Ashley Stern (aka Spiders’ Bane, aka Professional Cleaning Fairy, aka Shunner of Small Talk) is a senior English Major with a Classical Studies Minor. In the following tale she weaves a villain origin story for witches hither and thither, throughout time. A story crafted with light touches and a dreamy atmosphere. Go forth with a strong female character and learn how a helping hand can be twisted into something wicked.
Megan Duff
Megan Duff
THE witch's tale
By Ashley Stern
There was once a small cottage on the edge of the Wood. The Wood looked dark and mysterious from the village, but if you were to look at the Wood from the cottage you would see things very differently. No trees grew greener. Each trunk was covered in small purple flowers. The forest was beautiful. The cottage was small, but painted in the palest blue and always had smoke streaming from the crooked little chimney. A well used broom sat outside the door, and a fruitful apple tree grew to one side of the cottage.
Inside the cottage lived a young woman. Her name was Nadia. Nadia had lived in the cottage with her grandmother, and when her grandmother had passed away, Nadia continued to run the house. Wood was cut for the fire. The lone goat was tended along with a few chickens. A garden was maintained to grow the food for each year. On warm summer days the village children used to listen to Nadia’s many stories as they ate apples from her tree. Nadia was known in the village for her great strength—to be able to live alone at the edge of such a great wood was no small feat.
One fall afternoon as Nadia was gathering the last of her harvest she heard a small sound near the edge of the Wood. She first thought that it was one of the children trying to have an adventure, as children are known to do. It was not a child. It wolf cub. The cub was half grown and a deep slate grey color, all except for the rust red that stained his back leg. Nadia slowly approached the animal and gained its trust with scraps of food. Eventually she nursed the poor creature back to health. But by the time spring had returned to the cottage the wolf had grown as fond of Nadia as she had of him. The wolf stayed as her loyal pet and protector from that day forward. Nadia was known by all the children as a kind woman, but now all the adults of the village saw Nadia’s kindness in helping the wolf.
Some years passed, and the Wood was becoming dangerous. Outlaws, criminals, and other unsavory sort of folk used it as refuge. There was also the occasional traveller through the Wood, but they had been growing fewer with each passing year. Nadia would give safe boarding and food to travelers in addition to a good meal. Occasionally, a darker character would end up on her doorstep. But Nadia had her wolf and she had her wits. She would usually send the traveler off for the night with a few apples, or carrots from her garden. Those who stayed with her were asked to pay in whatever they could. Nadia’s request, however, was books. Nadia craved books on any subject she could find to make those short cold days of winter a bit less dull. Nadia also loved stories, she still told them to the village children and always had a new tale to spin. Over the years Nadia gained a reputation not only as a kind woman, but a wise one as well.
However, for all Nadia’s knowledge, she could not have foreseen the tragedy that was to come to the village. True, she tried to warn the farmers that their crop of rye this season was sick. The village’s largest fields could be seen easily from Nadia’s porch. She tried to show them the pictures in her books showing that the plant should not be made into flour. The rye should not be eaten this year. But that was too much to ask the village. Without flour how were they to survive the winter?
The village went on and harvested as they had every year. Nadia tried to save as much as she could, knowing it would never be enough. A few days after the yearly harvest festival the trouble started. It was said that men and women were straying into madness. Children were growing deathly sick. The worst of the rumors was that there was a witch in the village. Nadia made the walk to town each day to help tread as many of the afflicted as she possibly could. Each family she saw she urged to stop eating the flour from this year’s harvest.
But the villagers were simple folk, with little else to eat during the winter. They said that they would starve if they stopped eating the flour. What else would we make our bread with? What should we give to our children to eat? Nadia had no answers for their questions. She simply returned each day with more of her apples, jugs with the little milk given by her goat, and what flour she had stored from the previous winter. It was not enough.
Soon people were not only sick, but they were dying. They were dying both from eating the tainted flour, or starving because they were not eating the flour. Children met Nadia on the road as she came to town each day. Many parents couldn’t leave the house any longer. They begged her for what food she could give them. She handed out the last of her apples halfway through the harsh winter.
The village was getting desperate. Nadia’s goat had stopped giving milk and was butchered. It still was not enough. The people wanted to know the reason for this sorrowful winter. It was the first time anyone could remember that a warm light did not shine from the cottage accompanied by a thin stream of chimney smoke. Nadia was in town too much to keep a proper fire going.
The village people who were strong enough gathered together and talked. They remembered Nadia’s warnings of the bad grain in the autumn. The elders, in their desperate state, saw these not as warnings, but rather as threats. Nadia’s kindness was thought to be treachery. Her wisdom and her strength were thought to be witchcraft.
The villagers made up their minds to rid the land of the witch in order to save their families. Nadia did not blame them for their panic. She did, however, resent them for turning on her. Before the band of villagers whom she had helped for years arrived to kill her, she melted into the woods.
When the men from the village arrived at Nadia’s house they only found a cold fireplace and her humble possessions. She had only taken her favorite storybook along with her. No food remained in the house. All of it had been given to the villagers already.
The village grew thin that winter on their hardship. The cottage on the edge of the Wood remains dark. The broom still rests outside the front door. Children have heard the stories of the witch who lives in the cottage and the curse she placed on the land.
The tale of the witch has become distorted through the years and the village has become a small city. The cottage sags with age and is collapsing in its abandonment, but on certain nights, if you listen very carefully at the edge of the Wood, you might be able to hear the howl of a lone wolf.
