Colette skipped joyfully along the woodland path. Wearing her favourite periwinkle slippers, she hummed a sweet song under her breath and carried a basket of fresh pies on her arm. Her delicate dress was void of any dirt, her curls were perfect and her skin was free of blemishes or marks. She truly was a beautiful and innocent young child.
When it came to Colette, there was always a skip in her step. Since she was small, all kind of folk observed how cheerful Colette was. She was always smiling, singing and skipping because she had every reason to, she was a child, she did not have to fear life’s worries and troubles. She never cursed, she spoke politely and always respected the people she met. Truly, there was no fault. Colette was a good child.
It was a warm, summer afternoon and Colette made her way home through the woods. She had been told many times to be careful.
Folk claimed witches wandered the woods, hoping to steal children for their supper. Only small children though. Witches were never interested in children older than ten. Apparently, the meat was too mature for their delicate palates. Despite the warnings, Colette followed the sunlight path through the trees and skipped along. Her beautiful curls bounced at her shoulders as she sang loudly,
“Little skylark, lovely little skylark,
Little skylark, I’ll pluck your feathers off.”
Colette leapt over a fallen tree and twirled around with her basket, she sang louder and louder. She wanted everyone in the woods to hear her song.
“I’ll pluck the feathers off your head.
Off your head!
Little lark! Oh!”
As Colette opened her mouth to begin the next verse, she suddenly caught her foot on a rock and she hit the ground hard. Stones and sharp earth cut into her skin. While she was tempted to scream and curse, she breathed through her clenched teeth and blinked away her tears. Only her knees were bleeding and the cuts were shallow. She tried to smile, she was not far from home, she would be fine.
“Oh, dearie!” An old voice cried, “Are you alright?”
Colette turned around and saw a dishevelled crone standing about six steps away. The crone seemed ancient with her brittle grey hair and dry, flaking, freckled skin. Despite her tall shape, her face and hands revealed hardly any meat on her bones like she was a skeleton beneath her heavy dark robes.
It was the hag’s teeth and nails that most captured Colette’s attention, they were yellow and, surprisingly, very sharp. They reminded Colette of the rats she sometimes saw scurrying along the floor of her house. She didn’t mind rats, she often gave them bits of her supper despite her mother’s protests.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” Colette smiled.
“Dearie, your legs are all cut up and bloody.” The crone shuffled closer. She reached out a bony finger and pointed her sharp nail at the blood trickling from Colette’s knees, she asked, “Does it hurt, sweet thing?”
“A little,” Colette admitted. “But it’s alright. I’m not far from home, I’m sure my mother will tend to them for me.”
Colette reached for her fallen basket but the hag grabbed it first.
Gosh, she is fast, Colette thought.
“Oh, no. I can’t let you limp home like an injured lamb,” said the crone, sympathetically. “My home is not far, I can tend to your cuts with my poultices and bandages there. Come, come.”
The crone started to shuffle away. Colette thought about it, she was touched that a stranger would offer such kindness, however, she shook her head sadly,
“You’re very kind but my mother says I must never go off with strangers, especially strangers in the woods, for they could be witches in disguise.”
“Witches in disguise!” The crone rattled with laughter, “You must see, my dearie. I’m not a witch. Look at me, I am so old and weak, I’m practically harmless. A sharp wind could knock me down.”
The crone released another wicked cackle. Colette smiled. The crone was right, she seemed harmless and her laughter reminded Colette of her grandmother. Her gran tended to cackle loudly whenever she drank too much ale. She was certainly a barrel of laughs.
“Alright,” Colette said. “I will go with you but I cannot be long, my family is expecting me.”
The crone passed Colette her basket and led the way off the path and deeper into the woods. Colette followed. As they walked, she looked around, trying to remember the trees she passed so she could later return to the path safely. The crone noticed.
“Don’t worry, dearie. I will bring you back to the path. For now, focus on your footing, it would be a shame if you tripped again. I doubt I would be able to carry you, especially with this weak and brittle body of mine. I’d have to drag you. Ha!”
Colette did exactly as she was told and watched her footing, following a few steps behind the old hag. The crone easily stepped and navigated through the trees.
When Colette paused to catch her breath, she noticed how the crone managed to walk without disturbing any of the fallen leaves and branches, she moved as silently as a ghost. Colette wished she had such talents, if she did, she could sneak up on her ginger cat, who was called Ginger, and give her a fright.
The crone’s house was at the bottom of a steep hill and nestled between some trees. Colette doubted anyone would be able to find it unless the crone showed them the way.
Inside, the house was as dark as a cave even though there was still daylight outside. It took some time for Colette’s eyes to finally settle to the darkness so she could see what was inside.
Filth covered the place, it was like a fog over the windows, making it almost impossible to see out. Dirty clothes lay everywhere. Colette doubted the house had ever been cleaned, she would have been surprised to find a bar of soap.
Strangely, by the door, there was a pile of shoes, shoes that were too small for the crone’s feet. A pair of blue slippers stuck out from the pile.
