The Witch and the Voice

A candle.
Photo by cottonbro on

It was a long narrow street lined with lush oak trees and colourful terrace houses on each side. The voice noted there were no gardens, just paved driveway and big wheelie bins. The air was cold and fragrant with life. People, actual living people, strolled leisurely on the pavements, talking to each other, smiling, laughing.

The sky was clear without a cloud in side and the sun shining. The voice find a hidden spot behind an oak tree. A squirrel snarled in the voice’s direction.

At the first the voice wasn’t sure, but the squirrel threw an object, seemingly an acorn, in the voice’s direction. It swished past the voice. Then several others, until the voice moved. Surely the squirrel couldn’t see the voice? But to make sure the voice moved to another tree. The same thing inside.

Inside a room in one of the houses, a witch watched, through a broken glass wind, the squirrels attack the invisible voice. The room was bare but for a severed head dangling from ceiling. The head of her former lover. The lover the voice killed.

She shivered with cold and delight. Her day had finally come. It was time. Finally time.

Outside, the voice found a wall, and behind it metamorphosised into a human form. First a head, then it’s features, a torso, limbs and finally feet. It was a naked man.

A woman on the street, looked at him and pointed, screaming. ‘There a naked man hiding in the bushes.’

The voice began to run. At first he stumbled, unused to using limbs for it had been a very long time. He ran and ran. A naked man down the street. Passersby stared at him. More screams, more shouts.

‘Here, in here,’ grunted a rough voice. A door held wide and voice slipped in.

It was the witch.

‘We meet again, voice, and perhaps for the last time.’

The end

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