Three Witch Tales

by Ruth Chew

  Sandy and Janet finished eating their sandwiches and left the apartment.

  “That’s funny.” Sandy looked at the back window of the Witch’s house. “The two boards are still off.”

  “Betsy was after Silas to nail them back,” Janet said. “He’s had plenty of time to do it.”

  Sandy grabbed Janet by the arm. “Listen!”

  They could hear loud footsteps inside the house. A door banged. Then there was a crash. Someone said something in a harsh voice. It sounded like Silas.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go in right now,” Janet said. “It sounds as if they’re having a fight.”

  The big yard of the old house was overgrown with weeds. Sandy and Janet crouched down in them. A moment later someone banged off another board from the kitchen window. Silas came bursting out. His wide-brimmed hat fell off his head. He had to stoop over to pick it up.

  Janet and Sandy held their breath. Silas was very tall now. His clothes were black, and his face was red and angry. “Don’t worry, sister dear, I’ll find the rest of your buttons,” he said. He didn’t seem to be talking to himself, but the girls couldn’t see anyone else. Silas stamped through the weeds to the front of the house. They saw him turn and go down the street toward Church Avenue.

  “I’m glad he’s gone,” Janet said. “Now let’s talk to Witch Betsy. By the way, Sandy, why are we hiding? We’re invisible.”

  “Oh,” Sandy said. “I forgot.”

  They stepped over the windowsill into the kitchen. It was much easier to get into the house now that Silas had knocked off another board.

  The fire had gone out under the big pot. Sunlight poured into the kitchen through the unboarded window. The big room looked quite different.

  Janet led the way out of the kitchen. They found themselves in a hall with a room on each side of it. They peeked through the doorways. The rooms were furnished with plain, old-fashioned furniture. One room was a parlor. The other was a dining room. They were covered with dust and cobwebs as if nobody ever used them anymore. Both rooms had fireplaces, but they looked as if nobody had made a fire in them for many years.

  A big staircase led up from the hall near the front door. Janet put her hand on the bannister. It wobbled. She started up the stairs, one step at a time, listening for any sound upstairs. On the landing she stopped and waited for Sandy to catch up with her.

  “Maybe we ought to call the Witch,” Sandy said. “Even if we are invisible, I’m not sure I want to surprise her. She might do something she’d be sorry for later. Remember what she did to Silas.”

  Janet nodded, forgetting that Sandy couldn’t see her nod. She swallowed once. Then she called in a low voice, “Betsy!”

  No answer.

  Now Sandy called, louder, “Betsy, please come out. You can’t see us, but we’re on the stairs. We want to talk to you.”

  Still no answer. The girls went upstairs. There was a sudden rustle and the sound of scurrying feet. Something ran across the upstairs hall and into one of the rooms. Janet jumped. Then she laughed. “It’s only a mouse.”

  There were four rooms opening off the hall. Sandy and Janet peeked into all of them. They looked as if a frantic search had been going on. Chairs were overturned. Drawers were pulled out onto the floor. The covers had been yanked off the beds. The girls couldn’t see the Witch anywhere.

  Sandy opened a door in the corner of the back bedroom. She found a narrow stair. With Janet close behind her, holding onto her jacket, Sandy went down the steps. When she opened the door at the bottom they walked into the kitchen.

  “Now what do we do?” Janet asked.

  Sandy walked over to the big pot. She leaned over it and sniffed. “It smells like nail polish remover.”

  There was a small blue bottle with a cork in it on a shelf above the fireplace. Sandy uncorked the bottle and dipped it into the pot. She filled it to the brim and stuffed the cork back. Then she put the bottle into the pocket of her jeans.

  “Nail polish remover is good for all sorts of things,” she said. “Did you know it will take off the stickum left by a Band-Aid?”

  “I can’t stand the smell of nail polish remover,” Janet said. She dipped her finger into the pot and then looked at it. “It doesn’t work either.”

  “Of course not,” Sandy told her. “It’s cold. Are there any matches here?”

  “Witch Betsy probably rubs two sticks together to make a fire,” Janet said.

