Cauldron Anthology Issue 3: Year 1 Collection Cauldron Anthology Year One Issue FINAL 1.17.18 | Page 47

Sweet Home
Callum McLaughlin
“Ten points if you can touch the door.”
“You think I’m stupid? No way I’m getting that close.”
“Chicken.”
“Well, you touch it if you’re so brave.”
“No way. She prefers boys. She’d smell me for sure if I got that close.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true! Everyone says so. She’ll take a girl if she’s hungry enough but it’s the boys she really
wants. More meat on their bones, I guess.”
“You’re lying. You’re just too scared.”
“Whatever; believe what you want. I ain’t touching that door.”
“Well, neither am I.”
The children both shifted position, as much to mask their mounting nerves as to ease the pins
and needles snaking up their legs. Half an hour is a long time for a pair of eight-year-olds to have
been crouching in the undergrowth, after all, but such is the power of the rumour mill when its
spoils reach the malleable minds of young boys and girls with hot summer days to fill.
The object of their fascination? A single house on the outskirts of town, built to shun the
bustle of the streets beyond and cloak itself in the dappled shade of towering oak trees. More
specifically, they hoped (and feared) that they would catch a glimpse of its supposed inhabitant; the
old hag said to snatch wayward children and make a meal of the naughtiest amongst them. Some
towns have the Bogeyman; others the Chupacabra; some have been touched by enough real-world
tragedy to not have need of fairy tales. This town, however, has the wicked witch in her run-down
cabin in the woods.
There are those who say she is wholly fictional, nothing but the product of a sleepy village
mentality in a place with little else to occupy the starring role in its campfire tales; others who claim
to have seen her as she pulled back the curtain to peek out at the world, throwing open the door
to give chase to any curious children who dared to venture close enough, her hair frazzled and her
shrieks piercing; others still who shrug off the rumours as malicious slander, certain they have
served this so-called witch in the local shop when she wandered in to town to buy bread, milk and
raspberry bonbons; just a regular old woman who prefers a slower pace of life.
“Find some more stones,” said the boy. “Bigger ones this time. We gotta make sure she hears
us.”
The girl turned away from the house and began gathering the stones she could find without
leaving easy eye-shot of her brother. Once her puppy-fat arms were full, she resumed her position
and shared out the plunder.
“Okay,” said the boy, “remember to aim for the window. It’ll be louder, and if she comes to
check out the noise we’ll get a good look at her.”
“I still don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Come on, just imagine how much everyone at school will freak if we can say we saw her with