The Picketty Witch

Author note: This story refers to domestic abuse from the outset.

The winter was a blur of black, white and grey – coloured only with the rainbow of bruises on my translucent flesh. He beat me when he was angry but my tears had frozen solid long ago and any past objections were now lodged unvoiced inside my throat.

I’d come to live here in search of Love – full of girlish dreams of the strong, confident man who was to be my husband. I remember how excited I was to live in the pretty white house on the edge of the forest. It was far grander than the home in which I’d grown up. But it did not take long for ‘confident’ to change to ‘arrogant’ and ‘strong’ to turn to ‘cruel.’ As for the grandeur of house, it became my prison. My only friends were the spiders who lived in fear there too, and his hateful eyes were always on me, waiting and hoping for me to put a foot wrong so he could exact his revenge.

I remember the letter he made me write to my brother and parents, leering over me as I penned the words with trembling hands.

‘I am happy,’ I lied. ‘Do not come visit. My past is behind me, and now that I am a married woman my peasant roots and family connections humiliate me.’

I strained all my mental powers to think of some sign or clever trick I could use to let them know that all was not well, but with his face boring into my very soul, I feared he could read the betrayal coursing through my mind. So I did what I was told – not wanting to give his fists any more satisfaction. I hoped my family would realise that I’d never be so callous towards them – but then I remembered my devil-may-care eagerness on the day I left them. If they ever responded to my letter I never heard about it.

I cannot remember how many winters I spent in the cottage – the dark shadows of the season seemed to remain long after the frost thawed. The days were short and dark – and the nights long and dark, the bitter chill locking me inside the malevolent cocoon. And there was nowhere to run. The house was surrounded by thick green forest which swallowed you up in a moment.

The garden was the one glimmer of light on an otherwise darkened landscape. In my past life, I’d always had a penchant for wild things and I tended to the vegetables and flowers even during the coldest and fiercest of weathers. There was a brook at the foot of the garden beside which grew a large lavender bush. If I moved slightly behind the bush I could no longer see the house and its eyes could not see me. It was the one haven of invisibility I had to myself.

It was the day I caught sight of my reflection in the river that things started to change. Weeds shot up from the riverbanks like a pox and I was trying my best to haul the intrusive shoots up from their roots, when I saw myself in an inky pool of water which had welled up in one of the river inlets.

On the day of my wedding, I may not have been described as ‘pretty’ but I was young and happy with white unblemished skin. Now my reflection showed someone else – a lined face, with grey streaks in her hair. Exhausted, hollow eyes stared back at me in wonder. But somewhere behind the parchment skin and the cracked lips, there was a hint of recognition. The girl who had hoped for so much was still lurking somewhere deep within.

The garden was as sullen and as withered as my own face – the long winters had taken its toll on the vegetation too. Leaden grey clouds pregnant with rain hurried across the sky. There had been so much rain, and almost in defiance a pleasant breeze wafted through the skeletal garden bringing with it the scent of something alien, warm and new. I sniffed the air which smelled of spice and sweet vanilla.

What was it? Something like life?

The wind grew stronger, tugging my skirts urging me to run with it. Trees rustled like silken petticoats and whispered to me. Shushing and tutting sounds that went picketty… picketty… picketty…

I turned back to the weeds by the riverside and carried on with my work. When I returned to the house things were no different than it was before – but even so I knew that the breeze brought hope.

*****

The next day I opened my eyes to a warm yellow light which had quenched the darkness of the bedroom. A small spider scuttled over my hand, which was illuminated in the bright light. The beast lay breathing heavily next to me, his corpulent belly rising and falling as he inhaled. I rose, treading softly so as not to stir him and ran down to the garden which was aglow with the waking sun.

Splashes of colour that had not been apparent to me amid yesterday’s gloom announced themselves with tender green tips and budding twigs. There was even a cluster of daffodils waiting to bloom near the river’s edge. And this was where I sat to soak up the serenity of the morning, wondering how long I had before the paradise was broken. My fingers kneaded the ground, enjoying the aroma of the fresh earth and grass.

I sensed a tingling on my hand and looked down to see a spider running up my arm, when she stopped and spoke to me.

Not in the way us humans speak – vocally. It was altogether a different form of communication that echoed in my mind, and which perhaps comes from having no other human beings to speak with.

‘I’ve been trying to get your attention,’ she said – for I instinctively knew the spider was a ‘she.’ ‘I’ve been watching you for a long time now.’

