Welcome, you’ve stumbled into The Tori Story Series. If this is your first visit to this realm you might want to catch up.

---

---

“Come, boy, lend me your hand. Need to feel the meat on your finger. See if you’ve fat enough to eat.” The Witch said as she approached the net that dangled from the tree. 

The late afternoon sun beat down on the boys. Sticky, oppressive heat made it difficult to breath. Sluggishly, a lazy haze settled in like a heavy blanket, causing even the normally ear-piercing chirp of the crickets to warble, before fizzing out, leaving their stridulating half-sung. It was the job of the crickets to lull the sun to sleep, and coax the moon out. But with their half-hearted effort it would take an eternity to do so. All, it seemed had fallen under a strange spell.

At least that is how it felt to John Smith that afternoon, as they hung, tangled up in the net, and waited. Waited for what? Deliverance or death. And preferably the former over the latter. Of course, they could only hope. 

John wasn’t particularly fond of the gods, thinking them all rather snooty and pompous, but today he prayed relentlessly and fervently. I assure you, never before and never again were more pious prayers uttered. 

~

Tori had disappeared into the cabin shortly after the boys were ensnared in her trap. For as long as she dared, she allowed them to hang there. The third one had run off, back in the direction of the township and Tori knew it was just a matter of time before he returned. Perhaps bringing the entire village with him. She would have to work fast.

Tori threw on a long black cloak, and a floppy black hat. The hat she knitted to a long point last winter. Knitting was all but a lost art in Belton, one that she had picked up while pregnant with Rowan. 

The child growing in her belly was large and constantly threatened to make an early appearance. Heavy contractions occurred frequently and so the last two months she was bedridden. Doctor’s orders. Still her energy didn’t wane and so out of the sheer boredom— she was never one to do nothing— she taught herself to knit. A skill that came in quite handy now that she was stuck here in Andor. There were no department stores she could run off to. No clothes to purchase on a whim. 

In addition to the outfit, Tori smeared mud all over her face. Leaving a tiny clump on the tip of her nose. Like a wart? Maybe she was trying too hard. She squeezed the water out of her long dark hair still damp from her afternoon swim, and let the loose wet curls hide her face. Surveying her image in the antique mirror, Tori smiled. The boys were in for a trick— or was it a treat? I guess it all depended on Witch side you stood.

Tori grabbed her intricately carved walking stick; one she had found in her wanderings through the woods. A curious treasure, for she discovered that it was infused with a certain degree of authority. Probably a relic left or dropped by an unwelcome, displaced Keeper. At any rate, it was hers now. She exited the cabin, bent over the stick, and hobbled toward the boys.

Approaching slowly, she lowered her head, partially concealing her face. Hoping beyond hope her appearance would be convincing.

~

John Smith didn’t move. They didn’t dare. 

“Sa matter?” Tori croaked once she reached the net. She poked the boys with her stick. Immediately, they both sat up as erect as possible, which wasn’t really erect at all, considering their current situation. “Cat gotcha tongue? I was hoping for some delicious child stew tonight.” 

Tori paused. Considering. Would a witch say such nonsense? She couldn’t remember. It had been so long since she’d read the old fairy tales. She struggled to recall Rowan’s all-time favorite— Hansel and Gretel. How did it go? The oven! That’s right. 

“Maybe I’ll just bake you in my wood stove. You are a boy aren’t you? Not a rather large dog? Or a fox maybe?” Flailing her arms and jumping up and down, she cackled. It startled Little Smith so that he jumped, disturbing the already precarious balance the boys had maintained in the net. They had both managed to worm their way upright but now Smith toppled on top of John. His foot slipped through a hole, barely brushing by the Witch’s hat. Terrified, Smith scrambled to pull it back into the safety of the net.

For fun, Tori uttered a barrage of German expletives— to the boys it sounded like strange incantations— and then ended with “I am ever so tired of eating dog!” 

I’ve told you before John was sharp as a tack. Immediately, he began to bark and howl. 

Little Smith’s eyes widened in disbelief. From his vantage point the once beautiful princess had turned into a hideous witch. Her beauty a spell, after all. Hunter was right. For all Hunter’s expertise, he failed to mention the fact that the witch would be able to turn his brother into a dog. 