  “No, she doesn’t.” Sandy held up a box of wooden kitchen matches. “We’re in luck, but even with these I’m not sure I can get a fire started.”

  There was a box of wood in one corner of the kitchen. Janet had spent two weeks at Girl Scout Camp last summer. She showed Sandy how to make a fire without newspaper.

  Sandy watched with interest. She couldn’t see Janet at all, and the sticks of wood seemed to move by themselves. Soon the fire was crackling. As it burned higher, the brew in the big iron pot started to bubble. Then a pale gray steam began to rise from it.

  Moments later the steam had turned pink, then violet, then blue. With the loud hiss they remembered, the pot poured forth bright green steam.

  “I think it’s ready,” Janet said in a shaky voice, “but I don’t want to get into that pot. Suppose something went wrong? I’d be boiled alive.”

  Sandy took a long-handled spoon from a hook over the fireplace. She dipped the spoon into the brew and splashed a drop onto the back of her hand, just as she did when she tested the baby’s milk. When the drop of brew touched her hand it made a little popping sound. The liquid felt cool.

  “Oh, Janet, look!” Sandy said. “It works!” She held up her hand. A little pink round spot of Sandy was visible.

  “I don’t care,” Janet said. “I’m not going to mess around with that stuff.”

  “It’s not hot, Janet. Feel it.” Sandy dipped the spoon into the pot and splashed a large spoonful of the brew in the direction of Janet’s voice.

  There was a crackling like a string of firecrackers going off. Suddenly parts of Janet were visible. Sandy could see a bit of Janet’s red jacket, the bottom half of her left ear, part of a shoelace, and one angry eye.

  “Warn me before you do that again,” Janet said. “You’re wasting the brew this way, Sandy. If we run out of it, I’ll be a walking jigsaw puzzle.”

  “You’re right, Janet,” Sandy said. “We’d better just get into the pot.” She closed her mouth and squinched her eyes shut. “Here goes.” Sandy stepped into the steaming brew.

  Bang! The room was filled with black smoke. Janet didn’t know whether to cough or to scream. She decided not to do either. Seconds later she watched Sandy come dripping but visible out of the brew.

  Janet took a deep breath and stepped into the pot.

  Sandy was home in plenty of time for supper. Her mother looked very happy. She opened the door and gave Sandy a hug.

  “Did you have a good day, Sandy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “I like Janet Kramer.”

  “Maybe she’ll come over tonight and keep you company when you baby-sit. I know it isn’t fair to ask you to do it two nights in a row, but the Thompsons asked us over. We haven’t been to see them in ages.”

  Sandy walked into the house and closed the front door. Her mother went on talking. “You and Janet can bake cookies if you want to.”

  “Oh, could I, Mother? That would be great.” Sandy loved to cook.

  “I’ll ask Janet’s mother to let her spend the night.” Mrs. James walked over to the telephone. “What’s her number?”

  Sandy told her mother Janet’s telephone number. She took off her jacket and went to hang it in the hall closet.

  When she came back her mother was humming and setting the table. “Janet is coming over for supper,” Mrs. James said. “Shall we use the good china?”

  Supper was like a party. Both Sandy’s father and Janet told jokes. Lisa sat in her high chair and chewed on a piece of zwieback and didn’t scream even once.


  While everybody but Lisa was eating apple pie, Mrs. James said, “I had a piece of good luck this afternoon. A man came to the house selling buttons. Usually I don’t bother with people like that, but he was so strange looking that I felt sorry for him. I don’t think he was quite right in the head. Well, the very first thing he showed me was exactly what I need for the snowsuit I made for Lisa. It’s a bit like that button Janet gave you, Sandy. Just think, the poor man only wanted to charge me a penny. I gave him a quarter for it.”

  “Is that why you were so happy this afternoon, Mother?” Sandy asked. “I’m glad you got a button you like.”

  “Funny thing. The man made me promise to sew the button onto the snowsuit right away. But I just haven’t had the time. I’ll sew it on tomorrow.” Mrs. James poured herself a second cup of coffee.

  When dinner was over, Janet and Sandy started to load the dishwasher.

