Shh
By Andy Morris
“Shh,” she said with a finger pressed to her lips. “Follow me.”
Abigale groaned beneath the scratchy blanket.
“Quietly,” Rose hissed, more urgently this time.
It was deepest night – the hour when the Witch prowled the village looking for children to steal. The candle had burned down, letting the oily darkness congeal throughout the bedroom. She sensed, rather than saw her sister turn toward the bedroom door. There were no footsteps outside. No heavy breathing. No sign of anyone.
Just before she’d come into the room, there had been a definite creak from the stairs. Abigale had dived beneath the covers and squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. She’d remained still, heart thumping like a rabbit caught in a trap until Rose had awoken her.
“It’s going to be okay, but you must listen to me,” her older sister whispered.
A faint smell of rotten meat had seeped into the bedroom, but Abigale paid it no attention. She felt Rose take something from her nightstand – probably her hairbrush. Rose played with her hair when she was nervous.
“I think there’s someone in the house!” her sister was breathless now.
Abigale listened, but the only sound was Rose’s frantic brushing. Usually, the old grandfather clock ticked loudly throughout the night. Its steady beat helped the girls sleep, but it was no longer ticking. Something was wrong! Everyone in the village knew that if a clock stopped in the night, it meant the Witch was nearby. Their parents had instructed them, time and again, that if this ever happens, they must go to the cellar and hide until morning.
“The clocks’ stopped!” Abigale’s whisper was more of a squeak.
“Yes, I know.”
“Is it the Witch?”
“I don’t know. Just hurry up,”
“Where’s Mother and Father? They can chase her away.”
“No, they can’t!” Rose bristled. “I can’t wake them. I tried before I came to you but they’re in a deep sleep and won’t stir.” She slapped the bed with the hairbrush. “This is your fault,” she seethed tightly. “The Witch has cast a spell on them! You know you’re not allowed to play in the woods but you went anyway and, the Witch must have seen you and followed you home. Now she’s going to get us and it’s all your fault!”
Rose must have sensed Abigale about to cry.
“Look, this isn’t the time to panic,” she said again in a gentler tone. “Come along to the cellar, we shouldn’t dawdle a moment longer.” Rose crept towards the door but stopped when she realised Abigale wasn’t following.
“I’m scared,” Abigale whimpered, pulling the blanket up to her mouth.
Rose returned to the bedside and reached down to pick Abigale up. “Phew, you smell rotten. First thing in the morning we’ll…”
Abigale dropped her disguise, but it was too dark for Rose to see the haggard old woman crouched in Abigale’s bed. The Witch pounced, stuffing Rose into her well-worn sack.
“Shh,” the Witch cackled mockingly. “Shh…”.
Abigale groaned beneath the scratchy blanket.
“Quietly,” Rose hissed, more urgently this time.
It was deepest night – the hour when the Witch prowled the village looking for children to steal. The candle had burned down, letting the oily darkness congeal throughout the bedroom. She sensed, rather than saw her sister turn toward the bedroom door. There were no footsteps outside. No heavy breathing. No sign of anyone.
Just before she’d come into the room, there had been a definite creak from the stairs. Abigale had dived beneath the covers and squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. She’d remained still, heart thumping like a rabbit caught in a trap until Rose had awoken her.
“It’s going to be okay, but you must listen to me,” her older sister whispered.
A faint smell of rotten meat had seeped into the bedroom, but Abigale paid it no attention. She felt Rose take something from her nightstand – probably her hairbrush. Rose played with her hair when she was nervous.
“I think there’s someone in the house!” her sister was breathless now.
Abigale listened, but the only sound was Rose’s frantic brushing. Usually, the old grandfather clock ticked loudly throughout the night. Its steady beat helped the girls sleep, but it was no longer ticking. Something was wrong! Everyone in the village knew that if a clock stopped in the night, it meant the Witch was nearby. Their parents had instructed them, time and again, that if this ever happens, they must go to the cellar and hide until morning.
“The clocks’ stopped!” Abigale’s whisper was more of a squeak.
“Yes, I know.”
“Is it the Witch?”
“I don’t know. Just hurry up,”
“Where’s Mother and Father? They can chase her away.”
“No, they can’t!” Rose bristled. “I can’t wake them. I tried before I came to you but they’re in a deep sleep and won’t stir.” She slapped the bed with the hairbrush. “This is your fault,” she seethed tightly. “The Witch has cast a spell on them! You know you’re not allowed to play in the woods but you went anyway and, the Witch must have seen you and followed you home. Now she’s going to get us and it’s all your fault!”
Rose must have sensed Abigale about to cry.
“Look, this isn’t the time to panic,” she said again in a gentler tone. “Come along to the cellar, we shouldn’t dawdle a moment longer.” Rose crept towards the door but stopped when she realised Abigale wasn’t following.
“I’m scared,” Abigale whimpered, pulling the blanket up to her mouth.
Rose returned to the bedside and reached down to pick Abigale up. “Phew, you smell rotten. First thing in the morning we’ll…”
Abigale dropped her disguise, but it was too dark for Rose to see the haggard old woman crouched in Abigale’s bed. The Witch pounced, stuffing Rose into her well-worn sack.
“Shh,” the Witch cackled mockingly. “Shh…”.