All was quiet in the house; The farm was asleep.
Arthur sat on his bed, thinking about the day’s events. A small oil lamp cast dim light across the room. A sturdy wind howled outside, and branches rapped on the window. Rain battered the thin roof, occasionally leaking in through small holes in the thatch. It was one of the worst storms that Arthur had witnessed.
Arthur fingered the small pendant that dangled around his neck. Shaped like a heart wrapped in silver vines adorned with tiny leaves, the amulet was exotically beautiful. It was Arthur’s only reminder of his mother; She had left his family when Arthur was very young.
You see, Arthur was not your usual seventeen year old boy. His father, Bregan, was human, and his mother had been an Elf. Arthur did not know much about his mother; His father had told him that she was beautiful- that her smile was like the sun, and her gaze was warm and affectionate. This information and the pendant were Arthur’s two most prized possessions. His mother had left the pendant to Arthur as a gift- A reminder that she loved him.
Early on, Arthur had realized that he was… Different. He had an uncanny grace about him that was entirely unmatched by the other children. His senses were excellent, and he noticed many things that others did not. He could see in the dark. When he was ten, adults had begun to realize Arthur’s extraordinary intellect. His reasoning skills, memory, and comprehension were excellent. And, of course, he had his mother’s pointy Elf ears.
These unique traits did not lead to admiration- quite the opposite. The other children, and even the adults, soon learned to resent Arthur’s unmatched abilities. Children and adults alike would whisper nastily when Arthur passed. The Schoolhouse’s Headmaster resentfully asked Bregan to stop sending Arthur to school; His presence was leading to envy and disruption in his classmates. Bregan had argued for Arthur, but it was clear that the children were not the only ones who were frustrated. The headmaster was obviously threatened himself.
So Arthur had stopped attending School, and Bregan had done his best to homeschool him. Bregan couldn’t contribute much to his son’s education; He was raised a farmer, and had never gone to the School himself.
Although not many in the village liked Arthur, his father and sisters were kind to him, and good friends. After Arthur’s mother had left, Bregan had married again and produced three other children. His second wife, Celia, had tolerated Arthur, but she did not like him. A year after their marriage Celia conceived Arla, Arthur’s sister. Celia had been deeply disappointed that her first child was a girl, and had not shown her much attention. Arla was left to Bregan’s care, and he passed on his humble and kind ways to her. Arthur and Arla grew up side by side, and were the best of friends.
A year after Arla’s birth Celia conceived Arthur’s brother Ethan. Ethan was Celia’s favorite child, and he received most of her attention.
Seven years later, their sister Ella was born. Celia died giving birth. Bregan showed no true loss, and neither did Arthur. Arla was sad, however. And spoiled Ethan was filled with anger and grief. His rivalry with Arthur only intensified after Celia’s death, and his mood was eternally abyssal. He hated the company of the rest of his family, and brooded alone as much as he could.
Meanwhile, Arla, Ella, Arthur, and Bregan were very close. The four would play hide and seek and other games around the farm for hours, filled with love and laughter for each other. They tried to include Ethan, but in their hearts they knew the boy would never join in.
Arthur was seventeen now. Arla was sixteen, and Ethan and Ella were fourteen and ten. Nothing much exciting happened after Ella was born. The farm had steadily produced, and the family lived comfortably. Arthur co-ran the farm, and didn’t mind the work. It was something to do, and good exercise, so he didn’t complain. Alongside him worked Arla. She enjoyed the work as well, and was constantly pushing herself. Arla was very competitive, and she and Arthur were by far the hardest workers on the farm.
Arthur was rudely shaken from his daydreams when he heard the faint sound of glass breaking from somewhere in the small house. He stood and tensed up instantly, alert for other noises. He quietly walked to the door and opened it gently. He heard the sound of glass crunching underfoot from the dining room and tiptoed softly over. He wanted to call out, but something made him hold his tongue.
Arthur peeked around the corner and looked into the dining room. Four masked figures clad all in black stood there, whispering quietly to one another. One stopped when he saw Arthur peeking and whispered something to the others. They looked as well. Arthur ducked behind the wall.
“Come on out, mousie!” One of the men whispered shrilly.
“What do you want?” Arthur asked, loud enough for the whole house to hear.
“Nothing much,” The man chuckled mischievously. “We’re just looking for some coin. We’ve heard there’s loads to go ‘round in these parts.”
“Now, I don’t want any trouble, but my father and three brothers are in here with me as well, and they’re tough as bricks. I hear them coming now!” Arthur hoped the lie was convincing. To his great dismay, the bandit laughed.
“No they ain’t! You don’t have three brothers. And you definitely don’t have any siblings. Nor a father.
