Disclaimer: The BBC owns Doctor Who. I make no money.
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The Witch in the Woods
Prologue
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Little Johnny Turner crawled through the thick undergrowth that had grown up between the conifers. His trousers were covered with mud and he had torn his sleeve getting past the barbwire. His mum would be furious, but a dare was a dare, and he had to keep going.
The ripped jumper wasn't the only thing she would be furious about. He wasn't supposed to be outside at all right now. Straight home after school, she had said, in that tone of voice that told him that he'd be in trouble if he didn't do as he was told.. Except this time she had really meant it: she had been scared when she said it. He didn't like to see his mum scared. Reminded him of when she found out dad was going of to fight in the war. But he had been lucky; he had come back. It was all over now anyway. They might even stop the rationing soon.
"Ouch."
Johnny looked down at his thumb and saw that it was bleeding, caught on a needle of one of the bushes. He watched the tiny pool of blood form, before wiping it on his leg. It left a little red mark. Mum wouldn't be happy about that either.
George and Peter would be home by now, he supposed, waiting for him to get back and tell them about the witch. He shivered as he pushed his way through a thick wall of dead branches. They crackled and snapped under the pressure. Like bones.
It was getting cold, and he wished that he had taken another jumper, but he was almost there now. The ground was clearing of plants, giving way to dirt and fallen pine needles. He grinned to himself as he caught sight of stone through the trees. Of course he knew that there wasn't really a witch, but the fact that he had made it to the ruined cottage was enough. He would win the dare.
He felt nervous as he approached the old cottage; it was looking decidedly eerie in the half-light of the forest. He tried not to think about the stories that were going around at school. There had always been a witch in the woods, living in the cottage - that was local legend that had been used for years by parents to scare their children and by children to taunt each other. But the stories had taken a decidedly more grisly turn when children at the village school at started to disappear.
The witch had taken them. Eaten them, boiled them in her cauldron and used their bones to decorate her cottage. Little ghosts haunted the forest now.
But Johnny knew that there were no such things as ghosts and no witch lived in the cottage.
He could see it now, the walls still standing, but the roof was gone. A little wall sat a few metres away from the cottage's remains, next to a crumbling well. There, he had done it. He could go home now.
But wouldn't his story be much more impressive if he had gone inside the cottage?
The longer that he looked at it, the less scary it seemed. Really, it was just an old pile of bricks under some trees. That wasn't scary. He took a step forward.
And another.
He grinned again, as he realised he was doing it, he was going to go inside the witch's cottage.
Then something moved.
Not from the cottage, but behind it, in the trees. A shadow had moved, and he knew that something had to have caused that shadow. Not a tree: there was no wind and he couldn't think what animal could be that big.
A ghost.
He felt cold fear at the back of his neck, before he remembered that ghosts didn't have shadows, did they?
Maybe it was just another kid.
Maybe he should call out.
Maybe not.
Johnny turned and ran.
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he hit the undergrowth. He should have slipped away, quietly. He couldn't run through this mess of plants and roots and bushes, he kept having to leap over bits and find safe footing. It wasn't easy and he was moving slowly.
He heard something behind him.
Footsteps.
He panicked and missed his step. A root caught his ankle and he crashed to the ground, falling on his back. His eyes closed, he had hit his spin on something and it was tingling in pain. He tried to forget about the footsteps, and where he was and pretend he was home.
It didn't work.
He opened his eyes.
There was a face above him. A woman. Ice cold eyes. Staring at him.
The witch!
Johnny Turner screamed.
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The Witch in the Woods
Prologue
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Little Johnny Turner crawled through the thick undergrowth that had grown up between the conifers. His trousers were covered with mud and he had torn his sleeve getting past the barbwire. His mum would be furious, but a dare was a dare, and he had to keep going.
The ripped jumper wasn't the only thing she would be furious about. He wasn't supposed to be outside at all right now. Straight home after school, she had said, in that tone of voice that told him that he'd be in trouble if he didn't do as he was told.. Except this time she had really meant it: she had been scared when she said it. He didn't like to see his mum scared. Reminded him of when she found out dad was going of to fight in the war. But he had been lucky; he had come back. It was all over now anyway. They might even stop the rationing soon.
"Ouch."
Johnny looked down at his thumb and saw that it was bleeding, caught on a needle of one of the bushes. He watched the tiny pool of blood form, before wiping it on his leg. It left a little red mark. Mum wouldn't be happy about that either.
George and Peter would be home by now, he supposed, waiting for him to get back and tell them about the witch. He shivered as he pushed his way through a thick wall of dead branches. They crackled and snapped under the pressure. Like bones.
It was getting cold, and he wished that he had taken another jumper, but he was almost there now. The ground was clearing of plants, giving way to dirt and fallen pine needles. He grinned to himself as he caught sight of stone through the trees. Of course he knew that there wasn't really a witch, but the fact that he had made it to the ruined cottage was enough. He would win the dare.
He felt nervous as he approached the old cottage; it was looking decidedly eerie in the half-light of the forest. He tried not to think about the stories that were going around at school. There had always been a witch in the woods, living in the cottage - that was local legend that had been used for years by parents to scare their children and by children to taunt each other. But the stories had taken a decidedly more grisly turn when children at the village school at started to disappear.
The witch had taken them. Eaten them, boiled them in her cauldron and used their bones to decorate her cottage. Little ghosts haunted the forest now.
But Johnny knew that there were no such things as ghosts and no witch lived in the cottage.
He could see it now, the walls still standing, but the roof was gone. A little wall sat a few metres away from the cottage's remains, next to a crumbling well. There, he had done it. He could go home now.
But wouldn't his story be much more impressive if he had gone inside the cottage?
The longer that he looked at it, the less scary it seemed. Really, it was just an old pile of bricks under some trees. That wasn't scary. He took a step forward.
And another.
He grinned again, as he realised he was doing it, he was going to go inside the witch's cottage.
Then something moved.
Not from the cottage, but behind it, in the trees. A shadow had moved, and he knew that something had to have caused that shadow. Not a tree: there was no wind and he couldn't think what animal could be that big.
A ghost.
He felt cold fear at the back of his neck, before he remembered that ghosts didn't have shadows, did they?
Maybe it was just another kid.
Maybe he should call out.
Maybe not.
Johnny turned and ran.
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he hit the undergrowth. He should have slipped away, quietly. He couldn't run through this mess of plants and roots and bushes, he kept having to leap over bits and find safe footing. It wasn't easy and he was moving slowly.
He heard something behind him.
Footsteps.
He panicked and missed his step. A root caught his ankle and he crashed to the ground, falling on his back. His eyes closed, he had hit his spin on something and it was tingling in pain. He tried to forget about the footsteps, and where he was and pretend he was home.
It didn't work.
He opened his eyes.
There was a face above him. A woman. Ice cold eyes. Staring at him.
The witch!
Johnny Turner screamed.
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