‘Why would you be watching me?’ I asked. ‘There is never anything new for you to see.’

The spider hunched all eight legs close to its body as through shrugging. ‘You remind us of us spiders sometimes. We are unloved too and everyday men will try to hurt, trap, stomp on us – but we are more resilient creatures than you might imagine.’

‘I’m not so sure I am resilient,’ I said. ‘Not anymore.’

‘It’s not true,’ the spider said. ‘If you were not resilient you’d have given up before now. But I feel your pain and I understand, which is why I am going to give you this advice. You should cross the river and go to see the Picketty Witch.’

‘The Picketty Witch?’

‘Can you not hear her calling you from the forest?’

I was silent. I had heard something. But was it this?

‘Do you know this witch?’ I asked.

‘The spider withdrew its body back to the palm of my hand to denote a negative.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I am only a house spider – but I have heard the tales even in my humble abode and others will help you find your way.’

‘But the forest...’ I said. ‘Is it not dangerous?’

The spider ran back up my wrist tickling my flesh with her feet.

‘Yes... it is,’ she said. ‘But let me put it this way… can it be any more dangerous than here?’

*****

I crossed the gurgling brook with tentative steps and let the forest envelope me in its dark leafy cloak. A few steps into the thicket and I was instantly lost – the grand, white house with its prying eyes could see me no more.

Which way to turn? The tree trunks formed a mirror maze of branches and bark – each one looking identical to the one next to it. Dead leaves mushed into wet slime underfoot, sodden from the winter rain and ignorant of spring. There were no paths to follow.

Heeding the spider’s words I kept the faith and tried to push from my mind the tales we used to tell each other as children – of wild animals and vicious monsters who lived deep in the darkest nooks of the forest. Even so my step began to lighten the further in I ventured, and for the first time I felt in complete control of my direction. I’d expected the forest to be dank and gloomy, but in reality the sunlight dappled through the tree leaves illuminating the ground with different shades of green. Trumpets of bluebells and daffodils danced in clusters, flirting with bees and butterflies. How could I have every thought the white house so splendid compared to this green palace?

At one point I panicked, thinking I heard human footsteps behind me and ran forwards through the trees as fast I could, heart thumping and lungs panting. But instead I came face-to-face with a rabbit who was sat upright on the edge of a felled tree log.

The rabbit looked at me with gentle eyes as his velvet nose twitched and his whiskers quivered.

He looked as though he wanted to introduce himself, but instead all he said was: ‘Do you really think you can speak to the woodland animals – that is a guaranteed sign of madness. You know that right?’

‘I’ve no one else to talk to,’ I said.

‘Fair enough,’ the rabbit said. ‘There was another one like you once. Alice, she was called. Mad as a hatter, of course.’

I shook my head in confusion, not understanding what the rabbit was talking about.

‘I’m looking for the Picketty Witch. Can you help?’

The rabbit nodded. ‘You’re going the right way. She’s expecting you.’

I nodded my thanks and made to continue the way I was going.

‘Just a minute… just a minute!’ the rabbit called after me, scampering down the tree log. ‘I should warn you. There’s something else looking for you?’

‘Something else?’

‘Yes,’ the rabbit said. ‘The news is all over the forest. It’s a beast.’

‘A beast?’ I shuddered. I guessed such things were to be expected in the forest.

‘Yes – this beast has two arms, two legs and ten fingers. He’s coming after you.’

His words caused a chill to seep into my bones and my blood to run cold.

‘I know that beast,’ I said.

In reality I wasn’t surprised. I’d always known he would come.

*****

Picketty…picketty… picketty. The wind rushed through the trees, swishing the secret messages of the woodlands.

Briefly I considered what the velvet rabbit had told me – that I was actually mad. It was quite possible, of course. The white house with eyes was enough to drive anyone to their wit’s end. But I did not dwell on the past. The house was already blurring in my memory like a bad dream that you struggle to recall again once you’ve woken up. I was a creature of the woodlands now.

But I was less carefree than I was before as I moved through the forest. Now that I knew for certain that the beast was following me, my steps were more deliberate and purposeful. I stopped less to admire the flowers and feel the sunshine warm my face. Even so I did not hurry, I trusted the forest to protect me. I continued on and awaited the next message from the Picketty Witch.

