A/N: Guess the witch.
Slightly shorter than my usual length. [2.5kwords]
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We'd been on the road for a few miles — hills rolling behind us like waves of grass, and the dirt path turning rockier as it wound through a narrow vale between steep ridges. Puss walked ahead of me now, arms behind his back and tail swishing, while Valor followed at a slow trot, his hooves crunching on pebbles.
"Are we lost?" I asked, nudging Valor to catch up to the pacing feline.
"Lost?" Puss scoffed. "Pfft. I never get lost. I merely wander off-course with style."
"I see. Well, your stylish wandering better lead us to a place with soup. My stomach is planning a rebellion."
"And my paws are writing protest songs," he muttered.
That's when we saw a village—just over the next ridge.
The village looked like it had been plucked out of a ghost story. Half the buildings were sagging, their wood bleached and cracked by time. A crooked fence ran along one side, barely standing, and the trees that surrounded the village leaned in like curious eavesdroppers.
Crows circled above, not the friendly kind either. The kind that watched you like they were watching easy prey. As soon as we entered, the reaction was immediate.
Doors slammed shut. Windows were pulled down with rusted shutters.
A child playing with a stick dropped it and bolted into his home without so much as a peep. A few goats bleated nervously and retreated into a barn as if they too had learned better.
"…Friendly bunch," I muttered.
Puss unsheathed a claw. "Something stinks here."
"It's probably Valor," I joked.
Valor snorted behind me, clearly offended.
We would've assumed the village was abandoned if not for the one figure who remained in plain view — a hunched old woman standing on the far side of the dirt path, right at the village's edge. Her back was bent like the limb of a willow, her hands clutching a twisted walking stick.
Her face was a map of a hundred years of stories, skin as thin as paper, and her white hair fell in a single braid down her back. But her eyes—those were sharp. They followed us with interest.
"Do we talk to her?" I whispered. Puss scratched his chin. "Either she is brave, cursed, or already a ghost."
"Let's go with brave."
We made our way toward her. She didn't move. She just watched us with that silent stillness older folks seem to master, like she'd already guessed every word I was about to say.
"Good evening," I greeted with a smile. "My name's Camden, this here's Puss in Boots, and we were hoping we could find a place to rest for the night."
The old woman blinked slowly, then smiled. "Been a long while since strangers asked so kindly," she said in a voice like dry leaves. "Follow me, boy. My home's just at the edge of the forest. You'll be safe there."
Puss tugged my cloak. "You sure about this?"
"No," I muttered, "but I'm tired, hungry, and she hasn't cursed me yet."
We followed her down a winding trail leading just outside the village. Her house looked as weathered as the others, but had a certain cozy charm to it. Flower pots lined the windows, herbs hung from the porch roof, and warm light flickered from the inside.
Inside, the smell was instantly welcoming — stewed vegetables, honey, cinnamon, and fresh bread. It was dimly lit with oil lamps and a crackling fire, and the furniture was hand-carved and covered in knitted throws. There was even a small cat bed in the corner that Puss refused to acknowledge.
"Sit, sit," the old woman insisted, already pulling out bowls. "I'm called Granny Marelda. You've come a long way."
We settled in. The food was simple but delicious. Stew, bread, soft cheeses, and even some sugary sweets wrapped in paper. "This is… really nice," I said, mouth full. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome," she said with a smile. "Travelers are rare these days."
"Because of the creepy crows?" I offered. She chuckled softly. "No. Because of the witch."
I leaned forward. "There's a witch?" Her expression dimmed. "Aye. Comes with the full moon and steals children."
I sat back slowly. "…Right."
"She walks the forests when the moon is fat and bright. No one sees her coming. No one hears her leave. All we find come morning is a tiny handprint… burned into the soil outside a missing child's home."
The room seemed to grow a little colder. "Has no one tried to stop her?" I asked.
Granny Marelda shook her head. "Once. A few men from the village chased her into the woods. Only one returned."
"What happened to the others?"
"He came back screaming. Said he saw them vanish into the ground. The trees swallowed them whole."
I glanced at Puss. His fur was puffed slightly. "Of course," Marelda added softly, "it's just stories. Old tales. But old tales are sometimes true, aren't they?"
