The Ragwitch

“No,” said Julia, in her normal, everyday voice. She sat up in bed and looked straight at Paul. A shaft of light from the open door caught her face, and as their eyes met, Paul felt his muscles relax. Hesitantly, he tried to move and found himself free of Her control.

“She wants to take me somewhere,” whispered Julia, her face contorting under some great, unseen pressure. “Paul, you must…She wants to take me to…”

Looking into Julia’s eyes, Paul saw them suddenly glow and change colour–a black wash floating out to cover the white. Slowly, the black coalesced around the pupil, and the white started to green over in exact duplication of the rag doll’s evil eyes.

Paul felt himself becoming drowsy, looking into those gleaming, black-pupilled eyes. They seemed to get bigger, become like lanterns…lanterns illuminating a ground far below, as he fell towards them…

“Run!” screamed Julia–the real Julia. “Paul! Run!”

Shocked free from the mesmeric eyes, Paul turned and ran, slamming the door behind him.

Paul spent the rest of the night half-awake, with the light on and his door open. Every time a board creaked, he felt a start of fear–but the house was old and prone to settling, and nothing stalked him through the night. His parents, normally guardians against fear, slept with an unnatural soundness and could not be woken.

At last, towards dawn, fear became weaker than exhaustion and Paul fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamt of giant black crows screaming in from the sky, only to turn into huge rag dolls, with black-pupilled eyes against green–eyes that grew larger and larger, and more menacing, filling the whole horizon with their glowing evil…

With a stifled scream, Paul fell out of bed, dragging the blankets with him. It took a few seconds for him to really wake up and his heart to slow its pounding. Bright, cheery sunlight filtered in around the curtains. Sleepily, Paul looked at the radio clock next to his bed. It said six o’clock – at least an hour too early to get up. Paul yawned and climbed back into bed, rearranging the blankets with a few kicks and half-hearted dragging motions.

He was just rearranging the pillow when he heard the front door close–the slight, snicking sound of someone easing the door shut as quietly as possible.

Paul knew it had to be Julia. His parents never woke up before eight. He felt an unpleasant butterfly in his stomach, remembering the events of the night before. And Julia’s words: “She wants to take me somewhere.”

“I’ll have to save her,” said Paul aloud, hoping the sound of his own voice would make him feel better. But it didn’t – it only made everything seem even scarier than before. He just didn’t know what to do. Julia was the one who knew what to do–Julia was the one who always knew, and now she was the problem.

Paul felt tears welling up in his eyes and a terrible feeling of hopelessness swept over him. What would Julia do, if it was me? he suddenly thought–and there was the answer. Julia wouldn’t abandon him, so he wouldn’t abandon her. He quickly threw on his clothes, laced his sandshoes and ran out of the house, not bothering to be quiet with the door.

There was no sign of Julia, but her tracks were easy to follow across the sand and down to the sea. Paul ran at first, but he soon slowed down. It was too tiring to run on sand.

But Julia hadn’t stopped at the sea. Turning along the coast, she was heading for the rocky spit–or the Midden. Paul thought he knew which one it would be. Grimly, he began to run again, up towards the Midden, the hill of ancient bones.

As Paul expected, Julia was there, kneeling near the giant crow’s nest, doing something with the sticks that it was made of. Paul could see no sign of the rag doll. Relieved, he sprinted up the last few metres, calling out, “Julia!”

Julia turned around–and Paul skidded to a stop in shock. He felt like he’d been winded, struck so hard he couldn’t breathe at all. For the person in front of him wasn’t Julia at all, but a hideous mixture of girl and doll: half flesh, half cloth, and the eyes and face had nothing of Julia left at all, only the evil features of the doll.

“Callach!” spat the Ragwitch, raising one three-fingered hand–and Paul was rooted to the spot: paralysed, save for his eyes, which darted from side to side, looking for escape. He wanted to close them, to not see whatever was going to happen, but his eyelids refused to move.

The Ragwitch laughed, a chilling cackle that sent a spark of fear right through Paul. Then She turned back to the nest and started to rearrange the sticks.

He had obviously been granted a slight reprieve. Paul watched the Ragwitch with some glimmerings of hope. She was taking the sticks out of the nest and making them into a sort of pyramid, breaking the tangled ring and giving it an ordered shape.

She worked quickly. In minutes the nest was no more and the pyramid was complete: a neat construction of sticks, as tall as Paul. He watched, fascinated, as the Ragwitch drew designs in the red earth around the pyramid–strange symbols that were all straight lines and nasty looking pictures, like some ancient form of writing.

She didn’t look at Paul until the writing was complete. Then She stood up, looming over him. Even in the short time since he’d first seen Her at the nest, She’d grown rapidly and was now at last two metres tall.

He noticed that She now had teeth as well–rows of thin, shark-like teeth, hideously out of place in that smiling, redlipped doll’s face.

She came closer and Paul shuddered, watching the teeth as She leant over him. But he made his eyes go out of focus–he wouldn’t look into Her eyes, not after the night before. Her breath struck his face, cold, and somehow smelling of darkness and fear. Paul stared his eyes into even more of a blur and waited to be killed.

Then the Ragwitch spoke, using Julia’s voice–a voice changed and tainted but still recognisably Julia’s.

“You will stand here for ever, boy, as a monument to those who would keep Me penned here. Alive, unmoving and wishing you were dead. Much like your sister. Yes, she still lives…but only inside Me!”

