How to Stop a Witch

by Bill Allen

  Greg snapped his head toward the front of the room, where the rift disappeared in that instant, leaving behind a second envelope that dropped soundlessly to the floor.

  “What? Oh, nothing. I . . . uh . . . thought I saw a spider.”

  The other boys roared. Apparently they’d all been either sleeping or too distracted by Greg to notice the gaping hole that had floated at the front of the room a moment ago.

  Mr. Armbuster scowled. “Take a seat, Hart, before I add another hour to your detention.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  “And put those desks back.”

  Greg righted the desks he’d knocked over and rushed back to his seat, where he stomped on the envelope and waited forever for Armbuster to leave. The instant the door closed, Greg snatched up the envelope. He struggled to keep his hands from trembling as he tore it open and peered cautiously inside.

  The message was written on old parchment, just like the first, but this time the handwriting was perfectly legible.

  Dearest Greghart,

  It has come to my attention that my scribe has taken it upon himself to send a rather inappropriate message your way. Please allow me to offer my deepest apologies for his thoughtless action. I do not know exactly what he told you, but rest assured we do not expect you to deal with Witch Hazel for us. Our problems are our own, and we can handle them without your help, no matter how overwhelming the odds against us may seem. Simon’s prophecy about the destruction of Pendegrass Castle is no doubt incorrect, and just in case it isn’t, that’s all the more reason why you should just go about your business as if you never heard from any of us. Again I apologize.

  Hope not to see you soon,

  King Peter Pendegrass III

  (Please, call me Peter.)

  Greg studied the note a long while, wondering what trouble Witch Hazel might be brewing. The witch was an ornery old hag whose idea of fair play might be to kill you slowly, so you wouldn’t miss out on any of the experience. She could be dangerous even under the best of circumstances, but Greg had an even deeper reason to be concerned.

  The Amulet of Tehrer.

  Last time he saw Hazel, Greg had been forced to give her a small pentagon-shaped piece of metal, the crucial piece to an amulet that had been broken apart centuries earlier, after nearly causing the destruction of Myrth.

  Even though at the moment the destruction of Myrth didn’t sound like a bad thing, deep down Greg knew the Amulet of Tehrer must never be reassembled. With it, Hazel could control dragons, and while only one dragon remained on Myrth, an enormous creature named Ruuan who had helped Greg the last two times he visited there, Greg didn’t want to think what might happen if Ruuan were forced to use his seemingly endless powers for evil rather than good.

  Now, as the clock ticked slowly toward four thirty, Greg couldn’t help but wonder if Hazel had already managed to locate the remaining amulet sections. Maybe King Peter really did need his help. But what about that first note and Brandon’s talk about Greg’s “rather unfortunate demise”?

  Perhaps Mrs. French just read it wrong. Maybe it was supposed to say “rather unfortunate disguise” or “rather unfortunate devise.” But no, then why would Brandon have been offering condolences? Maybe she got that part wrong too. Brandon’s handwriting was pretty bad.

  Mr. Armbuster came back into the room at twenty after four. After what seemed like another hour, he announced to the boys that their punishment was over for the day. Greg was first out of the room. For the moment, he gave up fretting over what might be happening on Myrth and fretted instead on his upcoming meeting with Kristin. As inconceivable as it seemed, he found her waiting outside as promised.

  “You’re here,” Greg said.

  “Well, of course,” said Kristin, laughing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “It’s just . . . I thought this morning . . . well, maybe I’d been dreaming or something.”

  Kristin’s cheeks flushed in a way Greg found particularly pleasing. But then he realized she might just be cold. He debated putting an arm around her for warmth but couldn’t shake the vision of her shooting mace into his eyes and using some Judo move to send him somersaulting into the shrubbery.

  They cut across the grass toward the start of a path that led within three blocks of Kristin’s house. Last month, Manny Malice had cornered Greg on this very same lawn. Fortunately, Greg had just returned from Myrth and was recovering from a spell that allowed him to rip a four-inch-thick limb from one of the trees and threaten Manny with it. Of course, Manny knew nothing of Myrth or the spell. He just assumed Greg possessed superhuman powers, so naturally he’d given Greg a wide berth ever since. Still, Greg scanned the woods. Seven-year-long habits were hard to break.

  “So what was up with that note?” Kristin asked as she and Greg stepped into the woods.

  Greg stooped to pick up a fallen branch to use as a walking stick, another habit he didn’t acquire until his first trip to Myrth, last fall. “You know about the note?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows.”

  It took Greg a moment to remember the incident in homeroom that morning. “Oh, you mean the first one.”

  “There was another?”

  “Huh? Oh, no, of course not.”

  “Sure there was. What did it say? And who’s writing them?”

  Greg sighed, wondering if there’d ever been a boy who could get himself into trouble quicker. “It was nothing, really.”

  “Come on, Greg. How about the first note? What was that? Who’s Brandy Alexander?”

  “Brandon,” Greg corrected. “I mean, he’s nobody. I just made him up.”

  Kristin frowned. “I can’t believe you’re lying to me.”

