The Witch's Hat

Standing motionless in the shadows, the thief silently questioned every single one of his life choices that led to this moment. This was a very stupid contract to accept: to steal the hat of the witch of the forest. But the reward might just actually outweigh the risk, if he survived, that is.

He had heard stories told around campfires for ages about the small cottage in the woods, and of the witch that was rumored to live within. No one who came too close to the cottage survived, the only sign of them were the screams from within. Well, and the cackling. 

A floorboard creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

If no one has ever seen the witch and lived, how does anyone know that she even wears a hat? he thought.

He contemplated sneaking back out the slightly open window that he had entered from, but the thoughts of the gold that awaited him if he succeeded gave him pause. 

For a sum like that, he had to succeed.

Glancing around the dim candlelight illuminating the room, he scanned for any sign of the hat he had come to get. Books, herbs, burning embers in the fireplace; no sign of a hat. Or, thankfully, of the witch herself. A blessing, unless that meant she was wearing it.

Assured that the witch was not in her home, the thief crept out of the shadows to investigate the rest of the cottage. It was quaint, not the horrifying domain that he had expected to see. It was almost cozy. Certainly better than the squalor that he lived in, his tiny chamber at the thieves guild that was more of a closet. That was why he needed this contract, his big break to prove himself and to get out of the poverty that had always encapsulated his life. 

There was a small bed in an alcove of the cottage with a chest at its foot. A chest of clothes, maybe? He crossed the room to it and quietly opened its lid. 

Books. 

He sighed, turning around to scan the room again. He glimpsed another chest by the fireplace. This had to be it, there was nowhere else in the room it could be. The lid stuck, not wanting to budge. He pried under it with a dagger, cutting through a grime that dried to the edge, almost sealing it. Eventually, the lid popped open. 

Bones. 

He gasped, wheeling backward and tripping over the rug. Suddenly, the open window slammed shut and all light was extinguished. Complete darkness surrounded him, as if he had been struck blind. 

A quiet cackle reverberated through the room, chilling the blood in his veins. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” crooned a musical voice, “A little mouse has snuck into my home. Uninvited.” The last word was like a dagger of ice in his chest. 

A wind blew through the room, pummeling the thief as he scrambled off the ground, trying to get his feet under him. He rushed to where he remembered the door being, frantic to make his escape. Warm hands spun him around and pushed him against the locked door. 

“Going somewhere?” the witch asked, her breath too-hot on his ear. His knees buckled under him. 

Suddenly the pressure against him was gone and light blazed in the room again. Now fully across the room, a woman lounged by the fireplace, stoking it with a long stick. A wand? A bone? 

He stared. She was absolutely beautiful. Waist-length black hair cascaded behind her, silver eyes looking into the fire before her. And so young. This couldn’t be the fabled evil witch, could it?

“Sit!” her once serene voice now commanding. He couldn’t fight it as his legs moved him forward to where she lounged and threw him upon the ground. 

She turned her eyes to him, a smile on her full lips. 

“Now,” she said, “what brings a little mouse like you into my humble abode?” 

Fear gripped him as he tried to speak, thinking fast, “I, I, I… I came to strike a deal with the great and powerful witch of the woods, the witch who is fabled for her power and strength. But the stories did not do you justice, as your beauty is also that of legends.” He prayed to all of the gods for his life, for mercy. 

A sensual giggle wrapped around him, as if caressing him, “Well, this is new.” she said, “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” She smiled widely at him, her teeth sharp and thin. 

“What is this deal that you would so desperately break into my home for?”

He took a chance, begging that his bravery, or foolishness, would pay off, “I wish to have your hat, that is, if you would be willing to part with it.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, “And why would you want such a thing?” she asked. 

He scrambled for an excuse, “For my daughter, mistress. She is ill and I had hoped that something so special would bring enough money to pay for her treatment.” He didn’t have to try hard to look distressed. 

The witch sniffed as if she could the smell lie for what it was. She smiled slowly. 

“If you even have a daughter, I’ll eat my hat! But, I applaud the attempt. I’ll play your game, little mouse. Here are my terms: I will give you my hat, and in return, you are to stay for dinner.” she said. 

He blinked, unsure he had heard right. “Dinner?”

She simply nodded. 

“And then, you will give it to me? Oh, thank you!” he said, not believing his luck. 

“So, does that mean you accept? Then say it.” the witch purred. 

A sense of dread came over him, but it was his only chance. “I accept”, he breathed. 

The witch’s smile grew and grew, splitting the once beautiful face from ear to ear, the razor-sharp teeth elongating. He was still frozen where he sat. 

The birds from the nearby trees scattered as a scream erupted from the cottage. It was shortly followed by a cackle. 

—

The next morning upon the steps of the thieve’s guild, there lay a hat, seemingly made of what looked like skin. It lay atop a pile of bones. A note sat on its brim, simply reading:

“See? I told you I would eat my hat”