by now she must be close, and once she reached me, I was as good as dead.
I panicked. I had to get out, but I saw that the barrel had become jammed against the door. I couldn’t move it. Finally I managed to clamber over it and stagger outside.
The mist was thicker than ever. The witch could be mere paces away and I wouldn’t see her. I took a few steps toward the path that led out of the valley, then paused and listened hard. I thought I could hear movement about twenty yards to my left. I kept perfectly still and held my breath as long as I could.
As I did so, I suddenly remembered Peter. I didn’t want to leave him behind—it seemed so cowardly—but how could I hope to find him in this mist? I had just as much chance of blundering into the witch.
I crouched down and waited, not daring to move . . . until in the distance I thought I heard a scream. Had the witch caught up with Peter? I wondered. Was she cutting him with her blades? I shuddered and rose to my feet, preparing to flee. I realized that I was acting just as he had when he left his father in the clutches of the pig witch. But now I understood why he’d done it. I was terrified of what the witch might to do me; she must surely be somewhere close by, coming for me. She would hang me up by my legs and cut my throat. I had to escape.
In a blind panic, I flew up the slope. There was grass under my feet now, and it was slippery. All at once, my feet went from under me, and the staff flew out of my hands. I rolled back down, frantically clawing at the grass, desperate to slow my descent. When I finally came to a halt and tried to stand, all the strength in my legs was gone. They would no longer obey me. I was forced to crawl, dragging myself along, moaning in terror.
CHAPTER X
L ET T HAT B E A L ESSON
T HE mist was thinning; I could now make out bushes and the stump of a tree. To my right, I saw a mound with a tall, thin sapling growing out of it.
There was someone standing beside it, glaring at me. Terror almost stopped my heart. I had assumed that I was crawling away from danger, but instead I had been moving toward it.
It was the witch. She had been waiting here for me. No doubt she had used her magic to draw me to this spot.
She began to walk toward me, a gloating smile on her fat, piggy face. In each hand she held a sharp blade—and she looked ready to use them.
“You’ve put me to a lot of trouble, boy, so I’ll take your thumbs while you’re still alive!” she said, her voice filled with venom. “The pain will be so terrible that you’ll beg for death!”
I struggled to my feet, my knees trembling with fear. I had dropped my staff at the bottom of the slope. I was defenseless.
I tried to turn and run, but her tiny glittering eyes held me rooted to the spot. I attempted to resist her spell, summoning all my strength. Her magic was too strong. Nevertheless, I resolved to fight for my freedom—fight until the last moment.
Then another voice spoke. It was deep, calm, and assured.
“Leave the boy alone, witch! Turn and face me!”
I glanced to my right. A tall, bearded figure had emerged from the mist and was facing the witch. His hood was pulled down over his forehead so that his face was in shadow.
It was my master, John Gregory, and he was holding his staff before him in the diagonal defensive position. I stared at him in astonishment, my mouth open.
The witch gave a shriek and ran straight at him, her blades held high to pierce his flesh. My heart was in my mouth, for I knew that he didn’t have his silver chain, the weapon of choice against a witch. That was my fault.
But when the witch reached the point where he’d been standing, he was no longer there; in a flash he had stepped to one side. She was already past him, almost stumbling as she whirled back to renew her attack.
He met that second attack with a swing of his staff, which cracked against her head with a loud thwack . This time she fell to her knees.
The Spook
I panicked. I had to get out, but I saw that the barrel had become jammed against the door. I couldn’t move it. Finally I managed to clamber over it and stagger outside.
The mist was thicker than ever. The witch could be mere paces away and I wouldn’t see her. I took a few steps toward the path that led out of the valley, then paused and listened hard. I thought I could hear movement about twenty yards to my left. I kept perfectly still and held my breath as long as I could.
As I did so, I suddenly remembered Peter. I didn’t want to leave him behind—it seemed so cowardly—but how could I hope to find him in this mist? I had just as much chance of blundering into the witch.
I crouched down and waited, not daring to move . . . until in the distance I thought I heard a scream. Had the witch caught up with Peter? I wondered. Was she cutting him with her blades? I shuddered and rose to my feet, preparing to flee. I realized that I was acting just as he had when he left his father in the clutches of the pig witch. But now I understood why he’d done it. I was terrified of what the witch might to do me; she must surely be somewhere close by, coming for me. She would hang me up by my legs and cut my throat. I had to escape.
In a blind panic, I flew up the slope. There was grass under my feet now, and it was slippery. All at once, my feet went from under me, and the staff flew out of my hands. I rolled back down, frantically clawing at the grass, desperate to slow my descent. When I finally came to a halt and tried to stand, all the strength in my legs was gone. They would no longer obey me. I was forced to crawl, dragging myself along, moaning in terror.
CHAPTER X
L ET T HAT B E A L ESSON
T HE mist was thinning; I could now make out bushes and the stump of a tree. To my right, I saw a mound with a tall, thin sapling growing out of it.
There was someone standing beside it, glaring at me. Terror almost stopped my heart. I had assumed that I was crawling away from danger, but instead I had been moving toward it.
It was the witch. She had been waiting here for me. No doubt she had used her magic to draw me to this spot.
She began to walk toward me, a gloating smile on her fat, piggy face. In each hand she held a sharp blade—and she looked ready to use them.
“You’ve put me to a lot of trouble, boy, so I’ll take your thumbs while you’re still alive!” she said, her voice filled with venom. “The pain will be so terrible that you’ll beg for death!”
I struggled to my feet, my knees trembling with fear. I had dropped my staff at the bottom of the slope. I was defenseless.
I tried to turn and run, but her tiny glittering eyes held me rooted to the spot. I attempted to resist her spell, summoning all my strength. Her magic was too strong. Nevertheless, I resolved to fight for my freedom—fight until the last moment.
Then another voice spoke. It was deep, calm, and assured.
“Leave the boy alone, witch! Turn and face me!”
I glanced to my right. A tall, bearded figure had emerged from the mist and was facing the witch. His hood was pulled down over his forehead so that his face was in shadow.
It was my master, John Gregory, and he was holding his staff before him in the diagonal defensive position. I stared at him in astonishment, my mouth open.
The witch gave a shriek and ran straight at him, her blades held high to pierce his flesh. My heart was in my mouth, for I knew that he didn’t have his silver chain, the weapon of choice against a witch. That was my fault.
But when the witch reached the point where he’d been standing, he was no longer there; in a flash he had stepped to one side. She was already past him, almost stumbling as she whirled back to renew her attack.
He met that second attack with a swing of his staff, which cracked against her head with a loud thwack . This time she fell to her knees.
The Spook
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