Pip and the Wood Witch Curse (4 page)

In the still silence of an old cloth sack sat the old wooden soldier. He waited patiently among the odds and ends, with only darkness to keep him company. The years had scratched flakes of paint from his uniform and scuffed the tips of his boots, the once-proud plume in his hat was crooked and lifeless. And he was sleeping soundly until something woke him.
Click-click
. The lids opened. Two eyes shifted from side to side. “There are children on the move,” he thought to himself. “Somewhere in the depths of the hollow. Escaping!” But having just awoken, he was not sure where from, or where to. And anyway, there was no one there to tell. He closed his eyes,
click-click
, and fell quickly back to sleep.

There was something unearthly about the forest at night. Strange knockings, wood against wood. Distant cackling. The breaking of branches and all manner of noises that hinted at sinister goings-on under cover of darkness. Heavy snow covered the carpet of leaves that autumn had scattered. Vague shapes shifted through the trees. The eyes of wolves shone through the black. Shrills and squawks pierced the air and if you listened carefully, words seemed to whisper along the branches.

Silas was perched on a low bough. He knew it would not be long before he was seen. Something was clinging to a nearby tree, its tattered black cloak draped across the frosted bark. It had its head cocked to one side and one keen green eye staring through the strands of its long hair. Clawed hands loosened their grip on the gnarled wood and the creature scuttled across to meet him.

“Silas! What brings you back to the wood?” she asked. Her voice was sharp and throaty.

“I’m growing hungry, Hogwick,” he announced. “It is some time since I have eaten.”

“Dear Silas,” she said, drawing a hand out from under her cloak and stroking his plumage, “I think perhaps you have brought news with you.”

“Maybe.”

“No, not maybe.” She grinned and he could see her excitement at the thought that there was something to tell. It was only a moment before more wood witches came, emerging from the hollows of the trees, scrabbling on all fours across the forest floor to meet with their sister, and then standing on two feet to lift themselves up to where Silas was perched. The first, Esmie, was blind and older than the rest. She was skinny and frail, a real bag of old bones. The second, named Pugg, was the opposite, large and round.

Esmie tilted her head to one side and waited. “Come on, come on. Out with it, Silas.” She cackled excitedly, showing her crooked teeth.

“Quiet,” said Hogwick. “Silas belongs to me. I cannot remember the last time your companions brought us anything useful. Now let the bird have his say.”

“I have seen and heard something this very night,” Silas announced, “but my belly aches so much with hunger I do not think I can get the words out.”

“Stay there, Silas. Don’t move.” Hogwick skipped away, retrieving something from inside the hollow of a tree. They watched him swallow it whole.

“Perhaps a little more,” he persuaded. “The cold nights seem to make me more hungry.” And the whole scenario was played out several times before eventually Silas was satisfied and let out his secret.

“Are you sure?” questioned Hogwick excitedly. “A child, you say. A small child!” All three rubbed their hands with glee.

“Children! Oooh, you’re making me feel hungry,” groaned Pugg. She laughed and set Esmie off doing the same.

“QUIET. Where did the child go?” asked Hogwick, trying her best to dampen the excitement.

“Mmmmm … I’m not sure. The snowfall has been heavy but beneath the overhangs its thickness peters out and the trail is lost,” Silas said. “It is hard to tell but the tracks were fresh and ran past the priory.”

“Keep an eye out,” Hogwick said, “and I shall do the same, and be sure to come and seek me out if you grow hungry again.”

The witches disappeared into the velvet black of the forest, trailing their feet through the white carpet and chattering to themselves.

“There is nothing worse than a fitful sleep.” The old wooden soldier tossed and turned in the cloth sack. He’d had the same dream for several nights. At first, a girl all alone in the darkness. And now a small boy, lost and far from home, his tiny footprints embedded in the snow. If he thought hard enough he knew he could find them all, every last one of them, and one day soon he probably would.
Click-click
. He drifted back into sleep.

It must have been the early hours of the morning when Pip heard the latch lift on the cupboard door. He’d been worn out and weather-beaten into a fitful sleep, but for how long he wasn’t sure.

Sam took him to the large open room of the tavern, stocked with barrels and tankards, with candles flickering at the tables. Portraits of city folk were dotted around the room on the cracked plaster and it seemed as if the place had been furnished with whatever could be found. Church pews, wing-backed chairs, seats and tables made from barrels. But it was snug and warm and felt like a homely place.

The inn had emptied and the only sound came from the dying fire as it spat and crumbled.

Sam stared at the fire and Pip watched his face grow hypnotized by the flames.

“They say they used to hang people here, in those woods,” Sam began. “Bad people. From those twisted boughs that creak and groan in the wind. And they say that all the badness from those people somehow found its way into those old Spindlewood trees, so deep that it planted its evil right down into the spiny roots. And that’s where those things came from.”

“What things?” asked Pip, who was now perched on the edge of his chair.

“You don’t know
anything
about this place, do you Pip?”

“No sir, not at all. Once I heard of this place in a fairy tale. But the tale was so dark and twisted that I presumed the place didn’t exist and that none of it was true!”