How to Catch a Witch

by Abie Longstaff

  The woman was lifting a kettle off the fire. Charlie flicked a glance around the room. The shelves were covered with old jars of herbs and little bottles of liquid. Twigs and leaves were piled up messily, spilling over on to the floor. There were candles everywhere, casting strange shadows on the stone walls.

  “Tea?” said the woman, without turning round.

  Charlie meant to politely decline but, just as she was trying to pull the words from somewhere deep down inside, she blurted out something completely different. “Are you a w-witch?” she said, all in a rush. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Yep,” said the witch, casually pouring from the pot. “Milk? Sugar?” She leaned forward. Round her neck was a funny necklace – it was a silver star inside a circle.

  “Um. Y-yes, er, please,” Charlie nodded. She pinched her own arm, hard. Nope, not a dream. “How, I mean, wh-what, er, really? Are you really a w-w-w…” Charlie trailed off.

  The witch slurped her tea. “Ahh, that’s nice,” she said. “Can’t beat a good brew.” She put down the cup. “How did you know?” Her voice was casual but her purple eyes stared at Charlie and her long gloved fingers twitched in her lap.

  Charlie didn’t know how to explain it. The logical part of her brain was trying to list the reasons, but it wasn’t working. She just knew there was magic there. “The buzzing,” she said finally. “There’s a kind of b-b-buzzing.”

  “Ah,” the witch nodded. “Some people get that.” She had a sharp, brisk tone to her voice. “Well. Nice to meet you.” She stood up and brushed off her skirt. “Got to get on. Loads to do.”

  “Wait!” said Charlie. “Can you help me?”

  The witch shrugged with her mouth.

  “It’s my v-voice!” Charlie was falling over her words to explain. “I c-c-can’t speak. I think I’m cursed…”

  The witch grinned in mockery.

  “No, no, I AM,” Charlie insisted. “A lady c-came to my house.”

  The witch started laughing. “Oh, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a while!” she said. “Cursed! Oh, stop! You’re making my sides hurt.” She sat down hard. “Look, love,” she said, “you’re not cursed. You just have a stammer.”

  Charlie’s eyes welled up and she blinked frantically to clear them. “I can’t m-make friends.”

  “Well, maybe so,” sniffed the witch, “But that’s not because of your voice. Nothing wrong with a stammer. That’s just how you talk. Part of who you are.”

  Charlie shook her head. “It feels like a c-c-curse to me,” she mumbled, her voice thick.

  The witch gave a wry smile. “Believe me, I’d know if you were cursed.” She picked up some long reeds and began to plait them. “You’re fine.” She wound the strands over and under. “Shame about Suzy Evans, though,” she paused a moment. Her eyes flicked up to Charlie then down again. “Eliza got her good and proper.”

  “Who’s Eliza? Wait … Suzy Evans?” Charlie repeated, grasping for a hold on reality. “Suzy from s-s-s-school?”

  “Know her, do you?”

  Charlie nodded, “Yes. Yes… I’m Charlie,” she said all in a rush. “I go to school with S-Suzy. She’s c-cursed?”

  “Yeah. At her christening.” The witch shrugged. “Hey, it happens.”

  “Her chr-christening?”

  “Yep.” The witch’s voice sounded deliberately light. “Eliza wasn’t invited, you see. She got all offended and whatnot. Said Suzy would lose her singing voice the day she turned seventeen.” The witch tied off the end of the plaited reed and stretched out her back. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

  Charlie remembered something: Suzy up on stage in the hall, croaking loudly. “She was s-s-s-s-inging strangely the other day,” she said.

  “Ah.” The witch nodded slowly. “I heard the curse come in on the wind last Sunday morning. It must have started then. I guess Suzy’s nearly seventeen.” She counted on her gloved fingers. “Yep – seventeen next Sunday. Oh well. That’s the way the cauldron bubbles.”

  “No … no … wait…” Charlie felt a wave of pity. Poor Suzy! Losing your voice was horrible! Charlie remembered her spluttering on the stage, turning red in the face, with everyone looking at her and giggling. She frowned. “Surely you can do s-s-something, um … Miss … witch.”

  “Agatha,” the witch answered. “My name’s Agatha.” Her voice softened slightly. “Look, removing curses isn’t easy, you know. It’s serious stuff. Besides, I’ve given up magic.”

