Took by Mary Downing Hahn

frighten away. She’d taken a narrow path that meandered through the woods like a deer trail, circling around boulders and trees. Every now and then she stopped and stared into the underbrush as if she were looking for something.
    Finally she came to a clearing and sat on a fallen tree. Cuddling her doll, she began whispering, just as if someone was with her—not the doll, but a person. I peered into the bushes around her, but I didn’t see anyone. At least I don’t
think
I did—it was more like I sensed a presence.
    But no, that was crazy. All I heard was a whisper of wind prying leaves from branches. All I saw were shadows. I backed away from Erica. If she wanted to sit in the woods and hold imaginary conversations, let her. Why waste my afternoon spying on her?
    Without making a sound, I crept away, retrieved my binoculars, and went in search of the red-tailed hawk.
    By the time I came home, it was almost dark. Erica was sitting on the couch reading to Little Erica, exactly what she’d been doing when I’d left the house.
    I lit the fire and sat beside her. “Have you been here all afternoon?”
    She looked up from her book. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
    â€œIt’s such a nice day, sunny and everything, I thought you might have gone outside to play for a while.”
    The doll regarded me with her usual blank stare, but Erica frowned at me. “You know I hate the woods.”
    I was about to accuse her of lying but then decided against it. Maybe I’d follow her again tomorrow, just in case I’d missed something.
    Suddenly Erica leaned toward me and asked one of her typical out-of-nowhere questions. “Do you ever have secrets, Daniel?”
    â€œSometimes. Why? Do you?”
    â€œMaybe,” she said softly. She smiled and gazed into the fire.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘maybe’? Either you do or you don’t.”
    Instead of answering, Erica began reading to the doll again. “‘Once upon a time a woodcutter had two children, a boy named Hansel and a girl named Gretel—’”
    â€œAbout your secret,” I said, “the one you may or may not have. Has it got anything to do with the woods?”
    â€œI’m reading to Little Erica now,” my sister said. “Don’t interrupt me.”
    I wanted to snatch the book out of her hands and throw it into the corner and hurl the doll after it. Instead, I left my sister and the doll on the couch and went to the kitchen to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. As I ate, I heard Erica reading “‘Nibble nibble, mousekin’” in a scary witch’s voice, much deeper and raspier than her normal voice. I almost got up to see if someone else was in the living room.

The Secret
    The old woman waits in the woods, but you wouldn’t recognize her. She has taken the form of the girl in the cabin. She watches Erica sit down on a log, just where the dolly tells her to sit. Good. The girl is biddable. She does as she’s told.
    The old woman comes closer. She smiles shyly and waits for Erica to notice her.
    â€œWho are you?” Erica is startled, but not afraid, as she would be if the old woman had come as herself.
    The old woman wears a gray plaid dress with a round collar. Her hair is red and curly. Her face is sweet and sad.
    â€œI come to be your friend.” The old woman speaks in a soft, childish voice that soothes the girl.
    â€œI don’t have any friends,” Erica whispers.
    â€œYou got yourself one now.” The girl sits on the log beside Erica. “That’s a mighty pretty dolly you got. Can I hold her?”
    Erica holds the dolly tighter. “She’s very special.”
    â€œPlease.” The girl reaches for the dolly. “I ain’t never seen a dolly so pretty as that.”
    Erica looks distrustful, but the dolly whispers, “Let her hold me, it’s all right.”
    Reluctantly, Erica hands the