  “Leave the pans,” Mrs. James said. “I’ll scrub them in the morning.” She carried Lisa upstairs to bed and then went to get her hat and coat. Mr. James was all ready to go. He was waiting for her in the front hall.

  When her parents had gone out, Sandy said, “Lisa ought to start crying any minute now. She just waits for my mother to leave.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Janet said. “Don’t be silly, Sandy. She’s a darling baby.”

  Sandy closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “We’ll sneak upstairs and see if she’s asleep.”

  Silently the two girls crept upstairs to the baby’s room. Mrs. James had left a little lamp on, and the door was open.

  Sandy and Janet heard someone singing a lullaby in a low sweet voice. They peeked into the room. Lisa lay on her stomach in the crib. They could see that her eyes were almost closed. In a moment she would be asleep.

  The new snowsuit was on top of the dresser. Right beside it stood a little figure.

  Her clothes weren’t black anymore, and she seemed to be made of bone. But there was no doubt who it was. Witch Betsy was singing the baby to sleep.

  Sandy opened her mouth to say something. Witch Betsy saw her and put her finger to her lips. Lisa’s eyelashes fluttered and then lay still on her cheeks. The baby was asleep.

  Betsy walked to the edge of the dresser and looked down. It was a long way to the floor. She held out her arms the way Lisa did when she wanted to be picked up. Janet tiptoed into the room and gently lifted the little Witch. She carried her downstairs.

  Sandy walked over to the crib to make sure that her sister was all right. Lisa seemed to be having a happy dream. She smiled in her sleep.

  Sandy had read stories about witches who stole babies. When she went downstairs she found Janet in the kitchen. Witch Betsy was sitting on the edge of the table, swinging her legs.

  “You must like babies a lot to turn yourself into a button for a baby’s snowsuit,” Sandy said to the Witch.

  “I don’t like babies any more than you do,” Betsy said. “Babies like to be sung to, and I like to sing. Anyway, I didn’t turn myself into a button. That copycat little brother of mine did it to me.”

  “Is Silas a witch too?” Sandy asked.

  “Not a good one,” Witch Betsy said. “He never thinks up his own spells, but he sometimes remembers mine.”

  “How did he turn you into a button?” Janet asked.

  “I’d better not tell you,” the Witch said. “It’s so easy you might want to try it. The hard part is turning a button back into a person.”

  “But you don’t seem to mind being a button,” Sandy said.

  Betsy climbed up onto the rim of a small saucepan that was on the table. Holding her arms out, she balanced herself like a tight-rope walker. “In some ways it’s fun,” the Witch said. “But once I’m sewn onto something I won’t be able to move. I’ll be just like any other button.” Betsy balanced herself for a few steps. Suddenly she jumped down onto the tabletop. She stretched herself out on her stomach and buried her face in her hands. Her tiny shoulders shook. The Witch was crying.

  Sandy couldn’t bear it. “Don’t cry,” she said. “I’m sure we can do something to help you.”

  “Of course we can, Sandy,” Janet said. “We can take Betsy back to her house and drop her into the pot of brew.”

  The Witch stopped crying. She sat up and wiped her eyes on the hem of her skirt. “You have to be careful of Silas,” she said. “The way I am I wouldn’t be able to help you. And what would we do if Silas turned both of you into buttons?”

  Sandy was very quiet. She knew just how to help the Witch. But she remembered how happy her mother was to have the right button for Lisa’s snowsuit. No matter what Sandy did, someone was going to be unhappy.

  Sandy thought hard. She tried to imagine what it would be like for Betsy to be sewn onto the snowsuit and not to be able to move—or sing.

  Sandy pulled the little blue bottle out of her pocket. She uncorked it and poured the brew into the little saucepan on the table. The smell of nail polish remover filled the room.

  Witch Betsy clapped her hands and danced a jig on the tabletop. She watched as Sandy put the saucepan on the stove and turned on the burner.

  Soon the magic brew bubbled. The steam began to change color. Sandy picked up the Witch and got ready to drop her into the saucepan.

  “Sandy, stop!” Janet yelled. “You don’t want a full-sized witch on top of your stove!”