  “Given up?”

  “Yeah.” Agatha shrugged casually. “It wasn’t really working out for me.”

  “But you-you-you have to h-h-help Suzy,” Charlie insisted. “She’s a really nice p-p-p-person! She shouldn’t be c-c-cursed!”

  Agatha waved her hand. “You could have a go yourself, you know, if you can be bothered.” She pushed herself out of her chair and turned to the large pot on the fire. As she passed, the hem of her long dress brushed Charlie’s ankle. A jolt shot through Charlie. Something inside her shifted.

  “I will,” she said firmly, taking herself by surprise. She stood up. “T-t-tell me what to do.”

  Agatha opened a large red book. The pages were dusty and crumbly at the edges. She flicked through until she came to a drawing. “See this plant?” she said. Charlie came closer. She blinked – the buzzing was so strong around Agatha. It darted to and fro all over Charlie’s body. Charlie clenched her teeth. The witch seemed to sense her discomfort. “Don’t fight it,” she said gently. “Just let it wash over you. Feel its power; feel its warmth.”

  Charlie’s gaze locked on the witch. Slowly the buzz settled down, curling into the pit of her tummy like a lazy cat. Heat spread across her back and her shoulders dropped down, relaxed.

  “Right, here we go,” said Agatha, pointing to a drawing, “white heather. Erica carnea f. alba. It blooms in early spring. You need to pick it at moonlight and make a small bouquet. It’ll ward off evil. Don’t get your hopes up, though. It won’t remove the curse, but …” she shrugged “… it might hold it off a bit.”

  “OK.” Charlie looked at the drawing and tried to fix the image of the little white plant in her mind.

  “Disguise yourself as an old peddler woman and give Suzy the flower.”

  Charlie hesitated. “Um … could I just t-t-tie it to her locker?”

  Agatha shrugged and waved her hand. “Meh. Whatever.”

  So that’s how Charlie found herself, in the moonlight, on a bit of open land, hunting for a tiny white flower.

  What on earth am I doing? she asked herself for the millionth time. The whole thing felt like a weird dream.

  Charlie pulled her coat tighter and waved her torch around. There must be heather somewhere here.

  Caw! The crow flew overhead.

  “Not you again!” said Charlie. She put her hands on her hips. “Well? Do you know where it is?”

  The bird swooped down and settled on a bush. Charlie moved closer. On the bush was a patch of white. She crouched and shone her torch.

  Tiny white flowers shone back at her. She brushed her hand across the top of the heather and, as it sprang into place, one group of flowers seemed to glow more than the others. Charlie felt a low tingle. She pulled her scissors out of her rucksack and snipped off some sprigs. “Thanks.” She grinned at the bird and it flew off into the night sky.

  At home, Charlie laid the heather on her bed. She was a bit nervous about the idea of putting it on Suzy’s locker. It had to look nice – she didn’t want to freak Suzy out! She chose the best sprig, washed it and tied it with some red ribbon from Mum’s ribbon box. Then she neatened the flowers and looked at the posy. Yes, it looked pretty now but … it was just a normal bunch of flowers. How was it going to work magic?

  Charlie frowned and picked up her pen. She’d seen symbols all over Agatha’s cottage – they were carved in the woodwork or hanging from the window frames. There was one she remembered in particular: a triangle inside a circle, with a smiling sun ins
ide. She doodled it on the bottom of the red ribbon. Would that help?

  “Please work,” she whispered. “Please help Suzy.” Charlie jumped as she felt another tingle. Were the flowers glowing a bit brighter now? No. Surely that was just a trick of the light.

  The next morning Charlie woke up early. The events of the previous day were swirling around her head. Did she really meet an actual witch? Did she really stay up half the night making a posy of flowers? Everything was upside down in her mind. Yet somehow it all made sense. For the first time in ages, she felt like she knew what she was doing – what her role was that day. Her job was to tie those flowers to Suzy’s locker and save Suzy’s singing voice.

  She jumped out of bed and packed her things. She was the first one downstairs, so she put the kettle on and made herself a packed lunch.

  “Whoah!” said Dad as he walked in, pretending to be shocked at the sight of her.