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, dismay pooling in his gut. “Of course I do!”
The bandit smiled sadly. “We already found ‘em. And took care of them.”
Tears pooled in Arthur’s eyes. “Y-y-you-” He turned and darted off to his father’s room. The bandit captain yelled in surprise. “After ‘im!”
Arthur swung the door to his father’s room open. His father lay on his bed, blood staining the sheets all around him. He wasn’t breathing.
“No!” Arthur screamed. He ran to his father’s corpse and shook his arm, unbelieving. He started out of his misery and grief when he heard footsteps behind him.
“I’m really sorry, lad-” The bandit started to say before he was knocked off of his feet by Arthur’s flying tackle. Arthur pummeled his ferociously as he screamed unintelligibly at him. After many swings the man finally managed to knock Arthur off of him. Arthur scrambled to his feet to see three of the bandits standing before him. He would not win this one.
“We’ve got you now, mousie!” The bandit said coldly. His voice was nasally, and blood ran out of his right nostril.
Arthur turned and jumped out of his father’s open window. The cold night air was startling and reinvigorating. He hit the ground awkwardly, but was soon back on his feet. Arthur ran desperately towards the forest ahead, hoping maybe he could find shelter and a place to hide there. He heard the Bandit Captain yell in frustration from behind him.
The night blurred past as Arthur’s muscular legs propelled him forward. The trees came steadily closer, and when he reached them he flew into their shelter.
Arthur’s uncanny darkvision helped guide him through the Dark Forest. He wove between trees, deeper and deeper through the wood. He turned back as he ran to check for pursuers… And his foot struck a jutting root.
Arthur sprawled forward. His head hit the ground hard, and he blacked out for a moment. When he came to again, his head and ankle ached a sharp, piercing red pain. He struggled to stand.
It seemed that Arthur had lost his pursuers. He sat down on a nearby tree stump and examined his ankle. It was red and swollen. He testily tried to walk on but found that his foot made it impossible to move any great distance. Arthur spotted a relatively straight, strong stick lying nearby and grabbed it. It helped him walk somewhat faster.
Arthur knew that he should keep moving his sprained foot in order to avoid more damage, but he could not struggle on through the grief and loss of his family. Poor Ella. She was so young… And Arla. his best friend. He could not imagine life without her.
And last, his father. Tears sprung to Arthur’s eyes at this thought. His father, who shielded him from all evils, and comforted him when he was sad. The man who had raised him, and played with him, and laughed with him. Now he was gone. A sob shuddered poisonously through Arthur.
Eventually he managed to stand, and continued on. It was even harder after letting his ankle tighten, but he managed. The eerie sounds of the night surrounded him, more than a bit frightening. Bats fluttered above Arthur, their shrieks sending shivers down his spine. Insects chirped all around, and water bubbled from streams that wound through the dark.
Arthur stopped at one of these streams to get a drink. The water was cold and refreshing, and helped him cool down some.
Arthur noticed strange eels dancing through the water and quickly pulled his hands out. He had never seen anything like it. Eels that lived in streams? And such large ones? He decided that now might be a good time to continue on.
The forest began to give off an intangible feeling of unease, a darkness that permeated even the night. Mists filled the air. The forest slowly transitioned from oaks to large, looming willows. Their branches swung like hungry nooses in the night.
Arthur took a deep breath and struggled forward into the midst of the willows. He began to shake and shiver in the night air, although it was not very cold. His teeth chattered wildly as he forced himself on. The wind howled angrily, heedless of Arthur.
What was that?
Arthur could have sworn that he had seen a face poking out from behind the trees. It’s eyes were dull and black, and a wicked leer spread from ear to ear, filled with sharp, rotting teeth. It’s nose must have been at least a foot and a half long. It was pointed and curved, with large, flared nostrils. Lanky hairs fell from it’s head, tangled and matted. And then the creature’s head slid out of view behind the tree, and there was nothing.
Arthur turned and half hobbled, half ran through the willows. A sharp, giggly cackle echoed through the trees. Arthur saw shadowy figures darting back and forth between willow trunks as he continued on.
Arthur had heard rumors of this forest. The Willow Grove was avoided by most in the village, for those who entered it rarely ever left. And those who did leave the Grove alive emerged mumbling and mad. Arthur had not thought of this in his blind panic to escape the bandits, but now here he was.
Arthur’s fear intensified as he began to see multiple bizarre and horrifying monsters standing off of the path, smiling at him. They gnashed their teeth and let out more beastly giggles. More and more stepped closer to Arthur. His breath came in frightened gasps.
