast by the flickering light of the fireflies, but of their own accord, sliding along the walls with a deliberate slowness. The dried plants on the ceiling began to sway, though there was no draught. The phials on the shelves trembled, clinking against one another like chattering teeth. And the roots upon the floor, those that surrounded the cauldron, began to quiver, almost imperceptibly, as if something beneath had just awoken.
Ellendia felt something brush her ankle. She looked down. A root was creeping along her boot, slow, almost hesitant, as if it were testing. Ellendia stepped back, bumping into Merwinn, who steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Pally..." Merwinn whispered, his voice tight. But Pally did not answer. His eyes were fixed upon the crystal ball, which had begun to glow with a more intense, colder light.
The crystal ball pulsed beneath the witch's hand, its cold glow casting bluish reflections upon her face. Her closed eyelids quivered, her lips still moving in silence. Then she stopped. A smile slowly formed, like that of someone who had just found what they were looking for.
"Hmm..." she purred, without opening her eyes. "Interesting... most interesting..."
Pally drew a breath. He had to ask his first question. The one that had haunted him since his awakening.
"Last night, I had a dream," he said, his voice lower than he had meant it to be. "A melody. A music box. And something that was drawing close to me in the dark." He paused. "What does it mean?"
The witch opened one eye, then the other, slowly, like a reptile emerging from sleep. Her smile broadened.
"Dreams..." she murmured, caressing the ball with the tips of her fingers. "Dreams are but memories that have not yet found their way to the surface... or that have risen too soon." She tilted her head, her slitted eyes fixed upon him. "What you saw, my boy, is not a dream. It is a door. And you have pushed it ajar."
"A door to what?" Pally asked, his jaw clenched.
The witch chuckled. "To what you were before you forgot what you were. Hee hee hee."
While she spoke, her free hand had come to rest distractedly upon the rim of the cauldron, and with an idle, almost mechanical gesture, she stirred the contents with a long wooden spoon. The movement rolled a wave of sweet vapour straight toward Ellendia, who stood downwind. The scent of gingerbread enveloped her, thick, heady. Ellendia felt her head spin slightly, her eyelids grow heavy. Without realising, she took a step toward the cauldron, then another.
Merwinn saw her move forward. "Ellendia!" He seized her shoulder and pulled her back. She blinked, disoriented, as if waking from a half-sleep.
"What? What is…" She looked at the cauldron, then at Merwinn, and understood. Her face went white.
The witch had not even turned her head. She continued to fix her gaze on Pally, her smile intact.
Pally had not moved. His eyes had not left the witch.
"That creature," he resumed. "The one that prowls in the woods. Does it have a connection with me?"
The witch's smile vanished. For the first time since they had entered, her face became grave. She looked at the crystal ball, and the light within flickered, like a flame in the wind.
"The connection..." she murmured, almost to herself. "You ask the question, but you already know the answer, don't you? You feel it here." She laid a hooked finger upon her own chest. "Something in you recognises it. Something in you calls out to it. And something in it... is searching for you. Has been, for a very long time."
A silence. The gurgling of the cauldron seemed to have quickened, like a pulse racing out of control.
"You are bound, you and that thing," she said, her eyes rising again to Pally. "By blood, by night, by what was taken and what has never been returned."
Pally felt a chill cross his chest. But he held firm.
The cauldron, as though in answer to the witch's words, began to bubble more violently. Large bubbles burst at the surface with dull clacks, spattering droplets of liquid around the hearth. One of them landed on the floor a few centimetres from Merwinn's boot. The earth sizzled, hollowed out, and an acrid smoke rose hissing upward. Merwinn leapt back, his eyes wide. The liquid was eating through the floor like acid.
"Step away from the cauldron!" Merwinn breathed, loud enough for everyone to hear.
But stepping away from the cauldron meant drawing closer to the walls. And the walls had their own surprises.
William, leaning against the wall near the entrance, felt the knives above his head vibrate on their hooks. He darted aside with a swift motion, just before one of the hooks gave way and a serrated blade fell precisely where he had stood a moment before. The knife embedded itself in the earthen floor with a dull thud. No one had pushed it. No one had touched it. An old rusted hook giving way, nothing more. These things happen. And if a child had been standing beneath it at the wrong moment, it would have been a tragic accident. Nothing more. Never the witch's fault.
