Which Witch Was It?

Wendy was not an ordinary  twelve-year-old, in fact she was extraordinary. She knew things, lots of things, more things than most would, or even could know. Some might call Wendy a clever clogs, and whilst this may be true, this does not tell the full story. For Wendy, was not just a well-read little girl, well-educated, with an interest in learning. Sometimes, when she really concentrated, Wendy could see things. 

One thing Wendy did not know however, as she did not know everything, was how it had come to pass, that she was now stood, staring into the faces of the five witches. What she did know, was that she was expected to identify which witch was guilty. Guilty of turning the mayor’s son, into a toad. 

Wendy swallowed deeply, as she stepped forward toward the mirrored glass, all that separated her from the witches in the line-up. I am not sure if you have ever come face to face with a witch, let alone five, but Wendy was nervous. The first witch was made to step closer to the mirror and lean forward. She was a tall thin lady, with a narrow face and the typical pointed nose that Wendy expected to find on a witch, even down to the wart on the tip. She wore a large witch hat, that although pointed, flopped to one side, as the point bent downward. Looking at her height, Wendy wondered, if it was bent because it kept getting caught on door frames, as the witch entered. 

Wendy and the witch were now inches from each other, the witch’s nose almost touching the glass. Wendy stared into her face, trying to focus and not look at the single hair that sprung outward from the witch’s chin. Even at this point, Wendy knew there was something bad about this witch. She stared into her yellowing eyes. The room around her dissolved away as she was thrust into the witch’s memory. The witch was stood, hiding behind a lamp post, her skeletal frame so thin that she was almost completely hidden from view, her hat all that could be seen. She was watching as a fat little boy waddled his way down the street, stopping to pick up the red and white sweets that lay in a trail before his feet. The witch watched as he approached. A few feet away, was an old Volkswagen camper van, the door left open and the sweets leading inside. As the rotund boy reached the steps, he entered the camper, trying to reach the final sweets that were just out of reach. In an instant, Wendy watched as the witch lunged forward, closing the door and locking the boy inside. 

The next moment, the witch was driving down the street, the boy in the back, her whole upper body bent to one side, looking ridiculous as she tried to find space below the roof. Her hat squashed close to flat against the top of the van. A second passed and Wendy was back in the police station, once more looking into the witch’s eyes. 

“So that’s why your hat is bent” she mumbled.

“Was it that one?” The voice of the policewoman who stood behind Wendy startled her. Wendy gently shook her head.

“No, she hasn’t turned anyone into a toad recently.” Wendy said moving on, toward the second witch. “But she may have kidna…”

“We don’t care about anything else right now.” The police officer interrupted. “Please just focus. The mayor is breathing down our neck to get this sorted… imagine, your only boy, left no more than a toad.”

Wendy stepped along the line, looking to the second witch. This one could not have been more different than the first. Rather than being unusually tall, she was small, no more than four feet high. As she was requested to move forward, toward the window, she did not have to lean down to get to Wendy’s eye level. If anything, she had to stand on tiptoes. Another thing that was different, was the way she was dressed. Whereas the first had looked scruffy, this witch was dressed impeccably. From head to toe she was wearing, what looked to Wendy to be expensive, potentially designer clothes. With a quilted, black leather handbag with two gold C’s crossing, to look more like a rounded X. 

The witch’s face was not all too different from the first, less stretched and with a nose more rounded, she still looked ugly. Wendy stared into her hollow eyes. Again, the room evaporated around her and she found herself inside what looked like a bank vault, stacks of money lay on the table in front of her, more money than she had ever seen. Wendy looked around, there was only silence, no movement, but then, suddenly with a loud crash, that sounded like thunder, the small witch appeared out of nowhere. She ran straight toward the piles of cash, her eyes flitting around the vault, ensuring no one was near. She looked straight through Wendy. As soon as her arms were full, with no room for so much as another note, she began to chant.

“DOREH, DOREH, TOMREH, VOO, BYE BYE, SAY SAY, DOREH, HOO”

With another thunderous crash the witch, and the money were gone. At the same moment Wendy was back in the dark room.

“So?” the policewoman was eager once more. “This one, was it this one?”

“No, not her.” Wendy said. “Although…”

“Let’s move on then” ushered the officer.                                                                                    

Wendy had to look twice when she saw the next witch in the line-up. Looking at her face, it was quite unremarkable. She showed no signs of being a witch at all. No discolored skin or wrinkling flesh. Her outfit on the other hand, this was very different, want for a better word, it was, strange. All the other witches were dressed in black, but this witch was wearing head to toe sheep´s wool. Her entire outfit was knitted. Even her hat, and although it raised upwards, there was no point, for it soon dropped back down, wrapped around the witch’s neck like a scarf, and continued down further to her hands, where it was held in place by two large needles. Even as she was ushered toward the mirror, she continued to knit the wool. 

Wendy stared into the unexpectantly normal eyes of the third witch. After a blink, she was outside, she could even smell the fresh cut grass in the air and feel a light breeze on her cheeks. Before her, lay farmland and a field with a herd of sheep. The witch was already there, although her outfit was less wooly. The bottom half, like in the police station, was made entirely of sheep´s wool, blending with the sheep that ran around her feet. The top, however, was made of a simple black shirt, no wool in sight. She stood by the open gate to the field and was directing the sheep into the back of a large truck. In the field, a broom stick, stood upright, floating its way behind the sheep, acting like a sheep dog, it was guiding the sheep into the path of the witch. 

