How to Catch a Witch

by Abie Longstaff

  After the last lesson, Charlie went straight to her locker to put her books away. The corridor was filled with people laughing and chatting, saying goodbyes and making plans to meet up or text each other. Charlie played with her things in her locker, trying to pretend she didn’t mind that no one was talking to her.

  She closed the locker door and turned to see Pixie Glasses Girl standing across the hall. The girl was squinting again, this time at Suzy Evans, who was walking towards them, waving goodbye to friends as she went. Everyone in the corridor watched as Suzy walked by, hoping to earn a wave or a nod. To Charlie’s amazement, Suzy smiled directly at her:

  “See you tomorrow!” she sang out.

  Charlie felt a jolt of current. The second Suzy passed her it was gone. Charlie looked up and caught the eye of Glasses Girl across the corridor, and saw her own puzzled expression mirrored on the girl’s face. Glasses took a step towards Charlie, then...

  “Watch out, Kat!” Spiky brushed by, rushing to catch up with Suzy, and knocking Glasses backwards as she went. Glasses mumbled something and turned down a side corridor.

  Charlie pulled her rucksack on to her back and walked out of school towards home, deep in thought.

  Kat. Glasses Girl was called Kat. She didn’t have any lessons with Charlie so she must be in another year group. Had Kat felt the crackle in the air too? Was that why she was frowning? Charlie couldn’t tell. Even if she didn’t have a stutter there was no way Charlie would risk asking her. She’d look like some kind of loony!

  Charlie turned right past the supermarket and on to the high street. It was good to be out. She breathed in deeply. London had been a big mix of fumes and tarmac and chip shops and curry houses. It smelled so different here: of horses and cut grass and sharp wind. It was so fresh she could pick each scent out.

  Wait. Something smelled amazing. Mmm, bakery smells. Pastry and sugars and caramels.

  She felt in her bag and found a pound. She looked at it guiltily. It was supposed to be for emergencies, Mum had said. A jam tart wasn’t exactly an emergency. Charlie forced herself to turn away.

  Next to the bakery was a little shop Charlie hadn’t seen before. It was a black-and-white Tudor kind of building, with wonky beams and a crumbling roof. It was called “Moonquest” and had lots of crystals and dreamcatchers hanging in the window. Without thinking, Charlie pushed the door and went in.

  A little bell jangled and a man with a long ponytail looked up. “Hey there,” he said, and looked down again.

  Charlie wandered around the shelves looking at little stone animals, and pendants, and incense burners. There was a pile of brown fabric bags that smelled funny. Charlie read their labels:

  MONEY DRAWING

  FAST LUCK

  CAST OFF EVIL

  COURAGE

  They were spells! Before she could stop herself, Charlie scanned the bags for one that read SPEAKING or CLEAR VOICE, but there was nothing.

  “You all right there?” Ponytail asked. “Are you looking for something?”

  Charlie shook her head quickly, waved goodbye and hurried out to avoid having to speak.

  As she headed on down the street her mind was filled with the thought of a spell – a spell to stop her stammer. That would be so cool! Imagine being able to swallow something that made her voice loud and clear: something to get rid of whatever was blocking her. Charlie stopped walking. There was that spell called CAST OFF EVIL. What if she did have a curse on her? What if that spell could lift it?

  No. No. That kind of thing never worked. It was just bits of grass and herbs in hessian. It wasn’t a proper spell – not like something a witch would make. Charlie grinned as she pictured a green-skinned old hag pouring smoking potions into a big cauldron, reciting a recipe. Now that really would be great!

  A flashback hit her all in a rush. Last night she’d dreamed of the sound of chanting from the cellar! She gave a little shiver. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she nearly bumped straight into a low wall. Looking up, her eyes registered white stone and a wooden plaque:

  BROOMWOOD WISHING WELL IS RUMOURED

  TO BE THE OLDEST IN ENGLAND.

  PEOPLE HAVE WISHED ON ITS WATERS

  FOR HUNDREDS OF YEARS.