  “Very funny,” said Charlie.

  “No, seriously, what are you doing upright at this time of day?”

  “I’m just g-g-getting ready for school,” said Charlie. “Do you want tea? The kettle’s boiled.”

  Dad handed Annie to Charlie. She felt all warm and soft in her bunny pyjamas.

  “Morning, Annie,” said Charlie. Annie snuggled closer and nuzzled in.

  “Ha! She just wiped snot on your neck!” Matt laughed from the doorway.

  “Did she? Ew! Annie!”

  Dad handed Charlie a bit of kitchen roll and took Annie back. Charlie poked her tongue out at her sister and Annie giggled.

  “What are you d-doing today, Dad?” Charlie asked as she buttered her toast.

  “The walls, I think,” he said “Then tomorrow I can get the worktops up and oil them. It’s going to look fantastic in here!”

  He picked up Restoring Your 17th Century Home and enthusiastically thumbed through the pages.

  Once Charlie had crunched her last bit of toast, she wiped her hands on an old rag.

  “Careful!” Dad looked up from his book. “That’s covered in white spirit.”

  “Yuk.”

  “Snot and white spirit? That’s what all the girls are wearing,” said Matt, flinging on his coat.

  Mum whirled into the kitchen. “Come on, come on!” she yelled. “Let’s gooooo!” She kissed Dad goodbye. “You’ve got Annie all day today, remember?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dad. “Come on, Munchkin,” he said, tickling her. “Let’s get you dressed. You can help me paint.”

  Today, instead of her usual trick of hiding in the library until the first bell went, Charlie hung about in the corridor. Suzy’s locker had to be around here somewhere, near the Year Twelve and Thirteen common room. She leaned back against the wall and tried to look casual. There was a low tingle coming from her bag at her feet. She couldn’t wait to use the posy!

  The bell rang and a crowd came flooding out of the common room. Yes! There was Suzy! She had stopped one, two, three, four lockers along (Charlie made a note in her head). Minutes later the corridor was empty.

  As quick as she could, Charlie pulled out the little posy and hooked the red ribbon round the locker handle.

  “What are you doing?”

  Charlie’s heart skipped. She turned to see Kat looking at her with narrowed eyes. A fleeting thought ran through Charlie’s head: she really did look very cat-like.

  “Um … n-nothing.” Charlie whipped the posy into her coat pocket before Kat could see. “I th-th-thought it was my l-l-locker.”

  The girl blinked slowly, her green eyes huge under the enormous glasses. “I’ll be watching you,” she said, her Welsh voice low and musical.

  Charlie dashed down the corridor and burst into English.

  “Ah, Miss Samuels. Nice of you to join us,” said Miss Robbins.

  The class giggled and someone murmured “Rumpelstiltskin”. There was another bout of laughing. Charlie’s face burned bright red as she took her seat.

  This is stupid, Charlie told herself. Agatha, the heather, the curse… None of it was true. Her new-found purpose left her like the rush of air from a popped balloon. That woman in the forest was probably having a good laugh about the whole thing now. For goodness’ sake, she had followed a crow. A CROW! She squeezed her nails into her palm.

  For the rest of the day she kept her head down, avoiding Kat and staying well away from Suzy. The best thing, Charlie told herself on her walk home, would be if she could just try for once to be normal.

  “Hey! Charlie! Look what I’ve done!” Dad opened the door to the kitchen with a flourish.

  Charlie glanced around the room. The walls were a loud canary yellow.

  “Gorgeous, eh?” said Dad, proudly. “Special offer at B&Q! No idea why no one else wanted this colour!”

  Charlie didn’t answer that last bit. “It’s great,” she said, summoning enthusiasm.

  “Thanks, love,” said Dad, “Oh, can you do me a favour while I tidy up here? Can you fetch some bits of kindling from the forest? I haven’t got time to chop any more wood and Annie’s asleep upstairs so I can’t leave her.”

  “Sure,” said Charlie, “I’ll just get ch-ch … dressed.”

  Once she was out of her uniform, Charlie headed out the back door to the end of the garden. She climbed over the wall and into the woods.

  There was the crow again.

  “Go away,” said Charlie crossly. But it wouldn’t. It followed her around, flitting from branch to branch as she looked for twigs on the forest floor. Every time she found one it hopped on to it, blocking her way.