"What the hell is this!?" William blurted, breathless, already back on his feet.
The witch, her eyes still fixed on Pally, smiled.
And the vapour from the cauldron continued to spread, sweet, heavy, thickening the air in the room. Merwinn felt his eyes cloud for a fraction of a second. He shook his head to ward off the numbness, but his movements grew slower, more imprecise, as if he were moving through water.
"Pally!" Merwinn called, his voice tight. "We have to leave!"
But Pally did not turn around. He still had one question.
"Where is she?" he asked. "Where is the creature right now?"
The witch stared at him for a long moment, her slitted eyes shining with a strange gleam. Then she pushed the crystal ball toward him with a slow, almost ceremonial gesture.
"Look," she breathed.
Pally lowered his eyes to the ball. The light within swirled, forming blurred shapes that grew sharper little by little. He saw a place. Not clearly, not in detail, but he saw it. He knew exactly where it was. The vision was seared into him like a branding iron, then the ball turned opaque again.
He raised his head. He had what he had come for.
But the witch was not finished.
Her smile returned, wider, more twisted, almost compassionate this time. She tilted her head to the side, and her voice softened, almost tender, like a grandmother breaking bad news to a child.
"Ooo... my poor darling," she murmured, and in her voice there was something that almost resembled pity. "If only you knew what awaits you... hee hee hee."
Pally, who had been about to step back, froze. "What do you mean?"
The witch slowly shook her head, her eyes wet with a cruel amusement. "I see so many things for you, my boy. So much pain. So much fire and ashes." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And at the end of the road... at the end of everything you are going to pass through... someone you love, more than anyone else in this life, will take it all from you."
Pally's blood ran cold. "What?"
"You will die," she said simply, as one announces the coming of rain. "And it will not be by the hand of an enemy. It will be by the hand of the one you cherish the most. Hee hee hee."
While she spoke, the roots upon the floor had begun to creep farther, faster, seeking out ankles. One of them coiled abruptly around Ellendia's ankle and yanked sharply. She fell to her knees with a cry, her hands striking the ground just beside a steaming puddle. Merwinn threw himself upon her, his sword already in hand. He sliced through the root with a clean stroke. Ellendia pulled free, breathless, her palms reddened by the nearness of the acid.
"That's impossible," Pally said, his voice rougher now. "You're lying."
"Witches do not lie, sweetness," she replied, a finger raised. "We distort, we omit, we embellish… but lie? Never. It would be against our nature. Hee hee hee."
William had retreated toward the right wall to avoid the puddles spreading across the floor. He made for the ladder leading to the mezzanine and began to climb. On the third rung, the wood gave way beneath his foot with a sharp crack, his leg plunging through, his shin scraping against the splinters. He clenched his teeth, hauled himself up by the strength of his arms, and threw himself onto the mezzanine floor. From up there, he could see everything. The chaos below, the steaming puddles gaining ground, Merwinn shielding Ellendia, Pally frozen before the witch.
Pally felt his heart pounding in his chest. He did not want to believe it. But something in the witch's voice, something in her eyes, told him she was no longer playing.
He had to know.
"Who is it?"
The witch looked at him. A long silence. Her eyes shone. Her mouth opened.
And she laughed.
A laugh that rose from the depths of her throat, low and guttural at first, then higher and higher, shriller and shriller, filling every corner of the cottage. Her head tipped back, her shoulders shaking, her yellow teeth bared to the flickering light of the fireflies. She laughed as though it were the funniest thing she had heard in centuries.
Pally remained motionless. The witch's laughter echoed in his chest like a second heart, a cold heart. He had just asked the most important question of his life, and the only answer was that laughter. Something broke within him, not loudly, not like a bone snapping, but like a thread pulled too taut for too long, finally giving way without a sound. She would not tell him.
And as she laughed, the house went mad.
The cauldron overflowed. The corrosive liquid poured in waves onto the floor, eating everything it touched, the earth, the roots, the wood, advancing like a slow, inexorable tide. The shelves began to vomit their contents, the phials sliding one by one off the edge, shattering on the floor. The knives on the wall vibrated like tuning forks, some coming loose and falling blade-first into the chaos below.