  The wishing well was cute. It had a little grey roof, like a pointed witch’s hat. Charlie sat on the edge, staring down into the blackness below. She leaned in and whispered:

  “I need a witch!”

  Then she sat up and giggled.

  It was only later that she realized she’d said the whole phrase without stammering even once.

  *

  By the time she got home Charlie was in a much better mood.

  Dad was sawing in the garden. “Mind holding the end for me, love?” he said as he wiped his forehead.

  “Sure. Wh-what are you m-mak-k-k… designing?”

  “It’s going to be the worktop in the kitchen… Thanks. That’s done now.” Dad whistled merrily as he added the long board to a pile on the porch. Charlie smiled at him. DIY was obviously a good distraction from failed interviews!

  She climbed over his toolbox and went upstairs to do her homework. For English, Miss Robbins wanted them to do some research into storybook witches and their powers. Charlie ruled out her lines neatly and began to write. Before long she had:

  Story Witch ability

  The Little Mermaid Turning tails into legs; Removing voice

  Snow White Disguise; Making poison apple

  Rapunzel Imprisoning young girls

  Beauty and the Beast Turning prince into beast

  Hansel and Gretel Making a gingerbread cottage

  Sleeping Beauty Making girl sleep for a hundred years

  The Wizard of Oz Enslaving beasts eg. flying monkeys

  The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe Turning all seasons into winter

  She put down the pen and read through her list.

  Her eyes drifted down the column of powers. They were pretty impressive! Charlie thought back to what Miss Robbins had said in class. In the olden days, so-called witches were often wise women who were good with herbs and plants, medicine women of a kind. They might not have had magic wands but they had their own style of “magic”: potions and tinctures and charms.

  Were the witches in fairy tales just wise women, then? Actions like disguising themselves, or making poison apples could be achieved without proper magic. It was also possible that, as with Hansel and Gretel, the original stories had been distorted or exaggerated over the years.

  Maybe an olden-day wise woman would have had something to help someone like Charlie: a drink or something?

  Essence of clear voice, she doodled on a bit of paper.

  Or … or maybe magical witches really existed – proper witches, with proper magic potions? Witches who could transform mermaids into humans or princes into beasts? It was possible, wasn’t it? Witches who could swoop in on a broomstick and magic her stammer away … all Charlie had to do was catch one as she flew by.

  Charlie copied the table into her notebook, this time adding another column:

  Witch locations

  Story Witch Locations Witch ability

  The Little Mermaid Underwater cave Turning tails into legs; Removing voice

  Snow White Palace (stepmother) Disguise; Making poison apple

  Rapunzel Radish patch Imprisoning young girls

  Beauty and the Beast Arrives on prince’s doorstep Turning prince into beast

  Hansel and Gretel Woods Making a gingerbread cottage

  Sleeping Beauty Turns up at Christening Making girl sleep for a hundred years

  The Six Swans Palace (stepmother) Turning boys into swans

  The Wizard of Oz Munchkinland Enslaving beasts eg. flying monkeys

  The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe Narnia Turning all seasons into winter

  Charlie looked through the list. Witches always seemed to crop up in situations that were nothing like hers. She didn’t rate her chances of finding an underwater cave. Nor
was she likely to end up in Munchkinland as tornados weren’t exactly common in the village. Maybe she could wait for the next Halloween and construct a giant net?

  I need a witch, she wrote and she drew little cobwebs in the es.

  Then she shook her head. “I’m crazy!” she whispered to herself. Of course she couldn’t catch a witch! She laughed. Yep, she told herself, any moment now I’ll be carted off to the loony bin and Mum and Dad will have to visit me every second Sunday.

  She screwed up the paper and was about to throw it in the bin when she stopped herself. If Matt found it he’d tease her for the rest of her life. She rummaged in the drawer for a match, put the screwed-up page in her fireplace, then lit the match and watched the paper burn and burn until there was nothing left – just a pile of ashes.

  By the time Charlie made it downstairs the next morning Dad had already gone out to the DIY store and Mum was playing jigsaws on the lounge floor with Annie.

  Charlie made herself some toast and sat on the sofa crunching it. “Where’s Matt?” she asked in-between bites.