He ran now in a blind panic, Frightened tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. The beasts just watched and laughed, and more appeared as Arthur continued. The willow trees seemed to come alive, their branches swinging wildly in the night. Blood dripped from the tips of their limbs.
Arthur noticed a light ahead, barely visible in the mist. He was sprinting now, heedless of his sprained foot. He squinted into the fog, and soon came to realise that he was staring at a small house. Bright light shone out one of the foggy windows, and a strange silhouette was hidden behind it. Arthur ran desperately towards the shack.
As he neared the house, the voices and laughter began to fade. He glanced back, and found that all of the monstrous faces had disappeared. The forest was just a forest again. He struggled to calm down. The danger was past… For now. He had to get inside the house.
Arthur turned back to the shack. It was quite small up close. The house couldn’t have been more than 20 feet on each side, though the roof loomed precariously above. Well, there was only one thing to be done…
Arthur knocked.
He waited. The wind howled harder than ever, and his foot ached. The willows surrounding the house twisted and turned wildly in the weather. A light drizzle began.
After a few moments, Arthur heard a single, thudding footstep. Then another. And another, slowly making their way to the door. Arthur waited impatiently.
After maybe twenty seconds of this, the door swung open. Standing on the other side was a shriveled, bony old woman. Her watery blue eyes were milky with cataracts, and her cheekbones stood out sharply. Frayed, tangled grey hair streamed from her head, and she wore a tattered old brown fur around her shoulders. In her right hand she clutched a gnarled walking stick. An eerie smile rested upon her face.
“Good evening, my dear!” Croaked the old woman excitedly. Her voice sounded like rusty nails on a chalkboard. “And what brings you to my humble abode?”
Arthur, taken aback by this strange and frankly creepy old woman, struggled on his tongue for a moment. Finally words tumbled out.
“I was assaulted by bandits,” Arthur said, renewed sadness dawning. “And… and… they k-k-killed my family!” A sob shuddered through his body. And later, Arthur had told himself that he was mistaken, that his mind was playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that the woman smiled faintly at these words.
“Please… I seek shelter. I don’t know what to do- I am lost and alone in this cursed forest, and I need somewhere to rest. I was being chased by strange, laughing monsters that hid among the willows! My foot is injured, and I cannot go much further.
“Of course, child!” The old woman rasped. “Of course… Come, come inside.”
She led him into the hut. It was one room. A fireplace roared in one stone wall, and an armchair sat before it. A dining table sat in the corner of the small house, with three chairs around it. In the other corner there was only a locked iron hatch. A ladder led up to a loft where a small bed rested.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” The strange woman crooned. “It may be small, but it’ll do for a night’s shelter.” She smiled, showing all of her brown teeth.
“Thank you,” Arthur said warily. “I am sure it will do.” Arthur was, in fact, not so sure about this at all. His mind wandered to old faerie stories his father had told when he and his siblings had been quite small. Stories about witches that would trick and imprison unwitting travellers, and then fatten them up to eat. These unsettling thoughts were childish, of course, but then again Arthur had just been haunted by the beasts of his nightmares. He supposed anything was possible.
“Why don’t you have a sit in the old armchair while I get us some refreshments?” The old woman said. “Now, you just rest up, and get warm by the fire.” She showed that leering smile, and then walked away.
Arthur sat, and stared into the fire. It was hypnotising, and Arthur soon found himself lost in its flames. His thoughts drifted back to his family, and he wept.
The woman returned with two mugs of brown tea. She handed one to Arthur, and he took it with a shuddering hand. A bit of tea spilled out of the mug and onto his shirt. He wiped away his tears and took a sip.
As Arthur swallowed he remembered something his father had told the children during one of his stories. Drink a witch’s tea, and the bargaining begins. Ah, yes, witches loved to bargain. They made deals with desperate folk to bring back loved ones, or something of similar desperate nature. But the cost always outweighed the benefit in nightmarish proportions.
Oh well, thought Arthur. It’s too late now.
“So!” Said the witch(?). “I’ll be guessing you want your family back. At any costs.” She smiled evilly.
“Yes,” Arthur said. “I do.”
The old woman paused.
“Then maybe I could do something about that.” Her grin was wicked and deceitful.
“I never got your name... “ Arthur said imploringly.
“Most know me as Grannie Bonesworth. But you can just call me Gran.”
“So, Gran... How on this earth could you bring my family back?”
She shrugged. “It’s easy, really… I could bring them back with a snap of my fingers or the blink of an eye. But I only do such things for a price.
“And what price might that be?”
“Any price I choose. You would have to agree to the bargain before I tell you your part. Would you accept such a deal?”
If Arthur would have said anything else in this instant, all might have been different. But in his grief, and youthful haste, he said only two words: “Of course.”
