Granny Tales

The mist was rising up from the moors in the distance resembling swirling tendrils of smoke as they wisped around in the chilly night air. A burnt orange kaleidoscope of colours, autumn leaves caught up in the breeze as they danced to a staccato beat. Tonight was the night when all things dark came to life and witches swept the skyline with their brooms. Every year on Halloween our own resident witch made her presence known to us. I’d taken up my favoured viewing position in my room, tucked up in the fat cushions of my window seat, a woven blanket tucked around my legs, waiting and watching for the inevitable.

As if almost on cue the distant and haunting cackling began. The sound always felt like cold fingers scraping down my back, sending a wave of violent shivers through me. I tugged my blanket further up to my chest, as a childish grin settled itself on my lips. My eyes furtively darted back and forth across the darkened landscape outside, as I waited in anxious anticipation to catch a glimpse. The cackling and calls sounded like cats screeching in the night as they grew closer. It was hard to pinpoint exactly which direction they were coming from as the dense night air caused them to echo all around.

Suddenly she appeared from behind one of the large oak trees that rested in the top left corner of our property. At first I could just see the black shadow of her cloak dancing from behind the tree, whipping and snapping back and forth as the wind picked up speed. I giggled to myself as I leapt up from where I sat and moved onto my knees, hands leaving prints against the chilled glass. My nose was flattened against my face as I pressed it to the window, the glass capturing my breath as it fogged over with each exhale. The pointy peak of her witches cap making an appearance, alerting me to the fact that she was about to make her move.

Gracefully she floated out from behind the tree just above our hedged fence, her cloak lightly trailing behind, black skirt flitting about her legs as she straddled the broom. She threw her head back and let out a raucous cackle to the moon above, the golden orb casting glints of light across her form. Winking from beneath her witches hat was bright pink hair, the very sight sent me into fits of juvenile tittering. I’d known for the last two years who our garden enchantress was but I kept the secret to myself because I knew how much joy these fables brought her. I’d even found the tools she used to continue this elaborate hoax, tucked away in the back of the garden shed. Granny loved to tell tales, the fantasy worlds she created kept her young. She’d even told me she was born with the pink hair and ironically it was that hair that always gave her away.

 

(This is for a local writing competition…trying to get a writer to keep a story to 500 words is hard work…lol…I feel like something is missing from it because I couldn't expand on the story.  Fingers crossed it does good.)