  Greg didn’t know what to say. This walk wasn’t going anything like he’d planned. “No, Kristin, wait. I’m sorry, but—well, I can’t tell you who he is.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t, that’s all. You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

  “Try me.” Her eyes gazed up at him, pleading, and Greg tripped over a root for not watching where he was going.

  “Careful,” Kristin scolded.

  Greg nodded and limped along, nursing a newly sore toe. “I tried to tell you once before. As I recall, you asked me to go see the school nurse.”

  “You’re not talking about that silly story you made up about traveling to some other world, are you?”

  “It’s not a story. It really happened.”

  Kristin reached for his forehead, but Greg ducked her hand. “I’m not sick. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and stared forward, avoiding Greg’s eye. It seemed an awkward way to walk, but it did effectively convey her mood.

  “Okay, you’re right,” she said. “But look at it from my point of view. You’re claiming to have been abducted by space aliens.”

  “Not aliens. People. Good people, just like you and me. And according to their note, they’re in serious trouble.”

  “I heard the note,” Kristin said. “It sounded like you were the one in trouble.”

  “Not that note. The second one.”

  “So you did get another?”

  “Yes, while I was in detention.”

  She frowned at him. “I’ll bet Mr. Armbuster found that interesting.”

  “Armbuster didn’t see it. He was out of the room. And neither did anyone else. They were all asleep.”

  Kristin quit walking and propped her hands on her hips. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”

  “I’m not making this up. I can prove it.”

  Greg slipped his backpack off his shoulder and loosened the straps. For a moment he debated pulling out his pet shadowcat, Rake, but he was trying to sway Kristin, not find out if she really did carry mace. Instead, he withdrew the second note from under his journal and handed it over.

  Kristin eyed him doubtfully but took the parchment and read it. “Oh, so this one’s from a king now.”

>   “Yes, King Peter. You’d like him.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her roll her eyes.

  “Maybe we should start small,” she said. “Do you know any kings on this world you could introduce me to?”

  Greg scowled. “Okay, you’re right. I’m making it all up.” Furious, he turned and stomped down the path without waiting to see if she would follow.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  Greg watched her come. As mad as he was, he couldn’t help but admire the way her hair jostled from side to side when she ran. He wished there was some way to convince her he was telling the truth. Then the secret of Myrth could be something only the two of them shared.

  “So, who’s this Witch Hazel the king mentioned?” Kristin asked.

  “What do you care? You don’t believe me anyway.”

  “I’m trying to understand, all right? Are there witches on this other world of yours?”

  “It’s not my world. It’s called Myrth, and yes, it has witches and magicians and monsters and all kinds of scary things.”

  “I see,” said Kristin. “Then it sounds like they’re used to trouble.”

  Greg knew she was just patronizing him, but still her statement caused him to recall King Peter’s note. “Not trouble like this. I think Witch Hazel may be threatening to destroy their whole world.”

  “Why would she do that? Isn’t it her world too?”

  “Yeah, but I think she might be crazy. She kind of lost it when everyone started calling her a witch.”

  “Oh, then she’s not a witch?”

  “No, she is. She just doesn’t like being called one.”

  Again Kristin frowned. She was staring at Greg’s face but not into his eyes, probably checking his color. “Hardly worth destroying your world over, I would think.”

  “Look, I know you don’t believe me.”

  Kristin wasn’t paying attention. “What is that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “That creepy buzzy feeling in the air.”

  “Buzzy?”

  Despite the two earlier occurrences, Greg was caught completely off guard when the air suddenly split between them, revealing an endless sea of floating stars. As if from far off he heard Kristin scream, but he couldn’t see her face behind the gaping hole that hung in mid-air between them.

  The opening remained for only a few seconds before it flashed and disappeared, leaving behind a third envelope that dropped harmlessly to the path. Greg could now see Kristin clearly. Her face had lost all color, and her mouth had gone slack.

  “Believe me now?”

  “W-what was that?” Kristin managed to say. “Greg, did you see that?”

  “Of course I saw. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. That was the rift I went through to get to Myrth.”

  “B-but that’s impossible.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  Greg stooped to pick up the envelope. He tore it open and pulled out another letter, identical to the others. This one was written in a flowing script, though it was harder to read than King Peter’s, as it looked to have been written in a hurry.

  “What does it say?” Kristin asked.

  Greg suspected she’d rather have spent a month of detentions with Manny Malice than hear the answer. He certainly understood her reluctance. He still had a lot of trouble accepting the concept of Myrth himself.

  Dearest Greg,

  Lucky just told me Dad sent you a note. I know he asked you not to come, but Lucky says he worded it in such a way that might make you ignore the warning. Listen to me. YOU MUST NOT COME HERE. Simon says you’ll get killed when you do, and whether you save the kingdom first or not doesn’t matter. I won’t see you harmed.

  Love, Priscilla

  Greg looked up from the note.

  Kristin’s earlier expression of terror had been replaced by something else. “Love, Priscilla?” she said.

  Greg tried his best not to smile. “That’s what it says.”

  “Who’s Priscilla?”

  “She’s a princess. Didn’t you hear? She said Dad just sent me a note, and that last one came from King Peter, remember?”

