Witch of the Charcoal Forest

 

J.D. Crawford,  April 2014

 

 

I was warned long before-hand of the mean old witch’s

domain, but young as I was, I cared not

of their wise words. So which I went away to the

woods for something to do, so to say.

 

An evil, metal hiss rang through the trees,clawing into my head the deeper and

deeper I went. Trunks and leaves as black as

charcoal, but left my hands clean like I was

never there. No squirrels or owls or mice

were there to warn me to turn back, for they

already have some time ago.

 

A short crooked man with his old oil

lantern limped out of the trees from further

on, staring at me with glowing white eyes

as if I should bestow myself to him.

Though he did not step afoot, I feared he

grew closer and closer to me. With that,

I hurried past him, yet there was not a light

of a lantern or firefly to help

direct me any which way.

 

The ringing turned to humming and soon its

harpened into singing, though the tin words

of the child-like songs I could not dare

decipher. Sooner and sooner did they

become a steady beat with a sweet

melody I could not help but hate. It

was not long before I could soon hear

my name with company.

 

From the dead branches fell from yarn nooses,

tiny voodoo dolls made of old metal

spoons. They smiled as they swung and stared into

nothing as they sung the only things they could

say. The souls of many who have wondered

here, trapped inside a man-made device, all

tracing another victim by their taunts

and chants. If she found me, I would only

sing to trap the next.

 

Before me stood the witch herself, a robe

of a spider demon’s silk and dawned inher own shadows. From her smooth pink lips I

saw that she was no older than I, butno more foolish or fearful. Strands of

hair as soft and beautiful as her own

skin, fell as perfect as a doll’s. If it was her

youth she feared to show, or youth she wished

to consume from those who wondered here, I

hadn’t long left. I turned and ran with fear and pain. Her spoon

puppets lynched to mark my ways for easy

chase. The crooked man watched as all he

wished to do, but only the moonlight in

his eyes reminded me he was still there

watching me.

 

The dolls sung and laughed as they swung from the

trees, my name chanted through their metal

teeth, as I would soon do the same for the

next innocent young victim to befall

the same.

 

Charcoal trees darkened into the sky, or

perhaps there was no forest for me to

hide in, but I knew I was gone when themetal dolls no longer sang or called my

name.

 

So take warning, my pretty little

dear, none are found dead, or even found at all

even the forest itself cannot be

found. They say it only shows at night and

walks and moves by day, with the ghost of the

witch who wondered and lost herself, she

makes company of those who also get lost.Why she resents those with lives, I cannot

tell you why, but not every question has

an answer. Those who may, can only sing

the loneliness she makes them feel, hopingto trap someone else into the hell they

stumbled upon themselves, doomed to sing the

poor lost souls into the hands of the witch.