No one spoke for a while. We just sat in the ambient silence, listening to the fire crackle. Eventually, I pushed my plate aside and stood. "Thanks again for the food, Granny Marelda. And the warning, we'll stay cautious."
She smiled gently. "Of course. I've prepared a room for you both. Upstairs, first door on the left."
I helped carry some dishes while Puss inspected every shadow like it owed him money. Upstairs, our room was small but clean. Two beds, soft quilts, and a window that looked out over the woods.
"So," I said, falling onto the bed, "witch stealing kids. That's not new." Puss hopped onto the windowsill. "I do not trust her."
"Who, the witch?"
"No. Marelda. She's just too… nice."
"Maybe she's just a nice old lady."
"No one who knits that well is normal."
"…You're suspicious of her knitting?"
"I have instincts."
I laughed quietly and stretched. "Well, tomorrow we ask around. Maybe there's truth in the tale. Maybe it's just superstition." Puss yawned. "Or maybe we get turned into frogs."
"Guess we'll find out."
***
[Marelda POV]
The cottage was still.
Outside, the wind whispered gently through the trees, rustling the old shutters and setting the herbs on the porch swaying ever so slightly.
The moon had risen high now, silver and swollen — not quite full, but near enough to cast long, pale shadows across the ground.
Granny Marelda stood barefoot in the damp grass behind her home, the hem of her dress brushing the earth like the edge of a faded curtain. Her gnarled fingers held her walking stick loosely, and her back was no longer hunched — she stood straighter now.
She tilted her head to the sky. The moonlight touched her face... and it changed.
Half of it smoothed. Wrinkles pulled taut. Her dull gray eye turned bright and blue. The pallor of old age retreated from her skin like mist, revealing something far younger... and far colder. Her lips curled—not in warmth, but in mischief. A crooked, knowing smile.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the transformation was gone. The deep lines returned. Her spine bent once more. The blue eye clouded back into gray.
She blinked slowly.
"Hm," she hummed softly, as if nothing had happened.
Turning, she walked back to the house, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floor. The fire in the hearth had died down into embers, casting the room in a soft, red glow. Her eyes flitted toward the staircase.
With quiet steps that made no creak, she climbed. She paused at the door. Her hand hovered just beside the knob, but she did not touch it.
The door was slightly ajar. She peered inside.
Puss was curled at the foot of the bed, hat over his face, sword still strapped to his side. One ear twitched with a faint snore, tail flicking every now and then.
Camden slept soundly beneath the thick quilt, chest rising and falling with even rhythm, one arm flung over his head like a boy who'd never once worried about witches or shadows.
Marelda stared at them...for a long time. Her expression was unreadable, not malicious… not exactly. Her lips parted just slightly, like she was about to whisper something.
Then, her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head just enough for the moonlight to catch the very edge of her face through the small window beside the stairs. The light made the curve of her cheekbone shimmer.
The smile threatened to return, but didn't.
Instead, she exhaled—an odd, dry sigh—and turned briskly away, her footsteps vanishing like breath on glass. She glided across the hallway, opened the far door to her own room, and stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind her. And the cottage was still once more.
***
[Next Morning]
The sun hadn't even finished rising before we were on our way. I barely had time to finish the honeyed bread Marelda had given us before Puss was already adjusting his hat and striding off like a businessman with somewhere very important to be. I followed, chewing as I walked, and not exactly thrilled about venturing into a haunted forest on an empty stomach.
"Are you sure this is the right path?" I asked, brushing aside a low-hanging branch that tried to smack me in the face.
"She said to follow the stream until it forked like a serpent's tongue," Puss replied, his tail twitching. "Then take the darker one."
I looked ahead.
The stream forked about a hundred paces in front of us. One trail led through a sunny glade where I could hear birds chirping, and the other... well, it looked like a path straight into the belly of a corpse. Dark, gnarled trees stretched out over it like claws, and fog crawled along the roots.
"Of course," I muttered. "The spooky one."
"Always," Puss said.
We veered left.
