Witch Hands ~ Part 3

I knew it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to follow a hungry talking snake through the Webblewood forest, but turning back without the hands was not an option.  So I followed as the snake slid down the path.  We came to an unmarked fork in the road after a few minutes of walking/slithering, and the snake turned left.  After another few minutes we came to a four way intersection and continued straight.  The trees got closer, the forest got darker, and there were odd rustles and crackles and chitters from the the undergrowth.  I tried not to be afraid.

We came to a little red house at the end of the path, and I smelled warm apples, cinnamon, and pastry.  “Is this it?”

“What do you think?”

I thought it was.  “Is it dangerous?”

The snake almost smiled.  “If it wasssn’t, I could get the pie myssself.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“It wasssn’t sssuposssed to be.”

I surveyed the house, still trying not to be afraid.  It didn’t look so bad, after all.  There were no dead things hanging from the eaves or stuck on poles, or anything of that sort; just the enticing aroma of apple pie.  I didn’t have a plan, really, now that I was here.  I wished that I had left the hands alone.

“Well, I’ll just go up and knock.  There’s no sense in sneaking up on a witch.”

The snake didn’t say whether or not he thought this was a good idea, just slithered away underneath a rock, and looked out at me with two slit eyes.

I approached the door cautiously, and saw a plain little brass knocker, so I knocked it.  In a moment it opened, and a lady about Lian’s age stood there.  She was tall and slender, with long sleek black hair, high cheekbones, and violet eyes.  But I barely noticed that once I glanced down and saw her arms.  I gaped a little.  I couldn’t help it; she had arms that ended in stubs just below the elbow, but hovering just an inch or so below that were the witch hands.

“Um, hi,” I said, forcing my eyes to her face.  “I was, uh, wondering if . . . I could buy a pie.”

“Not interested in snowglobes,” she answered, and it took me a moment to realize she was looking at the snowglobe I held cradle in the crook of my right arm.

“Oh, well, I could offer, uhm, something else.”

She raised an eyebrow.  The arms folded themselves distractingly over her chest.  “And that would be . . . ?”

“Ummmm . . . ” I stuck my left hand in my pocket, and felt my iPod.  I cringed but tried to hide my hesitation as I pulled it out and offered it to her.  “Here, it’s a music player.  Holds up to 40,000 songs.”

She looked interested, and took the iPod, her hands moving perfectly as if still attached.  “These go with it,” I said, holding out the earbuds.

“Alright,” she agreed, “this is a clever thing.  You may have a pie, come inside and choose one.”

I stepped inside and followed her over to a table.  There was an array of apple pies with all different kinds of decorative pastry tops.  I chose one with cutouts the shape of little rabbits running around the edge.  “It’s for a friend,” I said, picking it up.  “I think he would like this one.”

She stared at me.  I held the pie.  After a moment of awkward silence passed, I ventured, “Um, would you be willing to sell . . . those?”

“These?” she lifted her hands.  “No.  I just got them back.”

“Oh.”

I shifted my feet and sniffed at the pie.  “Do you know where I could find a, er, similar pair?”

“No.  It’s a barbaric and evil practice and I wouldn’t tell you if I did know.  Cutting off people’s arms.  It’s disgusting.  How would you like it if someone cut off your arms?”

I stared guiltily at the little rabbits cavorting around the pie.  “I guess I wouldn’t.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  And if you buy a pair it’s just as bad as cutting off some poor girl’s arms, yourself.  Now run along and don’t think about it ever again.”  She opened the door and motioned to shoo me out.

“Um, I’m sorry to be a pest,” I said miserably, “but I’ve lost my wicked step-mother’s hands and I can’t go home unless I have something.  Do you know of anything that’s not evil and disgusting that I can give her to replace the hands?”

“You mean these hands?” the witch said bluntly.

“Well, yes.”

“Hm.”  She looked me over for a minute, frowning, and I tried not to look like a nasty little brat.  “Since you set my hands free, I suppose I can help you out a bit,” she relented, and I sighed with relief.  “There is one thing even more useful than witch hands.”

“What?”

“A jester’s hat.”

I didn’t see how that could be useful, but I didn’t want to accuse her of lying, so I asked, “Where can I find one?”

“I have one in my basement,” she said.  “A jester, that is.  I could never get him to give me his hat, but perhaps you’ll be more lucky.”

I thought that I should at least try, so I put the pie down on her front stoop for the snake and then followed her back inside.  She led me into her pantry and pulled open the cellar door.  I peered down the steps, but all I could see after a few feet was utter darkness.  “There’s a jester down there?” I asked dubiously.

“Yes.  His name is Hans, and he’s quite gloomy, dislikes bright light.  Take this blue light and go through the hole in the wall, that will take you down the cave path to his room.”  The witch snapped her fingers and a little blue light the size of a june bug appeared, hovering in the air near my shoulder.  I took a tentative step downwards, and the light stayed near to my shoulder.  It gave off just enough glow to see for a few feet.

“Good luck,” said the witch.  “Hans isn’t quite a dangerous sort, but if you’re not careful you might not come back.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “I’ll remember that.”  And so I continued going down, slowly, one step at a time, till soon all I could see was a tiny space of bluish light around me.  I had no idea what I would do when I found Hans the Gloomy Jester, but at that very moment I was just worried about getting down the stairs.