  “I meant, who is she, and why is she signing notes, ‘Love, Priscilla’?”

  Greg blushed. “I don’t know. It’s just something people say in notes. You know, like ‘Sincerely’ or ‘Yours truly.’”

  “I don’t think I like it.”

  “Really,” he said, feeling quite the opposite. “Oh. Well . . . sorry.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?” He started walking again, slowly, so Kristin could follow on trembling legs.

  “It sounds like these people really need your help,” she said.

  “You did hear the part about me dying if I went there, right?”

  “Yes, I heard.” She fell silent for a few steps. “So, who’s Simon?”

  “Simon Sez. He’s a prophet.”

  Kristin glared at him. “Are you messing with me?”

  “What? Oh, no. His name really is Simon Sez, and he’s a prophet, I swear.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and he’s never wrong. If he says I’d get killed if I went there . . . well, then I might as well take a headstone with me.”

  Kristin looked even more upset now than she had when the portal opened. “If he really is a prophet . . . well, he didn’t say you would get killed, did he? He said you will get killed.”

  Greg gulped. “Not if I don’t go there.”

  “But you will. Simon says.”

  Now it was Greg who fell silent. How was it Kristin seemed so comfortable with the whole notion of prophecies when Greg had already lived through two of them and still refused to believe? Anyway, she had a valid point, even if it was one he desperately wished to ignore.

  They eventually reached the end of the woods and followed the sidewalk to Kristin’s house. The whole way Kristin grilled Greg about the world of Myrth, but mostly she wanted to know about Princess Priscilla and what Greg thought of her.

  As much as he liked her, Greg was glad to drop Kristin off at her porch. As soon as the door closed, he rushed back to the woods, eager to follow the trails home before his mother got too worried.

  Along the way he tried not to dwell on the inevitable. He didn’t know when or where it would happen, but surely it was just a matter of time before the rift would come for him, pluck him from this world, and drag him off to his doom.

  A twig snapped, and Greg spun toward the sound, fully expecting to spot a gaping hole in the universe.

  Nothing. Probably just a monkeydog.

  Oh no! Already he was thinking like he was back on Myrth. Small creatures, never seen but always heard making impossibly loud noises in the brush, monkeydogs existed only in that other world.

  Or did they? Greg had once been told that long ago Earth had real magicians. Who’s to say they didn’t have monkeydogs, too? After all, when it came to monkeydogs, the fact no one had ever seen one could be offered up as irrefutable proof that the whole planet was littered with them.

  A second rustling caused Greg to jump. He searched the path behind. What if Manny Malice had followed him out here? He gripped his walking stick tighter and hurried forward, listening to the many noises of the woods. Again he thought about Priscilla’s note. She must really be in trouble this time. Too bad there was nothing he could do to help.

  Or was there? Simon had already predicted Greg’s return to Myrth. He was going there no matter what. But if he waited for the magicians to come for him, who’s to say they wouldn’t take too long about it and botch up the whole prophecy?

  Because then it won’t come true—which is impossible, right?

  No. His friend Nathan once told him the reason prophecies always come true is because the people who act them out work so hard to see them fulfilled. Maybe Greg did need to take action now. He debated the matter a long while. And then, thankfully, a longer while.

  What about his “
rather unfortunate demise?” It seemed an important detail, one that kept him spinning around and flailing his walking stick each time he heard a rustling in the brush behind.

  He continued to debate the issue nearly the whole way home, but in the end, as horrible as it was to accept, he arrived at the only conclusion possible. Simon had already predicted he was going to die. There was no way around it. But why die for nothing? At least he could save Priscilla and her family first, not to mention all the other citizens of Myrth. Many would have said it was a noble viewpoint. Greg recognized it for what it was. Utter resignation.

  His fingers closed around the ring he wore on his right hand. Given to him by the dragon Ruuan, it was no ordinary piece of jewelry. With it, all he had to do was say one magic word, and he’d be transported to Ruuan’s lair in an instant, and from there the dragon could carry him back to the castle in minutes.

  He slowed to a crawl, debating what to do. Again, a noise behind. Greg spun toward the sound.

  Maybe Manny was following him. Maybe when Simon predicted Greg’s demise, he also knew Greg’s time had come no matter which world Greg stayed in.

  Greg knew then what he must do. He removed the ring from his finger and held it up to what little light bled through the trees.

  “Well, this is it,” he said to the empty woods. The monkeydogs quietly rustled in reply. “I wish I could say I’ll see you again soon.”

  For a moment the woods fell silent. Then Greg said the one word that would forever seal his fate. “Transportus.”

  Behind him the brush rustled. Greg’s world shifted and began to fade from view. But then a voice screamed out, and something hit him hard about the waist, reminding him of the time Princess Priscilla had latched onto him and hitched a ride all the way across the kingdom to Ruuan’s lair, risking her life to protect him.

  The image was still floating in his mind an instant later, when Greg found himself standing at the center of a huge cavern surrounded by glowing rock. Around his waist he felt the arms of a young girl. He realized then the thought of Princess Priscilla had been more than just a memory.

  Only this time it wasn’t Priscilla who had risked her life to protect him. It was Kristin Wenslow.