The Ragwitch laughed again and turned back to the pyramid of sticks. She extended Her three-fingered hand and began to chant: a rhythmic, dissonant series of words that rose and fell in a grating counterpoint, jarring Paul’s ears.

As She continued the chant, sparks started to form about Her hand. The bright red flecks of light danced around, forming a globe of flickering light about Her three fingers. Suddenly, the Ragwitch stopped chanting and the globe of sparks flew forward into the pyramid of sticks, which exploded into flame. As the red flames flickered up, Paul felt a rush of cold bursting out from the fire, as though the fire itself were a giant, living icicle.

The Ragwitch bent over and drew another sign in the red soil. The flames licked still higher and turned green at the tips, and a dull roaring filled the air, like a rushing wave. She stepped into the fire and turned to face Paul with Her arms outstretched. Paul saw that She was laughing again, but he could only hear the roaring and the cold blasting at him from Her magical pyre.

Then the flames blew sideways, almost out to Paul’s feet. Each tongue of flame was like the petal of a flower, with the Ragwitch in the middle, cupped like a dragonfly in a water lily. The flames flickered once, twice, and then snapped back in a blinding flash. The pyramid exploded, sending burning sticks flying into the air, some landing on Paul, to scar him with their icy flames.

There was no sign of the Ragwitch–and Paul found that he could move again. Numb from fear and disbelief, Paul’s first thoughts were of anger.

“You were wrong,” he shouted at the sky. “Your magic’s no good. I’m going to find You and get Julia back! You won’t get away from me!”

The shouting seemed to help a bit and Paul felt strangely confident. Carefully, he began to gather the still-burning sticks, rearranging them into a rough copy of the Ragwitch’s pyramid.

Together again, the sticks burnt heartily, washing Paul with cold. He looked at the red flames, had his second thoughts and copied the last sign he’d seen the Ragwitch draw. The flames turned green at the tips and the roaring sound began. Paul took a deep breath, screwed his eyes shut and stepped into the icy heart of the fire.

2. The Forest of the May Dancers The Sea Caves (#ulink_373cd65d-705a-5028-a41f-f3c8ac1f0325)

AVAGRANT WIND pushed leaves aside as it made an erratic progress through the forest, cooling the warm afternoon air. Birds called in the wind’s wake, hawking after insects that the sudden breeze had carried with it.

Paul felt the wind against his face, refreshing after the stabbing cold of the fire. This was no sea air, he knew, for it was heavy with the dank, green smell of trees. The light that crept through his slowly opening eyes was different too: a cool, diffuse light, filtered through a thousand layers of leaves.

Eyes fully opened, Paul looked about cautiously, already afraid of what he’d done and where he might be. All around him, great trees towered, their upper branches interlocking to block out the sky. Vines crept around their trunks, growing out among the lesser trees and bushes that struggled to survive in the shady half-light of the lower forest.

Something rustled in the undergrowth to Paul’s side, a slight noise, no more than a falling branch. Even so, he leapt away with a sudden surge of fright-born energy. But the noise faded and was lost in the silence of the trees.

Gingerly, Paul began to pick his way through the spiky undergrowth. He thought about looking for Julia, but there was obviously no one about. Worse, he couldn’t see the sun through the leafy canopy, though even if he could, he still wouldn’t know which direction to take.

“You have to know where you are to know where to go,” muttered Paul, mostly to hear his own voice. It sounded strange in the forest, a short break in the silence, soon gone and instantly forgotten. Did I even speak at all, wondered Paul, or just think loudly to myself?

After only a few metres, he came to a small clearing–a blanket-sized patch of grass and daisies, alone in the wilderness. Even that small distance had taken its toll. Shorts, while fine for the beach, were not the best clothing for thorn-laden undergrowth and spiked bushes. At least some of the scratches were from blackberries, Paul thought, comparing the purple stains on his fingers to the long red scratches on his legs. Starvation wouldn’t be an immediate problem, though he was already bored with a diet of blackberries.

Beyond the clearing, the forest grew even thicker: darker, more impenetrable and daunting. Reluctant to enter that darkness, Paul sat down in the brightest patch of greenish sunlight and thought about his predicament.

First, he thought, I am all alone in a forest. I have no idea where it is, as I got here by walking through a fire. My sister has been taken over by a magical rag doll and I have to do something about it.

But what? Julia was the one who had the ideas and knew what to do. Paul was a follower. He needed programming for something like this–he needed someone to give him instructions.

I wasn’t meant to be in impossible situations, Paul thought mournfully, eyeing the green walls that surrounded him.

“It’s not fair!” he shouted at the forest. But the trees absorbed the shout and it was gone. No one will come, said the darkness between the trees; you will wander the forest, alone until you die.

“No, I won’t,” Paul whispered, brushing away the morbid thoughts that swelled up from the back of his head. “I’ll find a path, and people, and Julia!” With this whisper, Paul summoned up some reserve of determination and got to his feet. Filled with resolve, he plunged forward into the dim forest.

An hour later, much of the resolve and determination had drained away. There was still no end to the forest and the light was getting dimmer. Cool breezes were no longer refreshing–they were just cool, and becoming cold. Worse, there were no more blackberries. Without their refreshing juice, Paul was drying out, his stamina fading as his throat parched.

But he could think of nothing else to do, so he kept on, dragging his scratched legs through more bushes and brambles, hoping to find another clearing or a path. Gradually, the light slipped away and the shadows steadily merged, shifting from grey to black.