The Witch of the Winter Woods-2
1267 Words
SHE AWOKE TO THE SIGHT of twinkling fairy lights. Shimmering globes: green, gold and red. A real Christmas tree. She could smell the pine-y-ness of it. And another lovely scent in the distance: apples and cinnamon. The warm aroma brought a smile to her lips.
“Mom, Pop! I think she’s waking up!”
Darla’s voice. Darla’s house. So homey. This couch, so comfortable. This quilt, so warm. Darla’s hand clutching hers, trembling as Mom and Pop rushed into the room from somewhere else. The kitchen maybe.
They looked just the way Nicole imagined them: neat and proper, kind eyes, welcoming smiles.
“Are you okay?” Darla asked. “We’ve been so worried about you. The doctor will be around as soon as he can get through the snow, but for now we’re supposed to keep an eye on you.”
Darla’s mother introduced herself and her husband, told Nicole to call them Mom and Pop.
Nicole sat with great effort, raising one hand to her aching forehead. Was this a bandage on her head? What had happened to her? She remembered a stone cottage, a fire, like a dream.
There was a fire crackling just beyond the foot of the couch. A fire in a stone hearth. Maybe that’s what she’d dreamed.
“How did I get here?” Nicole asked. There seemed to be a gap in her memory. “I was driving... and now I’m here.”
Darla gazed up at her parents, who looked down at her with concern.
“You don’t remember what happened?” asked Pop.
Nicole shook her head no. Oh, that hurt. Easier to say the words. “I don’t remember how I got here.”
Darla and her parents helped Nicole to her feet. Into her coat, into her boots. They wanted to show her something. Something outside.
The three of them walked her slowly along the path and down the long driveway. Snow-covered trees on either side. Such a beautiful place to live. If Nicole had seen this on the way in, she’d certainly remember it. Especially the trees wrapped in bluish lights that glowed like stars through the snow.
This was the kind of home Nicole had always wanted for herself.
Darla’s parents were the kind of family she’d always dreamed of.
“Brace yourself,” Darla’s dad said as they reached the road. “This won’t be easy to look at.”
Nicole couldn’t imagine what he was talking about until she saw it for herself: a burned-out Dodge minivan, black where once it had been red. Everything she’d packed to bring on this trip, burned to a crisp. The gifts she’d bought for Darla, Darla’s parents, gone up in smoke.
It was like a punch to the gut, seeing her vehicle damaged beyond recognition. They’d been together so long. That minivan had been her home when she’d had nowhere else to go. There was a part of her that wanted to run to it, wrap her arms around the char, embrace what the van had meant to her over the years.
But she couldn’t move. Could barely stand. Barely squeak out the words, “What happened?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Darla’s mother replied.
Darla held Nicole’s hand. Held it tight. Would never let go. “You don’t remember?”
“Don’t remember what?” Nicole asked.
“Your van catching fire,” Darla’s mother said. “We assumed you must have been in it at the time.”
Nicole touched her bandaged forehead. “I don’t remember. I don’t think so.”
“We never heard any sirens,” Darla said. “And the house is so close. We definitely would have heard them if the fire department had been called out.”
“It’s quite a puzzle,” her mother went on. “Your van clearly went up in flames. But how was the fire put out?”
Nicole shook her head, but oh that hurt. She’d have to remember not to move. “I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this could have happened.” Looking from Darla to her caring parents, Nicole asked, “How did I get to your house?”
“There was a knock at the door,” Darla’s mother said. “We found you collapsed on the stoop.”
“You were unconscious,” Darla added. “So Pop carried you to the couch and I called the doctor.”
“But we thought it was awfully strange,” her father went on. “That you’d arrived and yet there was no sign of a vehicle in the drive. Plus, the smell of fire on the air. It’s not unusual, the scent of wood fire, not around here. But this... something just seemed off.”
Darla took off her own scarf and wrapped around Nicole’s neck. “So Pop came out to explore, and that’s when he found your van. You must have crawled to our house.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” Nicole said.
There had definitely been a fire. She remembered smelling it, hearing the crackle of flames. But that was inside the cottage, the stone cottage.
The old woman! Ma!
“Is there another house around here?” Nicole asked. “An old one in the woods, tiny, made of stone.”
Darla’s mother and father looked at each other, sharing the same haunted expression.
“What?” Nicole asked. “What’s wrong?”
They didn’t want to take her there, not in her condition, but she insisted. She needed to see the old woman, Ma. To thank her. Ma must have saved her from the burning wreck. What other explanation could there be? She must have dreamed... she didn’t know what.
Seeing Ma in the road, was that a dream? Because she remembered parking her van at the side of the road. It definitely wasn’t on fire when she left it. Then she’d followed Ma into the woods, into her cozy cottage. She’d fallen asleep after that. Hearing voices. Smelling fire.
What on earth had happened to her?
She needed to know.
Nicole insisted Darla and her parents lead the way to the cottage in the woods. It wasn’t a good idea, went contrary to doctor’s orders, but she had to see Ma, ask the old woman what had really happened tonight.
Traipsing through the snow-covered woods wasn’t exactly fun, not in Nicole’s rough state, not even with three people helping her over the fallen branches and through the drifts.
How on earth was a woman as old as Ma able to move around this forest so easily? And hadn’t her feet been bare? Or had Darla dreamed that bit?
“Here it is,” Darla’s dad finally said. “The old stone house, circa 1670.”
Nicole didn’t understand. The house was in ruins. Only three of four walls remained, and they’d clearly crumbled long ago. Nicole could make out the doorway, but there was no door. No roof.
She insisted on entering the structure, such as it was, but inside was nothing but snow.
“I don’t understand,” Nicole whispered. “There was a fire here, a wood stove. There was wood furniture. There were herbs hanging from the ceiling, hanging everywhere. She lived here. I fell asleep on the floor.”
Cautiously, Darla asked, “Who lived here?”
“Ma,” Nicole replied. “That’s what she told me to call her. I don’t know what her real name was. She was old, an old lady, and she had on tattered shoes and a wool skirt and a big shawl. Grey hair, or silver I guess, and lots of it, kind of wild. But there must be another cottage. Hers had a roof. And a door. And four walls.”
There was a lot of whispering between Darla and her parents after that, but Nicole started to feel faint, like something was draining her energy. None of this made any sense, but her brain was too enflamed to listen harder. Their voices became a high-pitched buzz in her ears.
“I just need to... lie down...” Nicole said, slipping from their arms until her knees met the snow.
Knees, shoulders, face. Sweet relief. The cold snow on her hot cheeks felt wonderful. She could stay right here all night.
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- Writer