Colette saw a small fire burning in the fireplace. Above the fire, there was a dirty cauldron. Colette had a quick peek, the pot was almost empty apart from some small meat remains. The entire house smelled of something rancid and the smell clung to her stomach, unsettling her breakfast. She did not want to upset or insult the crone by covering her nose so she did her best to breathe through her mouth.
“Up, up, up,” the crone patted the kitchen table. “Sit here so I can tend to your wounds.”
Colette did as she was told. She dangled her legs over the edge of the table while the crone collected some bandages. As she waited, Colette looked up and noticed on the shelves there were dozens of dirty jars, all filled with dark liquids. In one jar, Colette saw it was filled with bones.
Small bones.
Colette supposed the crone liked to collect and keep things. She was probably a hoarder. It was the only explanation for her strange array of objects around the house.
The crone brought a bowl of water and dabbed Colette’s knees with a wet cloth. Colette winced, she tried to pull away but the crone held her knee still, in a hard, firm grip.
“Be still, dearie. I must clean it or it will become infected. We wouldn’t want you to become sick now, would we?” The crone grinned. Colette noticed some pink meat stuck between the hag’s teeth. Rather than embarrass the old woman, Colette smiled sweetly and said nothing. The crone sighed,
“You were lucky I found you or you would have had to limp all the way home. A fox or a wolf could have caught your scent and gobbled you up.”
“I feel very lucky. Some people might have ignored me,” said Colette. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
“Oh,” the crone tried to resist another sharp grin. “Aren’t you a lovely little thing?”
Colette smiled, she looked around the house as the crone patted some ointment onto her knees. It smelled like vinegar and made Colette’s eyes water, she tried to distract herself as she asked,
“Do you live out here alone?”
“Yes.”
“You must get awfully lonely!” Colette gasped.
“Aw, I don’t mind my own company. You know it’s surprising how many visitors I get. So many people get lost in the woods. I’m only glad I find them before they suffer an accident.” The crone looked through a box to find a clean bandage. She watched Colette in the corner of her eye, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you walk through these woods before.”
“Really?” Colette said, surprised. “I come through quite often. My sister walks through these woods all the time.”
“Your sister?” The crone’s eyes flashed. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Only one. She is younger than me. She is my most precious friend.”
“That’s sweet,” the crone tapped a finger on Colette’s raw knee. Although it was uncomfortable, Colette did not drop her smile. The crone nodded, “I have a sister too. Actually, I have seven. They live in these woods but I rarely see them. They like to keep to themselves.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Sometimes,” the crone mused.
“Hopefully you will see them all again soon,” Colette gasped, excitedly. “You could have a family reunion!”
“Mmm, while it is a nice thought, my sisters and I have a habit of fighting. When we were children, we were like dogs fighting over scrapped meat,” the crone chuckled, her eyes seemed to drift off like she was remembering an old memory. She shook her head and started to wrap the bandages around Colette’s knees. Her eyes flicked up to the girl, “Anyway, I will certainly have to meet your sister one day.”
“I’m sure she would love to meet you,” Colette grinned, showing her white teeth.
The crone smirked, her eyes looked over Colette’s young and innocent face.
“How old are you, sweet creature?”
“How old do you think I am?” Colette asked, playfully.
“Oh, I have a very good knack at guessing,” the crone leaned in closer and stared into the girl’s eyes. “With clear skin and such innocent eyes, I imagine you’re eight years old.”
“Very close.” Colette giggled. “It was my ninth birthday three days ago.”
The crone grinned. She seemed very happy with Colette’s answer. As the crone finished wrapping the bandages around her knees, Colette noticed the crone’s fingers were dry with blood, her blood, and yet she did not seem to mind. Colette’s mother could not stand the sight of blood, it always made her faint.
“You know what? I’m feeling somewhat ravenous,” the crone popped her finger in her mouth. Colette grimaced. Had the crone not realised her fingers were filthy? The crone seemed to savour the taste, “I must eat something before I start gnawing my own finger. I can’t remember the last time I ate fresh meat.”
“Oh,” Colette said, loudly. She reached for her basket and pulled away the cloth, revealing her delicious pies. “I made these pies with my own two hands. They’re meat pies and fresh. Please, have one.”
The crone’s nose wrinkled at the smell of the pastry.
“Oh, dearie,” she sounded like she was going to puke. “It would be unfair of me to take one of your pies, especially when I can see you’ve worked so hard to make them.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I made plenty and you were so kind to help me today,” Colette moved her legs and felt the bandages unwind slightly. She kept still, she did not want the crone to feel ashamed for not bandaging her cuts properly.
Colette held the basket to the crone.
“I want to repay you. Please, just try one, if you don’t like it, I’ll help you make something else to eat. My mother says I can make anything tasty.”
“I’m sure you can,” the crone smiled. Her gaze crawled over Colette before landing on the basket, she grimaced, “Very well! I’ll try one pie.” She took out a pie, the pastry flaked off between her nails, “But, only one, I must watch my figure!”