  “Doing his science project.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s got a lot to do,” said Mum.

  “Story!” Annie interrupted, holding up The Big Book of Fairy Tales.

  “OK. Ch-ch…” Charlie changed “Choose one” to “Which one do you want?”

  Mum heaved herself up and stroked Charlie’s head. “Thanks, love,” she said softly. “I’m just going to jump in the shower.”

  “You OK, Mum?”

  “Yep,” she called over her shoulder, “just could do with a bit more sleep. If you see an old lady with a spindle, tell her I’m perfectly happy to prick my finger and nod off for a hundred years.”

  Annie turned the pages until she found “Hansel and Gretel”. Charlie paused. This was the one Miss Robbins had said was based on a true story. While she read it out to Annie, her brain ticked over. A true story…

  When Mum came back down Charlie turned on the computer and, on a whim, typed in “Snow + white + true + story”. She clicked on a link promising “the true story of Snow White” and found a website all about Countess Margarete Von Waldeck. The beautiful Countess grew up in a town where small children known as dwarfs worked underground in the mines. Margarete had a stepmother who hated her, and had died at the age of twenty-one after a mysterious poisoning. Charlie’s eyes widened. She took out her notebook and looked at yesterday’s table. Before she knew what she was doing, she had turned the page and begun to write:

  Ways to Catch a Witch

  1) Buy giant net

  Charlie doodled designs in her notebook. Could she attach the net to some kind of sturdy stick and hang it out of her window? Then all she’d have to do was wait for Halloween and a witch would fly right in! Only … Charlie sighed. Halloween was months away. She crossed out 1) and moved onto 2).

  2) Get a stepmother (see Snow White)

  Mum and Dad didn’t argue very often. And, despite all the recent money trouble, they were still together, so it didn’t seem likely to Charlie that she would be getting a stepmother any time soon, which was a good thing, really. She put a line through this one and scribbled:

  3) Go to Narnia (see The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe)

  Feeling a bit stupid, Charlie made her way upstairs and cautiously pulled open her wardrobe door. At once she was nearly assaulted by falling tennis rackets, welly boots, boxes of letters, winter coats, stuffed toys and shoes that no longer fit. Checking for Narnia would mean clearing it all out. She shoved the door closed with her back, and shook her head. The whole thing was ridiculous. Of course there wasn’t a magic land behind her old anorak. She turned back to her list.

  4) Find a radish patch (see Rapunzel)

  Charlie paused. She didn’t know where to find a radish patch. She wasn’t even sure what radishes looked like when they were in the ground. She put a question mark beside it and chewed her pencil for a bit.

  5) Go to a christening (see Sleeping Beauty)

  Charlie wracked her brains, but she couldn’t think of a single baby they knew who might be being christened in the next week or so.

  6) Gingerbread Cottage (see Hansel and Gretel)

  Where on earth could you hide a house made of sweets? Charlie frowned. In the story the house had been in the woods. Maybe it was worth having a wander, just on the off-chance there was a gingerbread house at the end of the garden. Charlie grinned at her own craziness. Then she shrugged. Well, why not? It gave her something to do.

  She looked out of the window – argh … it was already dark. Fine. Charlie closed her book. She’d go first thing tomorrow.

  After breakfast, Charlie packed her notebook in a rucksack and set off.

  She walked down to the end of the garden and climbed over the stone wall. The cottage garden backed on to woods. It was one of the reasons Mum had been so excited about moving here – “All that space!” she’d cried.

  Charlie had nodded but they all knew the real reason Mum and Dad were so pleased. The cottage was free. Well, kind of. Mum had inherited it from this woman Charlie had never heard of before. Great-Aunt Bess, she was called. Mum hadn’t known her either. The lawyer said it had taken years and years to find Bess’s nearest relatives. She didn’t have any children so they’d had to trace all the cousins and everything. It turned out Mum was Bess’s great-niece once removed, or something or other.