Poor little confused Smith. He just sat there, dumbfounded, and watched. Waiting for his big brother’s transformation. He wondered what type of dog John would turn into. 

Of course, John continued to bark and howl. Howl and bark. He jabbed Smith in the ribs trying desperately to get him to join in. Little Smith, he just couldn’t quite put two and two together. He was, after all, only four. 

~

Tori lowered her head and smiled, trying to choke back the laughter that threatened to unmask her.

“Oh dear, sounds like a dog.” She chuckled. “Must be a dog. Couldn’t be a fox.” She recovered her composure and made a show of scratching her chin. Then off-handily mumbled. “What does the fox say?” 

Little Smith took the bait. “John,” he whispered “What does the fox say?” 

At that Tori howled in laughter, and then so as to cover up the laughter— she screamed. Shrieked really. It was so sudden and blaring it startled even Tori. 

“So! You are a boy. Maybe I can’t see an elephant in the kitchen but I can hear the cough of a fly from 100 miles away. I knew it!” She took her stick and stood straight up. To the boys she appeared to grow several feet right before their very eyes. Doubling in size almost. More Witchery, if there was ever a doubt before, it was gone now.

“Boy, give me your finger!” Tori commanded and this time both boys moved to comply. 

Luckily John still had his wits about him, for he grabbed Smith’s hand and shook his head, no. He pointed to Smith’s fat fingers and his skinny ones. Smith’s eyes widened again as finally, for once, realization overcame him. 

Cautiously, John extended his hand. 

The Witch took it. 

~

When Tori took John’s hand she froze. It was the same hesitation from all those years ago.

De Je Vu. 

Her heart broke. Oh how she missed her son.

She held John’s hand, gripping it tight. Her body wracked with sobs. 

At length she said, “No, not fat enough yet.” Choking out the words. “Come boy; come down and into my cabin. I’ll feed you sugar cane to fatten you up. Skin and bones are no good for eating.” She grabbed her knife, and raised it to cut the net. 

Truly, she meant to free the boys. She had only meant to give them a good scare. Just to keep them away, but the boys didn’t know that. How could they? All they saw was the long sharp knife. Smith, paralyzed with fear, relieved himself. Urine flowed down his pant leg and trickled onto the forest floor. 

After she cut the net down, she made no move to catch the boys. Instead, she simply said “Go on, boys.” 

John Smith, not understanding she meant to free them, stood and headed toward the cabin. 

With their backs to her, Tori looked at them both fondly and smiled. They were just two precious boys. “No boys,” She said softly. 

It was her soft voice that terrified them the most. When the boys got older and they retold the story to their children it was at this point that chills would run down their spines. She meant to chase them. They would both recall. She meant to play a game. And so in a demonic whisper she uttered her command. 

“Run.”

~

And Run they did. They didn’t stop running until they reached the gates of the village even though their legs were rubber and their heart felt as if it might explode in their chest. 

A rag tag party of concerned adults, which Hunter had managed to assemble, met them at the edge of town. It was a small menacing crowd of men bearing pitchforks, knifes, and various other small weapons. 

John Smith’s father led the crowd. Relief washed over his face, as his boys appeared. Unharmed? Yes, unharmed!– stumbling and panting up the path. Father dropped his weapon and ran to meet them. He embraced them.

“John Smith, boys, you’re safe… What happened?” Father cried.

John was shocked to see the tears falling freely down his father’s normally stoic face. 

Smith too young to know any better eyed his father and then the crowd. All attention was on him and so rather matter-of-factly he, between staccato breaths, replied, “She turned— John into– a dog— and then— she was going— to eat us— for dinner—”

Collectively, the crowd gasped. “A dog?” 

“Yes— but— he got better.” Smith panted.

“And Dinner?” Father asked. 

“Well– ” Smith looked to John for further explanation.

“We got away.” John offered, not really knowing how in the world they had gotten so lucky. He knew he would never be able to explain. Luckily, no one asked. 

With that said and the boys safe in hand, the crowd disbanded. 

After all, no one really wanted to face the Witch.

---

---