Wilde

by Eloise Williams

  Holly, Dorcas, Susan, Jemima and Lewis sit on the ground in shock.

  I breathe in this beautiful place. I’m so sick of hiding. I’m not going to do it anymore. I am never going to hide again.

  ‘I am a witch,’ I shout to the hills and to them. ‘I AM A WITCH.’

  18

  I yank down the colourful pictures and pull the feathers from the window of the treehouse. Kick the walls. Stamp on the cushions. Sink into a corner and bawl. I’m going to escape to the other side of the world today somehow. I was never meant to come here. It was always going to go wrong. That’s why Dad always tried to stop me coming here. That’s why Mae wouldn’t tell me anything more about Mum. The magic is too strong for me to hide it when I’m here.

  One of Dorcas’s paintings has landed by my feet. I uncrumple it and then cry some more. I should have been stronger and kept my weirdness inside. It’s all over now. I’ve ruined everything.

  ‘Wilde.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I must have been crying too much to hear Dorcas arrive.

  She doesn’t say anything. She stays in the doorway, then takes a step towards me, and immediately a step back.

  ‘Oh dear, poor Dorcas. Afraid of me again, are you?’

  The agony makes my words sharp. I squeeze myself further back into the corner. If anyone is afraid here, it’s me.

  Dorcas takes a tentative step inside and then another. Then she kneels down so she’s on my level. The space between us has grown into a gulf and this time I can’t fill it with kind words.

  ‘Wilde. I…’ She licks her lips nervously. ‘I’ve never… We’ve never seen anything like that before. How is it even possible?’

  I have an idea. My only hope. ‘It was a trick. I’ve joined the magic circle. I’ve been practising and it was just a trick.’

  The expression on Dorcas’s face stops me. There’s no point in pretending. I’m done with it.

  ‘It wasn’t a trick. I’m a witch.’

  Dorcas doesn’t run.

  ‘I am but I don’t want to be. I want to be normal like everyone else, but I’m a witch. Always have been. Always will be.’

  She doesn’t respond.

  ‘My mother was a witch. Her mother was a witch before her. The witch called Winter was one of my ancestors. That’s why strange things have been happening since I’ve been here. Weird stuff follows me around. Birds, yes. But there have been more here than anywhere else. I think it’s because I am close to where my family came from. I think Winter has been trying to talk to me somehow. The story about her, it’s not what happened. My mother has been trying to communicate with me, too, I think.’

  I smooth out Dorcas’s painting and prop it up against the wall while I muster the energy to continue.

  ‘The flying is a new thing to me. I didn’t lie to you about that. I just didn’t believe it. Also seeing things in mirrors, glass, water. It’s called scrying. That’s never happened to me before either. That was my mother’s gift.’

  Dorcas is dumbfounded. I’m not surprised. I would be too. I go to speak again but she holds up her hand and I wait, listening to the sounds of summer outside and the hard, low thud of my heart.

  ‘Firstly, that’s the most you’ve spoken in one go ever.’ Her voice is shaky.

  ‘I’m trying to be more like you.’ It’s a poor effort at a joke, and Dorcas stops me again.

  ‘Secondly, I don’t understand. Witches don’t exist, do they? Really? I mean people were accused of witchcraft, but it wasn’t real?’

  ‘It is real. I’ve had to hide it all my life. I lost my temper. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore.’

  ‘So if you lose your temper again?’

  ‘I’ve always managed to control it. The birds. I got them to put you all down, didn’t I?’ This is difficult. I can feel the anger starting to gather and the birds coming towards us. I will them away hard and push my feelings back down deep.

  ‘I don’t know, Wilde. The others are pretty scared. None of them want to come anywhere near you.’

  That stings so sharply I can’t swallow.

  ‘What if you can’t control it? When you’re angry again.’

  ‘I can.’ I shift uncomfortably.

  ‘But what if you can’t?’

  There is an endless silence while I realise how hopeless this all is.

  ‘Are there more of you? Witches?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never met any.’ The crack in my voice stops me for a second. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always been hiding. Perhaps, if there are others, they are doing the same.’ I swallow hard again. ‘Or perhaps I am the only one.’

  Dorcas looks out of the window when I say that. She was my first real, proper friend.

  ‘I’m lonely, Dorcas.’ Those three words fill the world. ‘I’m all alone.’

  She stands. I do the same. I search her face for clues.

  ‘I’m going to go now.’

  I don’t want her to feel bad. It’s not her fault.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Dorcas.’

  She doesn’t reply. Just leaves the treehouse with her head down. My first ever true friend found out what I am and now she is gone. I smooth the rest of her pictures and lay them flat so she can collect them from Mae. Tidy the cushions so they won’t get broken. Straighten the Crow’s Nest sign by the door on my way out.

  When I get to the bottom of the ladder, Dorcas is there waiting. It’s now or never. I need to do this before my chance is gone.

  ‘Dorcas, I need to tell you the story of what really happened to the witch called Winter.’

  19

  They all hate me now. I know they do. I don’t want to talk to anyone ever again.

