Part 6
The hag sat on a three-legged stool by the fire. The ochre light from the flames cast one side of her face in light and the other side in shadows. The brats were quiet, for now. Most of them had worked themselves into a tiredness. She stared into the fire, eyes barely blinking or moving, just staring straight ahead at the dancing flames before her, as if she was hypnotized by it.
Gradually, the feeling of someone boring a hole through her skull made her turn towards the cages. She found the little brat very much wide awake and his rather penetrating gaze concentrated solely on her. He was obviously different, not even afraid of her at all. She got up from the stool, making her way to the cage. Those eyes were disconcerting, forcing her to look elsewhere instead of looking at them. She had a grudging admiration for one with such fearlessness as him.
"I'd gouge your eyes out if you keep staring at me," she said in a surly tone to him.
He didn't even look away. He reminded her rather disturbingly of a vaguely familiar child she'd knew long time ago. The almost similar hair, eyes and cherubic features. She snorted at the thought. Sentiment didn’t become her. She purposefully scowled at the boy, screwing her face up to something much more sinister-looking.
The boy barely even blinked at her. She gave up the cause, turning and walking a few paces away from the cage. A wave of the hand had the stool appearing at her feet and she sat down on it. She pointedly ignored the stare and instead, looked at the fire once more. Old memories of a long forgotten past began to surface.
"Let me tell you a story, boy, of something that happened a long time ago."
Her name was Charlotte. She was never married nor had any children.
She lived in a shabby, little hut near the old forest, at the end of the village. She had come here from another place many years back, to marry one of the men in the village but sadly, he died of a sickness before they could wed. So Charlotte remained in the village, staying at the rickety hut with its leaking roof, tiny vegetable patch and a skinny goat.
The village was typical of many that were scattered around the place, with a well worn, dirt path running through it to link one village to another. Most of the villages were separated by acres of land, rivers and streams and the forests which surrounded them. Travel was done by foot, horseback or cart. None of the villagers owned a horse, so most of their traveling was done by foot.
The village wasn't poor, per se. They were the lower working class, mostly farmers and miners. There was a coal mine ten miles from the village where the men would leave for days at a time, leaving their wives at home to take care of the children. The women were kept busy most of the time, cooking, cleaning, washing, feeding their brood and planting. With all their time spent on their chores, none of them had time to properly care for their young.
The children were dressed in hand-me-downs from older siblings or clothes that had been patched up one too many times. They were often seen running around barefoot. The girls were dressed in faded frocks, their hairs in wild tangles and generally unwashed. The boys were the same. They were a ragtag bunch of children in worn out clothes, smudges on their face and a knotted mass of hair on top of their heads.
Now, Charlotte adored children, having none of her own. She didn't mind that they were unwashed or if they smell. Children were children. She found them all to be delightfully charming, despite their lack of manners at times. She thought it was such a pity that the parents didn't take proper care of their brood, leaving them running about in such a manner.
One of them was an adorable little boy with the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. He had rather cherubic features. Charlotte thought he was a darling but he was one of those without manners. His mother was often too busy to tend to him and left him to his devices, which meant he ran about all day with the other children.
"Hello, darling," she greeted him on her way to buy some flour.
He stared at her as if she was daft in the head.
"Nyah!" said one of the older ones, sticking his tongue out at her. "Old biddy!"
That set them off in a loud, raucous laughter. An elderly woman nearby shouted at them to scat as they were making a menace of themselves. They took off running, still laughing at the smart remark.
"Don't you go all soft on ‘em, imps," the elderly woman grumbled to Charlotte. "They're insolent whelps, that they are."
Charlotte just smiled politely. "Yes, Milicent."
"Pah! Brats, all of them brats." Milicent spat on the ground and waddle off, her stiff joints giving her some trouble in the cold.
Charlotte paid no heed to old Milicent. She continued to greet the children, sometimes trying to engage them in small talk, but she usually got a raspberry or a rude remark in return for her troubles. She persisted, though, gradually winning a couple over when she offered them some sweets. They had snatched at the food, stuffing it into their mouths as fast as they could, as if someone might snatch it back from them.
The others soon followed suit when they saw that their playmates didn't keel over and die, and the sweets were a novelty among them. None of their mothers had ever made such a sweet confectionary for them in their lives.
Charlotte was delighted. She made cakes and more sweet confectionaries for them, stuffing them all silly. She managed to made them wash up before coming over. The girls' hair were now shiny curls tied with ragged ribbons. The boys' clothes were wiped clean of dirt. Their little, round faces shone, having been scrubbed vigorously and cleaned.
She grew fond of them, looking forward to their visits each day, feeling sad as they left for home later in the evening. She began to wish for them to stay with her everyday; they'd play games and bake cakes, and she'd feed them her sweets. The longing grew in her heart each day.
The women of the village noticed the change in their brood. The manners were still lacking somewhat but not as bad as before. The clothes were clean, their faces scrubbed free of grime and dirt. At first, the women were relieved to be free of tending to the children every day. They now had more free time than before and they spent it gossiping among themselves. But as the days and weeks went by, they began to miss having their brood around them. Relief turned to jealousy and then to resentment.
The human heart is a fragile thing. Weak and easily swayed. Even the softest of the hearts can turn to stone.
