Petunia Wickle by Joy Zhang

Smithsville was a peaceful and small town. It was located in the middle of a grand forest and managed to sustain itself with its own farms and livestock so there was no reason to trade with other towns and villages. The townspeople lived together in harmony and nothing “strange or chaotic” ever happened in Smithsville (of course, there would always be something that Mrs. Hamsworth would lose and she would usher the townspeople to “get up and solve the case” when in reality, she simply misplaced it) except the occasional disappearance of children (but the townspeople were convinced that the children were simply stupid enough to get themselves lost in the forest whilst playing). And the townspeople were happy with this life.

However, Petunia Wickle sought a path away from this mundane life. She was raised by a single mother and developed the stubbornness and courage that other little girls didn’t possess. She was constantly searching for adventure and a way out of the boringness of Smithsville. She tried running into the forest (only to be chased back by angry crows), played detective when Mrs. Hamsworth proclaimed a lost shoe (and finding it in the closet of the Hamsworths’), and even proclaimed to run away in the town square (“You ain’t going nowhere young lady,” her mother huffed as she pulled Petunia back).

Petunia knew she wanted her life to change, even though her mother and all the others found her simply despicable and crazy.

Early one morning, Petunia woke up to the sound of angry neighbors shrieking. She pulled open the annoying frilly pink curtain (her mother insisted!) and looked out her bedroom window. The cool moist wind of August brushed her face gently as she peered over to the Hampsons’ front yard. On the paved road stood an old hag and a very red Mr. Hampson.

“I told you! We don’t need no potions or lizard toes or love spells! What are you anyway, some sort of witch enthusiast?”

“Err… I’m just supposing, sonny—” The old hag croaked before Mr. Hampson cut her off.

“Just, leave! Go away right now and stop disrupting us or else I’m going to call the sheriff over!”

The old woman’s lips trembled slightly. Then she picked up her basket and began to leave. Mr. Hampson sighed and turned around to go back to his house. His hand clasped around the doorknob. However, he was not able to turn it. He pulled on the door even harder, yet it would not budge. He banged on the door and pulled it. Petunia found this quite comical and laughed out loud only to receive a glare from Mr. Hampson. Finally, the door swung open.

“That’s odd,” he scratched his head.

Petunia laughed again as she looked at the hag’s direction to catch the slightest glimpse of green sparkles disappearing.

She’s a witch! Petunia gasped. She quickly grabbed a coat and leapt out of her room through the window.

However, when she got to the front yard of the Hampsons, there was no hag to be seen. She looked around and found a track of smushed grass with imprints of heavy clomps. She inspected the footprints and decided that the hag left these. So, she followed them.

The path led into the forest. However, it looked different than the last time Petunia entered the forest. It was darker than usual and smelt faintly of burnt wood. Fog had risen due to the humid morning air and Petunia couldn’t see anything farther than a foot away. There was occasionally some rustling in the bushes, but apart from that, the forest was still.

As Petunia walked even deeper into the forest, the fog closed in and thickened to the point that she could barely see the tracks. The trees grew thicker and branches tugged at the hems of Petunia’s sleeping gown. Deeper and deeper she went. There were no longer signs of life and the forest was completely still. The eeriness made Petunia uneasy but she was too determined to go on.

Finally, the tracks led her into a clearing and the fog wisped off. In the middle stood a yellow brick house with a garden next to it. The yellow bricks made the house glow under the sun. Petunia frowned. Was this the house of the witch? It’s so… bright

She trudged to the door and knocked. The door opened but there was no one holding it. She walked in, slightly impressed. The interior of the house was dark, only lit by a few flickering candles. The house seemed large enough to hold a dozen rooms from the outside, but there were only three doors. One on the left, one on the right, and the final one in the middle.

Petunia pulled on the handle of the room on the right and revealed… nothing. The inside of the room seemed to be bricked off by the same yellow bricks that built the house. She pulled open the second door which was on the left and it opened to a polished room that held multiple jars of weird stuff labeled in a language she couldn’t understand. There was chittering and voices coming from some of the jars but no witch. Disappointed, she shut the door again. Finally, she walked over to the door in the middle and opened it. And there she was, a mysterious figure sitting on a velvet armchair with her hands folded on her lap in front of a large oak table that held two teacups filled to the brim with hot tea as if she was expecting for someone.

