There was a creak in the floor and the fog scattered then settled again as a small figure pattered down the stairs to stand quietly near the large window that dominated the front of her house.
She stood there, her face pale white with large black eyes and waited.
Soon, every window in the village was occupied by some kind of little figure, and even the older brothers and sisters of some were holding a baby with them.
Again, everything was silent until. . .
The sound of a rickety old cart made it's way down the cobblestone street. The old woman who was pulling it and the cart itself was not there when the fog rolled in, nor were they anywhere near it. Only the children could see this old woman and her cart who rolled in with the fog.
Finally, when the woman was in the town square did she stop.
Every child moved from their homes to witness what she brought and who she would take.
Those who were wise enough for their seven or eight years stayed away; moved to the back of the crowd and watched with a careful eye to make sure none that were too small or too weak where thrown into the carriage and wheeled away.
Only a couple of small ones stepped forward to offer the witch a trinket or toy and in exchange, she would take both the child and the toy and throw them into her carriage.
And when the exchanges were made and the witch was satisfied, she gave a great bellowing yell and the crowd parted around her and watched her disappear into the fog.
The fog receeded with the witch, enveloping her in a cloud of white.
If you had blinked, you would have missed the departure of the witch.
And those that were taken were never again seen.
Thus is the tale of Runaway Isle.
No comments:
Post a Comment