  Sandy put the pan from the apple pie on the floor. She set the Witch in the middle of it and poured the steaming brew over her.

  There wasn’t enough brew to make a very loud bang when Sandy poured it over the Witch. But it was loud enough to wake the baby. Before the black smoke cleared Lisa started to cry. Sandy ran out of the kitchen and hurried upstairs.

  Lisa had rolled over onto her back. She was reaching out her arms toward the dresser top and howling. Sandy thought that it wasn’t just her mother who would miss the magic button. Lisa missed it already.

  Sandy picked up the baby and started to walk back and forth with her. Usually this made Lisa stop crying. Now she only screamed louder.

  “Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree-top,” a sweet voice sang. Lisa stopped crying and turned her head to see where the voice came from.

  Betsy, dressed in black and back to her usual size, had come into the room. Janet was right behind her.

  “I see what you mean about that baby, Sandy,” Janet said. “I never thought anybody so small could make so much noise.”

  “She wants the magic button,” Sandy explained.

  Betsy stopped singing. “I never thought of that.” She frowned. “Well, I can’t spend all my time singing to your sister, Sandy. I have to go home and take care of my buttons. Silas found most of them, but I hid the best ones. I know he’s going to keep on looking for them. Silas is such a nuisance.”

  “Turn him back into a button,” Janet suggested.

  “Can’t,” the Witch said. “The spell only works once.”

  “If that’s how it is,” Janet said, “Silas can’t turn you into a button anymore either.”

  Betsy smiled. “No, he can’t.”

  Sandy was still walking up and down with the baby. Lisa had forgotten the button. She liked having people around her. The baby began to feel heavy to Sandy. She put her back into the crib. Lisa let out a yowl.

  Janet leaned over Lisa and tickled her. “Let me mind her, Sandy.”

  Betsy straightened one of her gray curls and shook out her full skirt. “I’d better be getting along home. Thank you both for helping me.”

  “I wish you could stay,” Sandy said. “Janet and I are going to make cookies.”

  “Cookies?” the Witch said. “I haven’t made cookies since Silas and I moved from Salem. Maybe I will stay.”

  The pie pan was still on the kitchen floor. Most of the brew had steamed away. Sandy picked up the pie pan and set it on the kitchen table.

  Janet put Lisa in her high chair so she could watch what was going on. Then Janet began to look through the cookbook.
Sandy got out the flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. She turned on the oven and took a cookie sheet and two cookie cutters out of the cupboard.

  Betsy was looking at everything in the kitchen. “Where’s your rolling pin?” she asked.

  “I use a soda bottle,” Sandy said. She took one out of the refrigerator and handed it to the Witch.

  Betsy began to sing, “Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me. I’m a gingerbread man!”

  Janet had found a recipe she liked. The girls mixed the dough and rolled it between two sheets of waxed paper. Then they cut it into shapes with the cookie cutters. Sandy made rabbits, and Janet made stars.

  Betsy gathered up the scraps that were left from the rabbits and stars. She pounded them into a little ball and dipped it into the pie pan. Then she pinched and squeezed it.

  Sandy and Janet laid their cookies on the cookie sheet. Sandy put it into the oven. Just before she closed the oven door, Betsy stuck her lump of dough on one corner of the cookie sheet.

  “Nail polish remover—ick!” Janet whispered to Sandy. “Remind me not to eat that one.”

  Betsy dusted her hands. She looked at the kitchen clock. “I’d better leave before your mother and father come home, Sandy.” She smiled. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Good-bye.” The Witch walked to the front door. Janet and Sandy heard it close behind her.

  Lisa was fast asleep in the high chair. She didn’t wake when Sandy picked her up and carried her upstairs. Janet kept watch over the cookies while Sandy put the baby into her crib.

  When Sandy came back into the kitchen the cookies were nice and brown. Janet opened the oven door. With a pot-holder, Sandy pulled out the cookie sheet. She set it on the table to cool.

  The girls leaned over the cookie sheet to admire their rabbits and stars, but all either of them saw was the cookie the Witch had made. It looked like a button, and it seemed to be made of bone. And it was exactly like Witch Betsy!