witch

I was walking up Dornoch Terrace with a companion who was at times, my brother, at other times, a female friend. Rather than walking directly up the road, we steered off the footpath at every house, venturing into the gardens and, at times, the homes. We seemed to be simply looking around. In one front garden, I noticed that the flowers, mainly crimson and purple, were partially shrouded by black cloth. I wondered if it was a method of protecting the young plants from the hot sun and that they might be uncovered at the cooler times of day. As we stepped out of this garden, an old woman came out of the house and watched us. I sensed that she was a witch, just like the kind in children's stories. We wandered into the next garden and I could see her watching us from behind the wall that separated the two gardens; her garden was higher so that she could see over the wall and down into the next door neighbour's garden. Suddenly, we were in the house and she was inside with us, masquerading as the owner. I noticed that she was wearing a cream blouse, brown skirt, brown socks and slippers. Her face was very lined and quite hard, and she had bright brown eyes. Without asking us, she presented us with tea, steaming in brown mugs. I tried to tell her that I didn't want any but she motioned to me as though she didn't understand. I started to climb the steep staircase that had appeared, leading out of the dark room and into the light above, quietly urging my friend to come. I mouthed to her that I was scared and that we should go. She had some tea and then followed me up the stairs. I was concerned that she had accepted the tea. As we were walking back through the garden toward the street, a young woman fell into step beside us. She was very attractive in a boyish way and I could see that my friend liked her. I turned to face the young woman and said that I knew that she was really the witch, that she had taken someone else's identity, was pretending to be someone she wasn't, and then I blew on her face. She instantly turned back into the witch. I suggested that she go back home and have a nice night in rather than following us about. She agreed and looked happy for a moment, and said that it was four hundred years today since she had been practising as a witch and she might go home and celebrate. I knew then that she was indeed the witch from such tales as Hansel and Gretle. My friend turned back into my brother and we walked hand in hand up the road, still feeling a little frightened. Some young people spilled out of a home onto the footpath, taking photographs of each other. One girl, the primary subject of most of the photos, posed, contorting her long, angular body to a growing rhythm. It was truly nightmarish. The phone beside my bed made a beeping sound which woke me up.