The Little Witch And The Dark

At the open back door, cool air brushed Willa’s cheeks.

Her mother stepped onto the first stone. “See? The path is still here.”

Willa raised the lantern. Its light touched the white stones, the little lavender bushes, and the wooden gate. Crickets chirped in the grass. Somewhere near the pond, a frog made one quiet plop.

Willa took a step.

Then another.

Her mother stopped by the first stone. “I will be right here.”

Willa nodded, though her fingers tightened around the lantern handle.

The path curved around the flower beds. With each step, the cottage door seemed farther away. The golden square of light behind her grew smaller.

A tall shape stretched across the path.

Willa stopped.

The shape reached from one side of the stones to the other. It wobbled when the breeze moved.

Willa’s breath caught. “What is that?”

She lifted the lantern. The shape grew shorter.

She lifted it higher. The shape became longer.

Willa took one careful step to the side. The shape slid with her.

Her eyes grew wide. Then she noticed the little wooden handle at the top.

“It’s the watering can,” she whispered.

The watering can had been left beside the flower bed. Moonlight had made its shadow look enormous.

Willa let out a small breath. “You are only a watering can.”

The can did not answer. It simply shone silver in the lantern light.

Willa walked past it.

A few steps later, two round shapes bobbed near the path. Willa stopped again. They looked like two quiet eyes peeking from the dark.

She held the lantern close.

The round shapes were the garden boots, turned upside down beside the shed.

Willa smiled a little. “You are only boots.”

She took another step. The stones felt cool beneath her slippers. The night smelled of mint and damp earth. Leaves whispered softly above her head.

The bench was still far away.

Willa looked back. Her mother stood by the door, one hand resting on the frame.

“Would you like me to come farther?” her mother called.

Willa wanted to say yes. She wanted to run back into the kitchen and climb into bed without her blanket. But the blue blanket waited on the bench, and she could almost feel its soft corners around her shoulders.

“I’m going to try one more step,” Willa called.

She placed one slipper on the next stone.

The dark did not disappear. The garden did not become bright. But the stone held her foot just as it had before.

“One more,” Willa whispered.

She stepped again.

At the bend in the path, the apple tree spread its branches overhead. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the garden grew dimmer. The lantern’s golden circle seemed smaller now.

Willa’s stomach felt fluttery.

She stopped beside a patch of tall grass. The grass made a dry, swishing sound. A shape rose behind it.

Willa gripped the lantern.

The shape leaned toward her.

She almost called for her mother. Then the moon came out from behind the cloud.

The shape was a garden rake resting against the fence.

Willa touched her chest. “I was afraid before I knew what it was.”

The words sounded strange, but also true.

She looked at the lantern. It did not make the whole garden bright. It only showed her the next few stones. That was enough to see the watering can. Enough to find the boots. Enough to notice the rake.

“Maybe I don’t need to see the whole path,” she said. “Maybe I only need to see the next step.”

The breeze moved through the apple leaves. The branches made a soft, shushing sound, like someone saying, Go on.

Willa walked.

She counted the stones under her breath. “One. Two. Three.”

A moth fluttered past the lantern. Willa squeaked and ducked her head. The moth circled once, then flew toward the flowers.

Willa watched it go. “You surprised me.”

She waited until her hands felt steady again. Then she continued.

The bench appeared beneath the apple tree. The blue blanket lay folded across its seat. Its silver stars caught the moonlight.

Willa hurried the last few steps and reached for it.

The blanket was cool from the night air. She pressed it to her cheek. It smelled faintly of soap, lavender, and home.

“I found you,” she whispered.

For a moment, Willa felt proud. She had crossed the path. She had seen the watering can, the boots, and the rake. She had been afraid, and she had kept walking.

Then a stronger breeze swept through the garden.

The apple leaves fluttered. The flowers bent low. Willa’s robe puffed around her knees.

Her lantern flame flickered.

“Oh,” said Willa.

She cupped her hand around the glass, but the wind slipped past her fingers.

The flame gave one tiny wiggle.

Then it went out.

The garden became dark.

Willa stood very still with the blanket in her arms. The path home was no longer marked by a golden circle. The cottage door was only a pale square far away.

She could hear the leaves. She could hear the crickets. She could hear her own small breaths.

“Willa?” her mother called from the doorway.

Willa held the blanket close. The dark felt wide around her.

But beneath the apple tree, the bench was solid against her legs. The blanket was warm in her hands. And the first stepping stone was right in front of her slippers.

“I have my blanket,” Willa called.

Her voice trembled, but it carried across the garden.

Her mother answered, “I hear you.”

Willa looked toward the pale doorway. She could not see every stone between them. She could not see every shape beside the path.

She could see the next step.

Willa tucked the blanket under one arm and held the dark lantern in the other hand. Then she placed one slipper on the first stone.

The garden stayed quiet and safe around her.

She took one small step home.

End of chapter one. 5 more chapters and about 9,372 words in the full book.