The forest changed almost immediately. The air grew cold, heavy. Birds stopped singing. Even the breeze went quiet. The ground felt soft beneath Valor's hooves, like the earth itself didn't want us stepping on it.
Puss hopped onto a branch and started scanning the area ahead with sharp, calculating eyes. I kept my hand close to my sword, though something told me steel wouldn't help much if ghosts were involved.
By mid-morning, we reached an area where all signs of life had completely vanished. No leaves, no moss, not even bugs. The trees stood black and bare, their bark flaking like old skin. Every branch pointed inward, like the entire forest was leaning toward us, watching.
The sky itself looked... wrong.
It wasn't grey, or stormy. It just lacked colour altogether, like someone had painted it in shades of old ash. It made the forest look like it was trapped in an eternal dusk.
"This is it," Puss said softly. "Witch territory."
"I was hoping she lived in a normal house," I said. "You know, herbs in the windowsill, maybe a cat on the porch."
"Witches do not keep cats. Cats are smarter than that."
"Touché."
We moved deeper, and that's when the forest turned on us.
It started with the bats. Dozens of them poured from a nearby hollow, screeching and diving at our heads. I ducked, swung my sword to scare them off, while Puss stood his ground, spinning like a dancer as he sliced two out of the air.
"Bats are fine," I grunted. "This I can handle."
Then came the trees.
One minute I was pushing past a thick cluster of branches, and the next—WHAM—a limb wrapped around my arm like a snake and tried to yank me into the trunk. I shouted, blasting lightning instinctively. The branch recoiled with a hiss of smoke. Two more trees tried to grab me, and I scorched them both.
Puss darted up one of them, severing a vine that was choking Valor's reins. "They don't like fire," he called.
"Good thing I came with my own!"
The deeper we went, the more alive the forest became—but not in a good way. Whispering voices surrounded us. Some sounded like children. Others hissed in languages I didn't understand. I heard my name once, spoken right behind me, and when I turned around—nothing.
Then came the ghosts.
They weren't solid, just flashes of pale faces in the mist. Sometimes hands reached out of the fog. Once, a child's laughter echoed, and a small figure sprinted between two trees ahead of us.
I didn't give chase... I wasn't that dumb. Puss was quiet now. All jokes gone. His eyes were narrowed, focused. He walked beside me, one paw always resting on his hilt.
"I don't like this place," he murmured.
"Neither do I," I admitted. "But we're close. I feel it."
I didn't mean magically. There was no spell guiding me. But I had a feeling in my bones—like something was pulling us toward a destination we couldn't turn back from. My nerves grew worse the deeper we walked.
At the end of the dead path, surrounded by a circle of leafless trees, sat a mansion.
It didn't rise like a castle. It squatted—wide and crooked. The roof sagged in places, and parts of the wall looked like they had been eaten away by time. Its windows were dark, cracked. Ivy that had long since died clung to the stone like veins.
No birds circled above, no insects buzzed. Just that same oppressive silence. I dismounted Valor, who gave a loud snort and pawed at the ground. He didn't like the place either.
"You sure about this?" Puss asked.
"No," I said honestly. "But we came this far."
We stepped toward the massive double doors. They creaked open... I looked at Puss, he looked at me.
Then we walked inside.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind us with a deafening BANG.
I quickly spun around and sighed, "Of course."
The foyer was massive. Dust covered everything. Cobwebs hung from the chandelier like ghostly lace. A staircase split in two and curled upward like a serpent's tongue. Paintings lined the walls—though every face had been scratched out or had faded into smears.
"Remind me," I whispered, "why are we here again?"
"To find the witch," Puss said. "And probably... fight her."
"Right." I squared my shoulders. "Let's go knock on her door."
We walked into the mansion, each step echoing louder than it should have. The floorboards groaned, like they were waking up beneath us. I swore I saw something shift in the shadows on the far end of the hallway.
This place had a soul... And it wasn't friendly. But I couldn't stop now, not with those missing children in the back of my mind.
"Camden," Puss whispered. "We are not alone here."
"I know," I replied, my voice low. "But we'll find her, stop her, then we get the hell out."
"Alive?"
I gave him a tired smile. "That's the plan." We moved forward, into the belly of the mansion.
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