The women waited until it was evening when their children came home to give them the news. They were forbidden to see that woman again. If they dared to disobey, they would be paddle. The children all sullenly agreed, although it was not without some tearshed first.
But the next day found the children away from their homes and at Charlotte's once more. The women, feeling resentful, began to gather together at each other's houses and spend the hours away talking about the despicable things they would do to Charlotte. When their children came home, they paddled them, sending them to bed without supper. When the husbands came home, they lamented to them. The men were weary from working all day, and had no wish to hear their wives' complaints.
Weeks passed, and the resentment grew. Finally, the women could stand it no more and they marched down the dirt path leading to the little hut. They bore in their hands pitchforks and brooms. Some carried torches.
"Charlotte!" one of them shouted, from the front yard. The others were gathered around her. "We want our children back!"
The front door opened with a creak, swinging all the way to reveal Charlotte standing in the frame. Peeking out from behind her were their children, little faces peering at their mothers with some curiosity. None of them made any move towards their mothers.
Charlotte looked at them impassively. What others said was indeed true; that you don't know what you have until it is gone. The mothers were now starting to miss their little ones, perhaps even starting to appreciate them. For Charlotte, such an act was just a tad too late.
"They don't love you anymore," said Charlotte clearly and loudly. "They belong to me now."
"They are not yours, old woman!" someone cried out, fury in her voice.
"They know who treats them better and who loves them more," Charlotte continued, unfazed by their anger. "You all never did appreciate them. Not once. You let them run wild like the animals in the forest. I took them in and took good care of them. I fed them and clothed them."
"Lies, all lies!" another shouted. "You are nothing but a foolish, old, delusional woman. Mary, come home at once!"
The little girl with the flaxen curls shook her head, hiding her face in Charlotte's apron. Several of the children all showed their refusal to return home with their mothers. They all chose to hide behind Charlotte. A few reluctantly moved out of the hut and towards their mothers where they were given a cuffing.
"Liam, don't you want to come home to Mummy?" one of the torch-wielding women said. "Mummy will make your favorite food. Come back with Mummy, won't you?"
Liam, the boy with the brown hair and green eyes, stared at his mother before turning away from her. She watched in shocked disbelief as he hugged Charlotte, an almost dreamy smile on his face.
"Charlotte is my Mummy now. She takes good care of me," he said.
"You see, Elizabeth, Liam knows who loves him," Charlotte said. Her expression was blank, but her eyes held affection for the boy at her side. "They know who loves them best. I can take care of them better than any of you."
The woman, Elizabeth, let out a scream of outrage. "Witch! You stole my son from me! You have him under a spell! You'll pay for it!" She threw the torch to the hut, the flames catching onto the wood. The fire spread quickly, licking at the wood, emitting heat and smoke in the air, nearly choking them all.
Charlotte turned, ushered the children into the hut and shut the door with a click.
"Elsa, no!" cried several of the women. Their children were still with Charlotte, in the hut.
"My daughter!" one cried, her arm outstretched but she didn't dare to go any nearer to the flames that were lapping the house. "Emily! Emily!"
The children who were outside let out cries of terror, clutching to each other at the sight of the burning building.
Elizabeth let out a wail, her hands clenching the grass and ripping it out of the earth as she realized what she had done. She had condemned her son to a fiery death inside the building. The other women were too frozen with shock and horror to comfort her. They could only stare at the burning building, knowing it was far too late to save anyone inside.
Fire danced around them all, licking at their hair, their clothes, singeing their skin, filling their throat and lungs with smoke. Smoke as black as night, stinging their eyes, making them water.
And yet, none of the children seem to care, for they clung to Charlotte, their expressions content and almost trance-like. None of them even noticed the flames raging around them, burning everything in its path. Pieces of the roof were beginning to collapse around them.
"Don't you worry, my little darlings," cooed Charlotte, seeming oblivious to the flames around her. "I'll take good care of you all. You will all stay with me always. Wouldn't you like that?" Murmurs of yes from the children and she smiled. "Yes, you would like that. Together forever."
The smile grew wider as the roof finally collapsed.
The house was burned down to cinders and ashes, nothing remained. The villagers could find no trace of Charlotte or the children's bodies anywhere. The women lamented loudly, regret in their voices as they bemoaned their loss. The men simply shook their heads at their wives, unable to comfort them for it was their own doing that killed their children. The other children - all five of them that remained - simply sat frozen before the hut.
None of them noticed the tracks that led away from the hut.
"Together, forever," the hag murmured. She looked over to where Chris was.
The child's stare didn't seem so penetrating now. Something flickered in those eyes, and then was gone. He grasped the bars with his small, smudged hands, peering at her.
"Poor hag," he said.
Startled, the hag stared at him for a heartbeat then turned away. She would not have this child pitying her. It was extraordinary that he understood what she had told him and felt something akin to pity for her.
"Pity is for the fools, like those women who burned their own children," she spat, jabbing a sharp fingernail at him. "I do not need your pity, boy. Pity is for fools only."
TBC...
EN: In anime, characters that are evil often have incredibly twisted backgrounds but they have their reasons in doing the things that they do. They feel what they do is right and what everyone do is wrong.