Cressida Cowell

The Woods Were Full of Whispers by Cressida Cowell

The woods were full of whispers.
I followed the footprints through the snow, looking over my shoulder all the time at the darkness of the forest all around me.
Suddenly, the footsteps ran out. Could it be witches, magic, wolves? Or something worse than all of these?
I tipped my head upward, and in the dark foliage, I caught a glimpse of movement, just a flash, and….

Finished by Jay Brown, aged 11 from Leeds

All was still.

I shook my head, trying to get the haunting image out of my head. My attention went back to the footprints, but they had vanished without a trace.

Suddenly, a nearby thorn bush rustled eerily. Not a vigorous movement, but enough to make me quicken my pace.

As I walked, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being watched.

I advanced deeper into the forest, and the birds stopped singing. There were no squirrels, no insects, and even the ominous black crows that usually filled the old wood were absent.

Then, all of a sudden, a hand clamped over my mouth and I fell into a stupor.

When I awoke, I was bound with rope, and the snowy wood had been replaced by a cabin. It smelled ancient and musty, like it had been there for a hundred years. In the large fireplace, a cauldron full of a crimson elixir was brewing.

Then I saw her. Hunched in the corner of the room, eyes on a giant tome, sat a witch. She was wreathed in black, and the edges of her cloak were fuzzy, almost as if she was fading away.

Then she spoke. “Must… cook the girl,” She moaned. “Must become young again! I’m so, so… hungry!”

She turned her beetle-black eyes to me, and her chapped lips curled into a grin. But then I noticed the loose nail. It was right next to my hand, and if the old crone turned her back…

The witch twisted, hobbling over to the cauldron. I took my chance, prising the nail out of the rough, splintery bench I was lying on. As quietly as I could, I severed my binds. Then, silently, I crept up behind the hag. I raised the nail, and then stopped. She may have planned to kill me, but this… this was too much. And so, I raised my boot, and the scuffed toe came into contact with the witch’s cloaked rump. She let out a screech of horror, and then fell headlong into the murky pot.

The effect was instant, and bits of the crone began to peel off, until she was nothing more than a cloak, floating in the vat. My face contorted into a look of utter disgust, and I turned away. Then, without a moment’s thought, I left the cabin and fled the wood.

No-one ever believed my story. My parents thought I was mad, and the doctors didn’t have a clue.

But even now, five years later, when I go down to play in the stream by the old forest, I can sometimes hear the whispers in the wood.