Witch Woodworth
Tegan Holmes
(Worcester)
It was a crisp, winter day in December. The bitter gust of wind made the leaves swirl like mini tornados on the roads. The field beyond the roads was a blanket of deep, soft, pearly-white snow, glistening with fresh, frosted snowflakes. In the middle of the snow-covered field, a small, beautiful cottage covered in ivy, stood silent. A square chimney on top of the house billowed with thick, foggy smoke from a log fire burning inside. The door was flung wide open to let in the fresh morning air.
The cottage belonged to a lady called Ethel Woodworth. She had short, limp grey hair and a pair of thin, wire glasses perched on her nose precariously. People in the nearby village used to say she was a witch, who had no good intentions for anyone but herself. Of course, I didn’t believe the stories but I did walk rather anxiously past the field on my way to school.
On this bitterly cold day, I was once again walking to school with my friend. The wind nipped at our frozen fingers and toes, making our noses bright red. My best friend, Bella, grinned as we made our way past the broken fencing surrounding the field. “I don’t think you’d be able to sneak into Witch Woodworth’s cottage! You’d be to scared,” laughed Bella, stopping by the gate to the field. I frowned at her. “Don’t call Miss Woodworth that! You know she’s not really a witch, and I’m not going into her cottage. That would be trespassing, even if Woodworth’s not there!” I answered firmly. Bella shrugged, but carried on making quiet chicken noises and flapping her arms about as she walked on. I scowled. If she thinks I can’t do it, then she’s wrong! I’m not chicken. I’ll show her! I thought to myself. I climbed over the gate, jumped down into the snow, and then started to make my way to Ethel’s cottage…
I reached the front door in good time, turning to see Bella watching me. Even she seemed quite shocked that I was actually going to ‘trespass’ as such. I took a deep breath and then stepped inside the open front door. As I entered, the snow from my boots scattered over the splintered wooden floorboards. Each step I took made the whole house creak and shudder slightly. I went into the living room. The small table was covered in newspaper cuttings about missing cats reported and a mysterious gathering of weird women in the woods. I gulped at the broomstick on the table, carrying on into the kitchen.
I was gradually starting to relax as I stepped into the kitchen. Apart from the shattered glass on the floorboards, the kitchen seemed reasonably normal to me. Suddenly, the lights went out and a hand with gnarled fingers went over my mouth…