The floor was disappearing. Down there, there was no longer any safe place to set one's feet.
"PALLY!" Ellendia screamed, her voice piercing the chaos.
And this time, Pally heard.
He blinked, as if waking from a second dream. His gaze swept the room. Merwinn and Ellendia in the midst of the chaos. William up on the mezzanine. The smoke. The acid. And the witch, still seated on her stool amid the chaos, as if nothing could touch her, still laughing.
"Are you alright!?" he shouted to Merwinn and Ellendia.
Up above, William had already understood. The mezzanine floor was creaking more and more beneath his feet, the heat rising from below beginning to weaken it. He looked at the window on the left wall, blocked by the wooden structure. Too far to reach from the mezzanine. But the chandelier hung above the room, halfway between the mezzanine and the window.
He took a running start and leapt. His hands gripped the cold iron of the chandelier, which swung violently under his weight. The fireflies panicked in their lanterns, casting chaotic shadows across every wall. The chandelier swayed, once, twice, and on the third swing William let go and propelled himself toward the window. His body struck the wall, his fingers catching the rim of the round hole. His feet found a foothold, and with a shove of his shoulder, he tore away the wooden structure that had blocked the opening. The cold night air rushed into the room like a slap.
"THIS WAY!" he shouted, already half outside.
He slipped through the opening and vanished into the night. Merwinn caught hold of Ellendia, and they dashed toward the window. At the sill, they turned back toward Pally.
"PALLY, COME ON!" Merwinn cried.
Pally tried to move forward. His legs were held fast. Brambles had coiled around both his ankles while he had been absorbed by the witch, tight and thick, as if the house had taken advantage of his stillness to anchor him to the floor. He pulled. Nothing budged. The thorns sank deeper into the fabric of his trousers, clawing at his skin. He seized his sword and sliced through the brambles with a furious stroke, then a second, freeing first his left leg, then his right.
Free. But the floor around him was smoking. There was no longer a direct path to the window. So he did the only thing Pally knew how to do in the face of the impossible.
He charged.
He leapt onto the table, his boots sliding among the scrolls and phials, his hand snatching the crystal ball as he went. The witch stopped laughing.
He jumped from the table, planted his right foot on the rim of the cauldron and launched himself toward the chandelier still swaying above him. His hands gripped the cold iron. Under the force of his thrust, the cauldron tipped, the iron screeched against the stone, and the boiling liquid poured in a steaming wave straight onto the witch. A howl tore through the air, a cry that had nothing human in it, a sound of wounded beast and ancient fury that made the walls of the cottage tremble. She straightened up, soaked, steaming, her serpent eyes incandescent with rage.
Pally swayed with the chandelier, the crystal ball clutched against his chest, his legs dodging the roots that lashed through the air below. The chandelier carried him in wide arcs around the room, and at each pass the witch struck at the air with her burned hands, the house contracting around him like a closing fist. Outside, William, Merwinn and Ellendia hurled stones through the window, forcing the witch to shield her face with her burned arms.
The chandelier swung back toward the window. Pally let go and landed outside. Merwinn and Ellendia each caught him by an arm before he could fall.
Before running, he turned back one last time toward the opening. Through the hole, he glimpsed the witch. She had stopped screaming. She was looking at him. And in her eyes, there was no more malice, no more amusement. There was something else. Something that resembled hunger.
He ran.
The night air struck them like a slap. Behind them, the witch's screams still echoed, but they were already fading as the children put distance between them.
Pally, the crystal ball under his arm, breathless, straightened up and looked at his friends. Merwinn, Ellendia, William. All standing. All alive.
"I know exactly where the creature is. Follow me."
They ran. The branches whipped their faces, the snow slowed their steps, but they ran. The mushroom-cottage faded behind them, its greenish glow vanishing between the trees like an eye closing.
Pally clutched the crystal ball to him. He did not really know why he had taken it, it had been in the heat of the moment, but it seemed to guide him, as if the path were drawing itself before him without need of thought.
His short breath formed white clouds in the icy air. The image of the witch, her hungry eyes, her laughter, all of it still spun in his head. But one phrase came back stronger than the others, like an echo that refused to die.
The one you cherish the most.