Safe in the Dark
Helen French
My tormentors giggle and laugh loudly. I worry I’m going to be sick.
After all, the children of the village are not supposed to be in the witch’s house. We’re definitely not supposed to be playing games, especially ones that might make us throw up. We should’ve stayed by the river, like we usually do on a rest day, even if skimming stones gets awfully boring after a while.
The giggles get higher and squeakier. They spin me faster than ever. My mother always says “I can’t see this ending well” but I can’t see anything right now.
But then someone says, “Oh no,” and someone else says, “Shush,” a small voice whimpers, and then they all go completely and utterly silent. Hands let go of me, footsteps dash, and I finally come to a stop.
Alone. I think.
I gulp and try desperately to stay in control of my body. I should take the blindfold off. But I can’t. If I take the blindfold off, I’ll see what scared my friends so much and I’m not sure I want to.
So I try to be brave in a different way and I think and listen and smell.
When I ran into the hut with the others, what did I see?
I remember being surprised that the witch’s home was just a single room containing a bed with old blankets, a stove that crackled softly, and a big desk covered in dusty books and strange potions. It was homelier than I’d expected, with woven art hanging from the walls and ceilings, big balls of wool in yellows, reds and blues.
I listen hard to try and distract myself from the fear, but I can’t hear much of anything at all. Maybe the breath of wind through the trees, but that wouldn’t frighten my friends. There are no wolves growling, no demons cackling, no raiders raiding. If there is something scary in this room, it is quiet or clever or both.
My heart sinks.
If there’s no monster, then that’s got to mean the witch has come back. She’s fearsome enough to cause a panic all right, and my father says “She’s a damn good hunter” so she knows how to be silent when it’s needed.
My stomach sinks too.
Our leaders let her punish those who cross her as she sees fit. I’ve heard about the time she stoned trespassers who were only trespassing because they were hungry – who hasn’t? I don’t want to be stoned!
I wrinkle my nose and sniff the air. There’s a sour dampness mixed into it, like sweat mixed with worry. Beyond that, I can smell dried wildflowers – I remember seeing them in a pretty little vase next to a mirror! There’s something else behind it, too, earthy and warm, like soil under fingernails, the scent of someone who’s been in the woods.
Is it her? I don’t think I want to know for sure.
But then there’s a creak – a soft groan from the floorboards. My grandmother would say “It’s all in your head” but I don’t think so.
It means someone’s in here. It means the witch is watching me.
I take a deep breath and risk shuffling forwards, one foot at a time, head still wobbly from all the spinning, blindfold still covering my eyes.
If the witch is here and I keep the blindfold on, maybe she won’t get too angry with me. I can’t boast about what I saw if I didn’t see anything. She might let me go because I didn’t peek at her or her house. But if I take it off then she’ll have no choice but to punish me. That’s how grown-ups are, right?
The floor changes underneath my bare feet, from warm wood to soft fur. Where did I see a rug? If things were different, I’d like to stay and wiggle my toes into it. But I have to keep going before the floorboards creak again.
Of course, I remember where I saw the rug at the exact same time that I fall over – right onto the bed that sits next to it. I let out a yelp and then pick myself up.
Someone laughs, a low throaty chuckle.
It’s only luck that prevents me from wetting myself. “You’re here,” I say, then feel stupid for saying it. My head has stopped spinning but I still feel sick with fear. I’m going to be in so much trouble.
“I am here, yes. Were you hoping I wasn’t?”
“Are you going to punish me now?” My voice quakes a little. “You don’t have to, you know. You don’t have to tell my father, either.”
The witch makes a low, humming noise, like she’s considering it. “You haven’t done any damage that I can see.”
I try to relax a little. Maybe I can survive this.
“And I don’t believe you’re here to steal my research, unlike that last bunch of trespassers. You know, the ones who were horribly stoned by the horrible witch.”
I jolt like someone just poked me with a stick.
She gives a little snort. “Don’t believe all the stories you hear about me, little trespasser. I sent them packing, that was all. And if I didn’t stone them for that, I’m hardly going to stone you for this.”
I’m so relieved I think I might drop. “They stole your research? Was it important?” I ask.
“It was. I do lots of important work here. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, or if your parents have mentioned it, but parts of the forest have been dying. I’ve been researching new magic to help keep it alive. Without it, you might grow up to live in a village with no trees at all.” Her voice is softer than I thought. I feel like I could get lost in it. “Does that sound important to you?”
I had no idea forests could die. “More than anything,” I say. Until today, I thought the witch just collected mushrooms, helped our hunters, and shouted at people. “It sounds a lot more interesting than hanging around the river.”
She chuckles. “As it happens, I’m in need of an assistant. You are the only child I know who hasn’t run at the sight of me.”
“I don’t have sight of you.”
“That’s true, well observed. But you do have experience of me, of a sort, and I think you could be a great help. I need someone who is good at exploring places that aren’t usually explored. Who doesn’t talk just to fill silence. Who’s brave, even when they’re half scared to death inside. You’ve shown all of that today. So, what do you think?”
I think she is still a little bit terrifying, and that if I see her I’ll make all of this real.
But I also think that I’m bored of skimming rocks on the river. And that I’d like to learn more about what she does in the forest. If she gets lost in the shadows there, and if she’s scared of them if she does.
“All right,” I say.
“Good,” the witch replies, and she sounds pleased. “But big decisions are best made with open eyes, don’t you think?”
And so I take a deep breath, hesitate for just a moment, and then take my blindfold off.
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