  I’ll just take my important things and leave the rest. Dad will just have to come back this time. I’ll go back to our yellow flat by the sea and get the emergency key from Sam next door. I can get a train to Swansea and then a bus along the sea front to Mumbles. It’s fine. I’ll let Mae know when I get there. I don’t want to worry her with my problems when her business is struggling and she’s so stressed out.

  I pack in my bedroom. I’ve brought my stuff in from the treehouse. Mae’s out somewhere. I wrap my seagull skull in tissue paper. I’ll fix it when I get home.

  Birds have always been important to me. There was the nightingale that sang me to sleep when I was little; the robin who came to my windowsill at my last school; and the jackdaws, owls, jays, starlings, kites and crows who are always around. They are my protectors.

  ‘Sorry, Mum. I tried.’ I put her photo inside the Shakespeare book next to one of her favourite sonnets and zip my new backpack up.

  I push a squeaky floorboard with my toe to hear it protest for the last time and smooth the glass of the mirror, wondering if the shadows inside can see me as I can see them.

  ‘Goodbye, room.’ I stop in the doorway. ‘And thank you.’

  There’s a noise outside. A loud noise. People. The mob. I drop my case, not even thinking about the clasp, and look out.

  The whole town. All the children and adults are coming for me. I can’t escape. They are pouring into the garden. Blocking all the exits. I look at the skylight. I don’t want to, but I’ll go that way if I have to.

  ‘Wilde!’

  I turn. Ready to fight.

  ‘What on earth is the matter with you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

  The witch window is behind me and I can fly sideways to get out if I need to. Any witch could. I know who I am now and what powers I have.

  ‘What is it, Wilde? You are white as a sheet.’

  ‘My sheets are blue.’

  ‘It’s a saying. But, actually, it doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘Nothing makes sense.’ I can hear the mob behind me. They are shouting and laughing. Laughing? I’ll make them laugh on the other side of their faces.

  ‘They’ve moved your class play to our garden. The temperature in the school hall is too high and the classrooms are filled with birds. T
here are birds everywhere. It’s the heat, driven them mad. They won’t let people get in.’

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to move.

  ‘Come on, Wilde. Snap out of it. Something tells me this was meant to be, that’s why I’m allowing it. Also, I don’t want your project to be spoiled even if it is about witches.’

  I am frozen to the spot.

  ‘We need to get cracking because there’s a storm forecast and you know how people feel about lightning here. I’ve told them they can use the garden as long as I can have a hand in running their next project. They’ve agreed. The garden is going to be a theatre again! Isn’t that wonderful?’ Mae jumps up and down with excitement.

  I look out of the window. People are spreading blankets on the grass and sitting down. Unpacking picnics. Patting the animals. Smelling the flowers. Eating sandwiches and chatting. A couple have brought wishful raincoats and are staring hopefully at the sky. It feels like the whole town is there, but they don’t look vicious. They’ve come for a celebration.

  My class are all crowded around the tree discussing something. I bet it’s me. They’ll wait until they have everyone’s attention and then they’ll tell the whole audience what I am. Right there, where my mum stood. In my garden.

  Right. I’ll play their game and, when the moment comes, I’ll show them just what a witch can do.

  ‘I’ll come down with you now.’ I push my case closer to the door, where I can collect it easily when I need to, and follow Mae downstairs. She chit-chats the whole way but I don’t listen. I plan how I will teach them a lesson. How dare they come here into my mum’s theatre to get revenge against me? How dare they?

  When I get into the garden, dark clouds have begun to gather on the horizon. The audience are oblivious. All smiles and anticipation. They’ll get a show alright.

  Jemima comes towards me and I stand my ground.

  She says, ‘We’ve changed the casting. You have to play the role of Winter because you are a witch.’ She grabs my wrist and drags me towards the stage. I shake myself free and am glad when she’s too afraid to try to snatch me again. I will go on the stage and give everyone a spectacle they will never forget.

  Gwyneth Fox-Rutherford sits in a chair with DIRECTOR written on it in large letters right at the front. She has a bandage on her foot.

  ‘Turns out I broke a bone. I fear the play will be much less effective without my brilliance treading the boards, but you and the others shall have to overcome. The show must go on, after all.’

  I will play a condemned witch. How ironic. I feel the birds stretch their wings in preparation. They have brought people here for a reason. High in the hills they wait. Circling the windmill, soaring above the Falls of Snow, bringing the darkness with them, they wait. I’ll play the role of Winter, but this time the witch won’t be going to the gallows.

  I look at the others as I make my way to the stage, but not one of them dares to meet my eye. The fairy lights twinkle and star the boughs and the windows of the treehouse. In other circumstances this would be beautiful. Not now.

  I stand centre stage, in Winter’s spot, as the story begins to unfold around me. I stare straight out at the people of this town. The ones whose ancestors turned on Winter. The ones whose forefathers condemned her.

  The woman who gives me extra grated cheese at lunch in Witch Point Primary is bouncing a baby on her knee. Mr Ricketts is standing at the back so he can get a really good view. He is trying to flatten his quiff and laughing, so I know he can’t be ill anymore. Mae and Jules are standing at the side, putting their thumbs up to me and patting Denzel the dog. Mrs Danvers has her own seat in the front row. Year Five are here on blankets and deckchairs. The other classes are making faces at my class.