Nadia never left the forest. She built a new cottage in the forest and learned to live within the safety of the trees. Her new home was nestled under ancient wisteria trees and was always welcome to a weary traveller. It is said that many different people have met her in the woods before, some have discovered her wisdom, strength, or her kindness. Those who try to harm her find more mischief than they can handle. Nadia never was a witch, but she can play one rather well if she needs to. She lived on quite happily in her new home. She had everything she needed, and she slowly collected the library she had left behind. It took her many dark nights, but she reclaimed what was hers. She had other adventures in her little corner of the forest, and recorded them in her own book of stories. The true Witch’s Tale remains recorded by Nadia herself.
Nadia’s volume of works was found many years later by a professor of literature. Her true story lives on far longer than the village stood.
Inside the cottage lived a young woman. Her name was Nadia. Nadia had lived in the cottage with her grandmother, and when her grandmother had passed away, Nadia continued to run the house. Wood was cut for the fire. The lone goat was tended along with a few chickens. A garden was maintained to grow the food for each year. On warm summer days the village children used to listen to Nadia’s many stories as they ate apples from her tree. Nadia was known in the village for her great strength—to be able to live alone at the edge of such a great wood was no small feat.
One fall afternoon as Nadia was gathering the last of her harvest she heard a small sound near the edge of the Wood. She first thought that it was one of the children trying to have an adventure, as children are known to do. It was not a child. It wolf cub. The cub was half grown and a deep slate grey color, all except for the rust red that stained his back leg. Nadia slowly approached the animal and gained its trust with scraps of food. Eventually she nursed the poor creature back to health. But by the time spring had returned to the cottage the wolf had grown as fond of Nadia as she had of him. The wolf stayed as her loyal pet and protector from that day forward. Nadia was known by all the children as a kind woman, but now all the adults of the village saw Nadia’s kindness in helping the wolf.
Some years passed, and the Wood was becoming dangerous. Outlaws, criminals, and other unsavory sort of folk used it as refuge. There was also the occasional traveller through the Wood, but they had been growing fewer with each passing year. Nadia would give safe boarding and food to travelers in addition to a good meal. Occasionally, a darker character would end up on her doorstep. But Nadia had her wolf and she had her wits. She would usually send the traveler off for the night with a few apples, or carrots from her garden. Those who stayed with her were asked to pay in whatever they could. Nadia’s request, however, was books. Nadia craved books on any subject she could find to make those short cold days of winter a bit less dull. Nadia also loved stories, she still told them to the village children and always had a new tale to spin. Over the years Nadia gained a reputation not only as a kind woman, but a wise one as well.
However, for all Nadia’s knowledge, she could not have foreseen the tragedy that was to come to the village. True, she tried to warn the farmers that their crop of rye this season was sick. The village’s largest fields could be seen easily from Nadia’s porch. She tried to show them the pictures in her books showing that the plant should not be made into flour. The rye should not be eaten this year. But that was too much to ask the village. Without flour how were they to survive the winter?
The village went on and harvested as they had every year. Nadia tried to save as much as she could, knowing it would never be enough. A few days after the yearly harvest festival the trouble started. It was said that men and women were straying into madness. Children were growing deathly sick. The worst of the rumors was that there was a witch in the village. Nadia made the walk to town each day to help tread as many of the afflicted as she possibly could. Each family she saw she urged to stop eating the flour from this year’s harvest.
But the villagers were simple folk, with little else to eat during the winter. They said that they would starve if they stopped eating the flour. What else would we make our bread with? What should we give to our children to eat? Nadia had no answers for their questions. She simply returned each day with more of her apples, jugs with the little milk given by her goat, and what flour she had stored from the previous winter. It was not enough.
Soon people were not only sick, but they were dying. They were dying both from eating the tainted flour, or starving because they were not eating the flour. Children met Nadia on the road as she came to town each day. Many parents couldn’t leave the house any longer. They begged her for what food she could give them. She handed out the last of her apples halfway through the harsh winter.
The village was getting desperate. Nadia’s goat had stopped giving milk and was butchered. It still was not enough. The people wanted to know the reason for this sorrowful winter. It was the first time anyone could remember that a warm light did not shine from the cottage accompanied by a thin stream of chimney smoke. Nadia was in town too much to keep a proper fire going.
The village people who were strong enough gathered together and talked. They remembered Nadia’s warnings of the bad grain in the autumn. The elders, in their desperate state, saw these not as warnings, but rather as threats. Nadia’s kindness was thought to be treachery. Her wisdom and her strength were thought to be witchcraft.
The villagers made up their minds to rid the land of the witch in order to save their families. Nadia did not blame them for their panic. She did, however, resent them for turning on her. Before the band of villagers whom she had helped for years arrived to kill her, she melted into the woods.
When the men from the village arrived at Nadia’s house they only found a cold fireplace and her humble possessions. She had only taken her favorite storybook along with her. No food remained in the house. All of it had been given to the villagers already.
The village grew thin that winter on their hardship. The cottage on the edge of the Wood remains dark. The broom still rests outside the front door. Children have heard the stories of the witch who lives in the cottage and the curse she placed on the land.
The tale of the witch has become distorted through the years and the village has become a small city. The cottage sags with age and is collapsing in its abandonment, but on certain nights, if you listen very carefully at the edge of the Wood, you might be able to hear the howl of a lone wolf.
Nadia never left the forest. She built a new cottage in the forest and learned to live within the safety of the trees. Her new home was nestled under ancient wisteria trees and was always welcome to a weary traveller. It is said that many different people have met her in the woods before, some have discovered her wisdom, strength, or her kindness. Those who try to harm her find more mischief than they can handle. Nadia never was a witch, but she can play one rather well if she needs to. She lived on quite happily in her new home. She had everything she needed, and she slowly collected the library she had left behind. It took her many dark nights, but she reclaimed what was hers. She had other adventures in her little corner of the forest, and recorded them in her own book of stories. The true Witch’s Tale remains recorded by Nadia herself.
Nadia’s volume of works was found many years later by a professor of literature. Her true story lives on far longer than the village stood.