She cackled and took a small nibble of the pie. Her face flickered with surprise and she took another nibble, then a bite and then gobbled the rest of the pie in barely five bites. Crumbs covered her front and she took another pie without asking. She chewed deeply through the pastry and the meat, her eyes glowed brightly.
“Are they delicious?” Colette asked, holding out the basket for the crone to take two more pies. She ate them simultaneously.
“They are delicious!” The crone exclaimed, “I’ve never eaten a pie this good before. The meat is scrumptious and the juices are like fine wine.”
“I’m glad,” Colette giggled. She watched the crone eat for a moment before she uttered, “I’m glad your sisters taste so good.”
The crone stopped. She blinked, not sure she heard the little girl correctly. She looked at Colette who was smiling at her with the sweetest of smiles.
“What did you say?”
“I said...” Colette’s smile did not move. “I’m glad you like the taste of your sisters. I put them in the pies, especially for you.”
The crone stilled. Her body froze like a winter’s chill had brushed against her skin and her eyes dropped to the pie in her hands. She eyed the large chunks of meat sticking out of the pastry. It could not be possible, she thought to herself, her hands shuddered and the contents of her stomach churned.
Suddenly in the folds of the meat, she could see a shape that looked like bone, she fished it out. Her eyes widened at the sharp tooth in her fingers, the tooth looked exactly like her own. The crone froze, unable to move or breathe.
“I lied to you before,” Colette said, her sweet voice was gone. “I said I have a sister but I don’t. Not anymore. She died a couple of years ago.”
Colette placed a cloth from her basket beside her and brought out each of the pies for the crone to see, one by one.
“My little sister and I used to skip and sing through these woods because that’s what children do. We’re innocent creatures. One day when I was ill in bed, she went out into the woods alone and never came home. My father searched and searched for her but he never found her. He said a witch had eaten her. I said, why would a witch eat my precious little sister? He said, that’s what witches do, they eat little children who venture out alone in the woods. I thought, how cruel and unfair for such mean creatures to prey on innocent children. I must do something about it.”
Colette hopped down from the table. She took an apron out from her basket and tied it around herself and tied up her lovely curls into a bun. She took a handkerchief and wiped her face, removing powder and revealing spots.
The crone could see without a doubt this girl was not nine. She was older, at least twelve or thirteen. The girl’s voice, appearance and persona was a trick, a trap, and the crone had fallen for it. Colette continued,
“So I went out into the woods alone. I sang and skipped until I suddenly tripped and hurt myself. Thankfully, a kind old woman appeared to help me. She was so kind, just like you.” Colette's eyes flicked towards the crone. “She tended to my legs and offered to give me a bed for the night. I gladly accepted but when she turned away, I lopped off her head.”
The crone was silent.
Colette chuckled, “It sounds cruel when I say it like that, especially when she offered me her bed for the night. But I knew her true intentions. She was a witch. She was going to eat me so I had to kill her first.”
Colette straightened the pies on the table, making sure each pie was in line and level.
“The first witch I met was your sister, Grizelle.” The crone’s eyes widened in horror as Colette said, “I knew she wasn’t the one who gobbled my sister but I had the perfect plan for the witch who had. I hacked Grizelle into pieces and I did the same with every witch who crossed my path. I made them all into pies and, in time, my basket became heavier and heavier.”
Colette picked out seven pieces of paper and placed them before each pie. Each piece of paper read a name. The crone shuddered and shivered at each name she read.
Colette moved towards the door and looked down at the pile of shoes. She stared hard at the dirty blue slippers she had caught sight of earlier. Beneath the dirt, they were the same periwinkle shoes she wore on her feet. Colette watched the witch in the corner of her eye, she asked without a drop of compassion.
“Tell me. What did you think of your sister Grizelle? Was she delicious?”
Suddenly, the witch vomited, the chewed chunks of pie splattered all over the wooden floor. Colette stepped back, protecting her precious shoes. The girl stared at the witch.
“Hmm, the idea of eating sweet, little children is fine but eating your own sisters makes you sick.” Colette reached into her basket and tightened her hand around a handle. “Calm yourself. You still have so many pies to try.”
The witch’s face turned with disgust and her eyes flew alight with rage.
“You twisted little child!” She shrieked, she clenched her claws and sprung towards Colette, “I’m going to kill y--”
The cleaver hit the witch’s throat. Blood spurted out, covering Colette’s face and clothes but thankfully not her periwinkle slippers. The witch twitched, her eyes flickered with pain as she looked at the cleaver and at the girl wielding it. The cleaver was stuck in the bone, she did not dare move.
“I’m no child,” Colette said, coldly. “Thanks to you, I’m probably more witch than child now. Or maybe I’m something worse.”
Colette pressed her foot on the witch’s chest and wrenched the cleaver free. She hacked at the witch, again and again, hacking her into pieces. Even long after the witch was surely dead, she continued hacking. Colette wanted to be sure there was nothing left of the cruel old crone.
When Colette finished, she took off her bloodied apron and left it on the table with her pies; she didn’t need them anymore.
Before she left, Colette retrieved her sister’s periwinkle shoes and held them close. She closed the door and walked all the home, without a single skip in her step.