  “OK, fine,” Charlie said at last. “I’ll go and see Agatha. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  She pushed through the thorny bushes and walked quickly up to Agatha’s door. It was already open.

  “Hello?” called Charlie.

  “Ah,” said Agatha. “You came back.”

  The second she walked into Agatha’s lounge, Charlie felt muddled all over again. It felt so familiar: the smell of herbs and smoky fire. And the buzzing – well, she was getting used to that too. It had become more like a warm feeling in her tummy. She looked around the room. It felt right … as if she belonged here. Or somewhere like here.

  Then the memory of Kat confronting her came flooding back and Charlie screwed up her face.

  “So,” said Agatha coolly. “Did you pick the heather?”

  “Yes,” said Charlie. “But I didn’t put it on her l-l-locker.”

  “Hmm?” Agatha was busy mixing some kind of soup. She pulled up her tattered sleeves and stirred the pot round and round on the fire.

  “Someone s-s-saw me,” Charlie said in a small voice. It sounded like a lame excuse now.

  “Be careful.” Agatha’s voice was sharp. “People don’t like witchcraft. It scares them and that fear…” Her face darkened. “That fear makes them do terrible things.”

  Charlie stared at her.

  “Now. Let’s see it.” Agatha wiped her gloves on her long, jagged dress and held out a hand. Charlie felt in the pocket of her coat. Yes, it was still there. She passed it to Agatha, feeling suddenly shy.

  The witch unwrapped the tissue and looked at the posy. She turned it over in her hands and sniffed it. She touched the neat bow of the red ribbon and played with the end. Then she saw the little doodle. “Where did you see this symbol?” she asked.

  Charlie blushed. What had possessed her to put that squiggle on the ribbon? “Um…” She pointed to a bit of woodwork. The symbol was carved into the bark.

  “Hmph.”

  There was silence for a while. The only sound was the spitting of the fire. Charlie wondered whether she had offended Agatha. Maybe the symbol was something personal? Maybe Agatha would think Charlie had copied her in mockery. Her stomach churned.

  Agatha’s voice broke into Charlie’s thoughts. “It’s called a sigil. It’s an old symbol used in magic. You chose well; that one is for protection.”

  Charlie breathed out slowly.

  “If you’ve
been spotted with the heather, you can’t use it again.” She looked into the fire and mumbled as if talking to herself. “No … what would be next? What would be a better test… ? Ah…”

  She turned from the fire and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

  “You could have a go at this, if you like. Doubt it’ll work though. It’s a powder.” She gave the note to Charlie. “Collect everything on this list and grind it up. Bring it back tomorrow night and I’ll tell you how to use it.”

  Charlie nodded. Somehow, in Agatha’s cottage, it was very easy to believe in magic: in spells, curses and witches. She folded the note and put it in her pocket.

  “Be careful,” Agatha warned. “Don’t get seen again.”

  On the way home Charlie gathered the kindling for Dad.

  “Thanks,” he said as she delivered her armful of twigs. “Can you watch Annie for me till Mum gets home? I need to clean myself up.” He had splashes of canary yellow all over his face. He looked like he’d been swimming in mustard.

  “Sure!” said Charlie. “Come on, Annie. Let’s put on a m-m-movie.”

  She settled down on the sofa with her notepad. The Wizard of Oz had only just started up when:

  “It’s raining, Charlie!”

  Annie had poured water all over the freshly sanded pile of kitchen worktops. It was dripping off the sides. Charlie sighed and mopped it up. Then she sat back down and opened Agatha’s note. She looked at the first ingredient:

  1 eggshell

  Well, that shouldn’t be too hard.

  There was a beep-beep sound. Charlie sprang to her feet. Annie had managed to re-programme the new oven Dad had just plugged in, and it was now on full blast.

  “Annie!” Charlie pressed all the buttons on the front but it wouldn’t go off. “Annie! Annie! Come here!”

  “No!”

  “Annie. Charlie’s not c-c-cross. Just come here and show me what you d-d-did.”

  But Annie wouldn’t be budged. She was playing with her baby dolls, putting them in and out of the empty boxes.

  “Good baby. Night-night, baby. Baby sleep now. Morning, baby!”