  ‘This is the story of the witch called Winter.’ I’m astounded to see Susan taking the opening line. ‘She was a terrible witch. A hideous hag who cast a horrible spell to disguise herself.’

  ‘This is the story of how she came into our home and tricked us all.’ Holly’s voice rings out clear and loud against the excited hubbub.

  ‘She decided to come into my house and steal my seven daughters away.’ Lewis brandishes his axe high above his head like a warrior.

  The executioner comes towards me and takes down their hood. It’s Jemima, of course.

  ‘No.’ I say it quietly the first time. ‘No.’

  ‘Only this time the story is going to be told in a different way.’ Jemima’s voice shakes with nerves. I am confused.

  Dorcas walks forward and stands on the other side of me.

  ‘It’s time to put the story right. To put everything right.’

  Susan hands me a note. I open it with trembling hands and read to myself.

  ‘We, the undersigned, have agreed to give you a chance. Not because we couldn’t have you locked up forever for what you did to us at the waterfall, because we could, (especially if I was the lawyer – Jemima) but because Dorcas told us what really happened to Winter and we think the truth should be told. We don’t like it when things are unfair even if they happened a long time ago. The rest of the class don’t know what you are, or why we are changing things, but Jemima has told them she’s annoyed she didn’t get a main part and to improvise as we go along.

  If you lift the curse, we will never tell what happened because it is Year Six code. We will never tell our other classmates (not even Ivy – Holly). We will never tell anyone. The choice is yours.

  Jemima. Dorcas. Susan. Lewis. Holly.

  P.S. I don’t think anyone would believe what happened even if we did tell them – Dorcas.

  P.P.S. I really am annoyed I didn’t get a main part – Jemima.

  P.P.P.S. Please don’t kill us – Lewis.

  Everyone looks at me. I find my voice. It’s strong.

  ‘This is the real story of what happened to the witch called Winter.’

  20

  ‘There have been too many witch hunts in Witch Point.’

  I don’t like being on a stage, but this story needs me to tell it.

  ‘One of the most famous was the witch called Winter.’

  Maybe this is a trap of some kind, but I am going to tell this story if it’s the last thing I ever do.

  ‘There was a cottage in the woods.’

  The others all run to the side of the stage and leave me alone. I dig deep inside and find the courage to continue.

  ‘An orphan girl found herself in the cold forest, alone and without food.’

  Dorcas comes back on holding the elaborate moon on a stick from the Midsummer Night’s Dream costumes which we found in the attic. She shines a torch at it so it gleams.

  ‘Finding a cottage in the woods, she asked them to give her some scraps.’

  Lewis comes on holding his axe and the cardboard wall from the attic. Mae must have let them have all the props she and my mum made.

  ‘Because the girl was so grateful to the woodcutter and his wife for taking her in, she did everything she could to help them and their seven daughters.’

  Some of the class hold up golden wands so they look like stars. Some shine lights on the flimsy stars which were hanging in the attic and now hang from the tree.

  ‘Soon after she arrived, the seven sisters became jealous because she was getting attention from their parents. Also, Winter was gifted. She could grow flowers anywhere.’

  Jemima starts singing and signals to the rest of the class. The others rush on and fill the stage with the flowers that have been saved at the back of the house. It’s so beautiful I can feel my lip quiver, but I have to concentrate. I’m starting to believe that they might be on my side.

  ‘She could calm fierce animals, tell the future in water, birds came to her wherever she went. The kinder Winter was, the more the sisters grew jealous.’

  One of the girls comes in wearing a lion mask and Cai comes on wearing the donkey’s head from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He’s can’t see where he’s going because the ears are so far over the eye
holes and someone leads him across to meet Duran Duran, the real donkey. This gets loads of laughs from the audience. And a smile from me.

  ‘Winter had been to many places and brought stories of the outside. The seven sisters had never been anywhere, and they wanted to escape. The sisters hatched a plan. If their parents loved Winter so much, they could have her to themselves. They would go and leave her behind.’

  The clouds are knitting themselves thicker in the sky. My voice is clear. I will get to the end of this story and then tell the whole town that I am a witch too. I can do this.

  ‘One day, snow began to fall.’ I look up to see Lewis shaking pieces of confetti over me. He waves and the confetti wobbles and spills a bit. ‘Winter, who loved nature and the beauty of snow, called them out to see the intricate patterns of the snowflakes. This suited their plan perfectly. They had stored some supplies behind the Falls of Snow waterfall and they led Winter there.’

  Jemima directs the class with more gestures. We are so used to improvising now. They move to sit and listen at the side of the stage. Gwyneth looks baffled but interested. Elvis the duck sits on her lap as if he’s preventing her from moving.

  ‘When they arrived, they told her they were going to leave. She tried to stop them, and they fought. Overpowering her, because there were seven of them, they tied her up and left her behind the waterfall. As they left, the waterfall froze over, leaving her trapped by a cage of ice. One of the sisters, who wasn’t quite as bad as the others, left her some food.’