I did not have to wait long. I’d had the feeling that I was being watched ever since I’d passed the fallen log. Every so often I’d catch sight of a slinking shadow from the corner of my eye but when I snapped my head around to look, there was no one there. Eventually I grew impatient and so when I came to a tree stump I sat down and waitEd for the creature to come to me. If it was the beast I would face him – but brute force rather than surreptitiousness was usually his style.

As I expected, eventually the creature emerged from the shadows revealing itself. First I saw the grey, grisly muzzle, then the yellow sequin eyes and finally the bloodthirsty slavering jaws. It bared its teeth and hunched its back ready to pounce. If this was to be my end then so be it.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Everyone knows that the forest is home to wolves.’

‘Are you not scared child?’ the wolf growled. ‘You should be.’

‘I know,’ I said. But I did not move, instead I stared back into his nicotine yellow eyes. ‘But there are worst beasts in this forest than you.’

The wolf lowered its back and sat in front of me, like a pet waiting to be fed by its owner. I knew that it would not hurt me.

‘It’s true of course. You know the beast is following you?’

‘I heard, yes.’

‘He’s not far behind now… He will kill you for defying him.’

Tears sprang into my eyes, and I knew then I was truly alive and that I wanted to live and to carry on living. The tears were warm and salty. I’d forgotten the comfort of crying.

‘Can you protect me?’

Something like sympathy flickered in the wolf’s face. ‘Even I am not strong enough for this particular beast. Only the Picketty Witch can help you now.’

‘Then please…’ I wept. ‘Take me to her. Take me to the Picketty Witch.’

The wolf bowed his head. ‘That’s why I’m here – we’re not far. Follow me.’

*****

The Picketty Witch lives all alone in the middle of the forest where no human dares tread for fear of wild animals. Her house was a forest in a forest – a dense thicket of sticks and moss fused together with sparrows’ nests and unfurled buds. I knew I had reached my destination when I saw an array of different creatures banded together to pay homage to the Picketty Witch. Flowers swayed, and the bees hummed in tune with their dance. Spiders scuttled in the crevices of the tree trunks weaving their wondrous silver cities. The rabbits frolicked in joy, running after each other with white bobbing tails. And then the wolves and the foxes lay their heads and paws at the feet of the Picketty Witch. All eyes turned to me and I knew then that its occupants had been waiting for me to arrive as soon as I stepped into the forest.

Sitting on her green lichen throne with a crown of brambles and hawthorns, the Picketty Witch beckoned me to come forwards with a gnarled stalk-like finger.

‘‘Come child,’ her voice was like the bubbling brook. ‘We have been waiting for you.’

The Picketty Witch’s face was a mass of dense foliage, which two small blackbird eyes peering out the verdant flora. Her hair was a tangle of leaves and liana vines and a carpet of wild flowers, served as her coat. Her very being was a throng of birds and insects.

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘They tell me that you’re the Picketty Witch?.’

She laughed and it sounded like the wind and the crackling of autumn acorns underfoot.

‘Some call me that… I have often been called a witch. Or the Green Man. Or Baba Yaga. The names change but I stay the same. In reality I am the white light of morning or the gleam on a blade of grass, or even that feeling of reinvigoration and hope that seems to comes out of the blue from nowhere.’

‘Can you help me?’ I asked. There is a beast after me. It wants to kill me.’

The Picketty Witch nodded. ‘I know, he’s here now. Can you hear him?’

I listened as the birdsong hushed and the wind stopped its unceasing murmur. And, yes she was right. I could hear him – shouting my name and clamouring for blood.

‘What can I do?’

You are truly one of us now. There’s no going back you know?’ she said.

‘I don’t want to go back.’

The Picketty Witch reached and touched my white hand with her green one. The colour spilled on to me, flooding my skin with its garden-freshness. My wrinkles and bruises smoothed and glistened, before vanishing completely into the foliage.

I grew tall, and strong, and healthy. Stronger than I had ever felt before. My legs grew heavy, sinking into the deep earth and my legs fused together, tough as timber. Branches sprouted from my fingertips and from the branches grew twigs and from the twigs grew buds. Cherry white blossoms opened out from the buds.

From on high I could see the beast, stomping through the forest below wielding his axe with his teeth bared to bite. He was so very close, his sharp eyes flashed like daggers as the other creatures hid from his murderous gaze.

But I knew that he would never find me. For man, so often, sees only what's on the outside and fails to see what magic and beauty may lie within.

He passed right under the shade of my cherry blossom bough. I shook my leaves to laugh at him and his fruitless search through the unfathomable woodland.

I laughed and laughed, and even then he did not see me.