The vision ended with the site of the farmer running toward the witch’s truck, a shotgun in hand, raised to shoot. With the BANG of the gun Wendy was back in the room, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness once more, as floating lights haunted her sight.

“Well?” the policewoman was now more inpatient than eager.

Wendy merely shook her head. 

The next witch was, without being mean, the ugliest witch that Wendy had ever seen, and if you have been counting, Wendy had now seen four. This witch was, well, robust. She was a big lady, not just tall, but wide, and had she not been a witch, would have done very well playing American football, for she would not have needed pads. 

After looking into her eyes, Wendy was inside a house. It was night and a fire burned in the kitchen, a caldron brewing above. Outside a soft chorus of singing could be heard, seeping through the walls. The whole house felt festive. In that moment, all was calm, all seemed well. Then, however, the large witch came trundling through the hall, muttering under her breath. Her steps causing the whole house to shake. Approaching the door, she swung it open, almost ripping it from the hinges. The singing faded for a second, but then could be heard louder, as it drifted through the open doorway.

Wendy walked toward the beautiful sound; the sound tinted with the deep breath of the witch who glared at the carol singers on her doorstep. The witch began chanting.

“FANTAMAH, FANTAMAH, COROMASAHN, SURM, OCUNDAE, FARAMAE, WAHN.” 

With a blinding flash of light, the carol singers were no longer stood on the step, the singing silenced. Wendy approached the door looking closer. On the ground, wriggling, were hundreds of worms. The worms were all that was left of the carolers. The witch closed the door, leaving Wendy outside with the worms that still wriggled and jiggled on the step.

“No, I don´t think it´s her.” Wendy said as soon a she was back in the police station, not giving the officer a chance to ask.

Wendy was now faced with the final witch. But as she looked to the fifth in line, she was uncertain. The woman looking back was dressed normally, all be it in black, but there was nothing strange about her clothes, no hat, just a sleek black dress that would not look out of place anywhere. Her face was not extraordinary either, if anything she was an attractive lady. She stepped forward bending down slightly as directed. Wendy looked, deeply into her sea blue eyes. 

As the walls around her dissolved, she was left in an alley way behind a supermarket. The service entrance to the store was on the right with a series of bins on the left. In front, was the apparent witch, approaching two boys. One, the smaller of the two, was on the floor as the other punched him violently, alternating between his face and body, paying no attention to the boy´s cries. 

“Hey.” The witch spoke, her voice almost a shout, yet still soft, weak. “Hey… stop that… leave that boy alone.”

The boy turned to face the witch, an arrogant smile on his face.

“Yeh… or what.” he said. “What you going to do about it lady?”

“What has he done to you? Why would you attack him like that?” Her voice was now even softer.

“None of your business that’s what. Now do one!” The boy turned back to the smaller child, who was still crouched and weeping in a ball on the floor. 

The witch seemed to pause for a second. For just a moment, there was a silence in the alley, silence soon broken by the thudding of the bully´s fists and the following weeping from the boy. There was then another sound, louder, the sound of chanting.

“CAMAMAH, SEELEN, COMAHR, FAIE, CAMAMAH, SEELEN, COMAHR, RAIHE,”

It was coming from the witch, but it was not soft, delicate like her normal voice, it was husky, almost deep and more than anything loud. The witch´s hair seemed to blow backwards despite there being not so much as a breeze. Her voice became even louder.

“CAMAMAH, SEELEN, COMAHR, TAIHE!”

A blinding flash and the bully was gone, a small toad left in his place. The witch walked toward the toad, pausing for a second, she looked down to the creature. Wendy flinched, scared that the witch may tread on the tiny beast, but then Wendy knew she wouldn´t, the same unexplained way that Wendy knew most things. Instead, the witch walked to the smaller boy who still was cowering in a ball on the floor.

“Hey, it´s ok.” The witches voice was somehow even softer than before. “He can´t hurt you anymore.”

After she helped the boy up, and he had run into the distance, the witch turned and for a minute, Wendy thought she looked at her. Before she could be sure, she was back in the station, staring into the same eyes that she had thought had been staring at her. 

Wendy could not explain it, but she seemed to know this witch was not evil, and as we know Wendy knows things. The other witches, she had gotten a feeling from, a feeling that made her feel sick in her stomach. But this witch, witch number five, made her want to smile.

“So, it must be her.” said the police officer. More eager than ever, her words almost spat from her mouth.

Wendy paused; she did not know what to say. She knew full well which witch it was; she had seen witch five perform the spell on the mayor´s son. But then, had he not deserved it, had the mayor´s son been nothing more than a beastly bully who had asked for everything he got. Wendy found herself in a dilemma. She knew it was wrong to lie. She stared back into the witch´s eyes, getting lost in the oceans of blue. She could still feel this witch was good, not evil, not like the other witches. Again, lost in the witch´s eyes, she had the urge to smile, so she did, she smiled as she spoke the words. 

“No, sorry, it wasn´t her.”

“But… what… that´s not possible.” The policewoman was flustered, “these are all the witches we know of.” And with that she left the room, leaving Wendy looking into the eyes of the fifth witch, the smile spreading, not just on Wendy´s face, but the witch´s face too. 

 

End