  Either way it couldn’t have come at a better time. The mortgage on their old flat had been really high and, with Dad out of work, they’d been in trouble. Charlie wasn’t supposed to know this, but she did. All you had to do was vaguely pay attention to know how worried Mum and Dad had been. Now here they were in this mess of a cottage, with its weird buzzy walls and a shower that trickled alternately freezing and boiling water.

  Charlie headed further into the woods. It was shady amongst the trees. There was a sudden rustle and a flock of crows flew up into the air, squawking and cawing. What was the name for a flock of crows? It was one of those funny ones, like “a parliament of owls”. Charlie remembered all in a rush: a murder. A murder of crows. She shivered and walked on.

  Charlie made her way over roots and fallen logs. Feeling a little foolish, she kept an eye out for trails of pebbles, just in case. Soon she came across a wide path. It looked like one way led towards the village – and the other? Charlie shrugged. It probably went on through the forest and out to the A-road. She looked left and right, trying to work out which direction to go.

  There was a loud Caw! from above her.

  Charlie looked up. A crow was sitting on a low branch. It cocked its head to the side and stared at her. Charlie couldn’t help feeling she’d seen it before. “Um. Hello,” she said. Then she felt like an idiot. She was talking to a bird!

  The bird leaned towards her and peered down. Charlie’s eyes followed his beak. Directly below it was a narrow opening through a set of bushes. It wasn’t a proper path, just a muddy trail. The crow gave another caw and flew in-between the bushes and away.

  Charlie pushed the thorny branches aside. Yes – someone had been this way. The earth seemed a little trodden. She looked at the neat wide path to the village. Well, she reasoned, if someone was going to build a house of sweets, they wouldn’t put it on a main route through a forest. It would definitely be off the beaten track.

  She squeezed herself through the thorny spikes and followed the crow down the narrow path, which twisted and turned, leading her further into the trees. All at once it opened out and there, in a little clearing, Charlie found a cottage.

  It was clearly not made of sweets. It looked as tumbled-down and messy as Charlie’s own cottage. In fact, it looked spookily familiar. It was made of the same coloured stone, it also had a little old tower with a crooked rooftop and, just like on Charlie’s cottage, the chimney pot was decorated with carvings, only these ones were of crescent moons instead of stars.

  At first Charlie thought the cottage was abandoned. It looked fa
r too derelict to live in! But, as she came closer, she saw signs of habitation. Bunches of dried herbs were hanging over the window sills, crystals tied with string twinkled from behind the old glass and there was a collection of bottles on the doorstep that contained a brownish liquid. Charlie inched forward and touched the doorstep with her foot. All at once she felt the buzzing sensation, but even stronger this time, as if an electric cord was plugged into her veins. She jumped back. Then movement from inside the house caught her eye. Charlie stopped breathing. Her legs went squidgy and her scalp prickled like there were thousands of ants dancing on her head.

  The door to the cottage slowly opened and Charlie’s eyes widened. There stood a tall woman with long black hair and eyes so dark they were almost purple. Her skin looked smooth but there was something old-fashioned about her – her clothes, perhaps. In her patched-up dress and long black gloves she could have walked straight out of the pages of a history book.

  “Yes?” she said in a bored voice. “What do you want?”

  “Um…” Charlie froze. There was a very long pause. She willed her legs to move, or her voice to work. The buzzing feeling was still there, distracting her. She winced and wriggled her shoulders to try and free herself.

  The woman raised her eyebrows. She stared hard at Charlie, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a little nod. “Well. You’d better come in, I guess,” she said. “As you’re here.”

  She turned back into the cottage, leaving Charlie on the doorstep.

  Charlie rocked on her heels. Pretty much everything pointed to the fact that going in was Not A Good Idea.

  1) The cottage was in the middle of nowhere.

  2) The buzzing feeling was horrible.

  3) If she got in trouble, no one knew where she was.

  4) The woman was weird. She could be a witch.

  Yes, said a little voice inside Charlie, she could be a witch. Isn’t that what you’re looking for?

  I wasn’t seriously looking for a witch, Charlie’s logical voice answered. I didn’t seriously think witches existed. But she took a step closer, and closer, until somehow she ended up inside the cottage.