“Welcome dearie. What brings you here to the middle of nowhere?”

“I, uh, saw you talking to Mr. Hampson this morning. I thought you might be a witch.”

“Why would you ever think that dearie?”

“I saw you. Casting spells. You did use magic to seal Mr. Hampson’s door shut, didn’t you? I mean, I saw you.”

The hag chuckled.

“So, uh, I was wondering. Could you teach me magic or something? I would really like to do something interesting.”

“I see. That little town of yours isn’t meeting your expectations, isn’t that right dearie?”

“Yeah!”

“Well then, would you be willing to trade?”

“Trade?”

“Oh, I don’t do businesses without proper payment. You want something, you have to pay for it.”

“But I don’t have money.”

The hag laughed, “Oh I don’t want money. I simply need your confirmation that you wolud be willing to do anything to get what you want.”

“Yeah… I am.”

The hag pulled out a piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere, “Sign this then, please.”

Petunia signed it with no hesitation.

The corners of the hag’s mouth pulled back into something that resembled a smile. She pointed to the cup, “Drink the tea, then, dearie. And relax. This concoction will delve into your soul and solidify the pledge. It’ll take a minute to settle, but then I’ll bring you to where you belong.”

Petunia picked up the dainty teacup and peered inside. The tea was a deep rouge color and bubbled occasionally.

“Drink up dearie.”

Petunia closed her eyes.

“We don’t have all day.”

She lifted the cup to her lips.

Gulp!

“That’s it. Down it goes. We’ll just have to wait now.”

Petunia felt the warm liquid run down her esophagus. It tasted like licorice, then like chocolate, but a horrendous odor constantly clung to her nose.  She felt sick. Her ears buzzed and voices shouted in her ear but she couldn’t comprehend. Her head bobbled and her vision became hazy.

“Take a few minutes now, dearie. Don’t worry, it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Then everything went black.

In her conscience, she could hear the sound of knife against meat… the same sound that she would overhear her mother preparing the meat for the evening’s dinner. She could feel hands ripping apart her flesh and could smell the sickening scent of mold.

Wake up!

Voices. She wanted to scream.

Wake up!

Voices of children. She felt sick.

WAKE UP!

Petunia woke up from her nightmare. Something felt different. She knew she was still in the witch’s cabin, but she couldn’t see. It wasn’t only the matter of not being able to see; she couldn’t move either. There seemed to be something that limited her movement. This didn’t limit her mind however, she could still feel and sense everything around her.

She sensed that she was in the room on the left. The room with jars and jars of… wait. The voices. The voices of the children that she heard during her nightmare. She listened carefully to the voices and discovered that she was able to depict what they said:

Trapped for eternity ‘til she chooses to use you. An’ they never listen. Ever too foolish to listen. Too ignorant to know. Too stubborn to know.

Another day passed in Smithsville. Everyone was rambling about the disappearance of the infamous Petunia Wickle. The housewives were especially excited and quacked about the girl.

“I knew it! I knew she’d end up missing one day!”

“She’s a bad egg, that Wickle, never listened! Serves her right!”

“Shh… Mrs. Wickle’s here.”

A worn-out widow walked into the marketplace. Bags drooped down under her eyes. Some grey stands grew seemingly out of nowhere amongst her once luscious black hair. She looked like as if she aged 10 years over one night.

“You al’wight, Mrs. Wickle?”

“Dun’ worry. Mr. Fletcher set off already to hunt for her. Bet she be back by sundown!”

“Ye. ‘n if she ain’t back, it’s fine too. She ain’t worth it. She’s a trouble if I’ve ever saw one,” Mrs. Bark laughed.

The widow wobbled. Her eyes shot up angrily at Mrs. Bark. Her hands tore at the woman’s hair.

“What the— Let go! Let go!”

Mrs. Wickle pushed Mrs. Bark down into the dirt and punched her.

“The woman’s gone crazy! Help! HELP!”

The townspeople stopped their buzzling and surrounded Mrs. Wickle and Mrs. Bark, their eyes locked on the fight. Some people shifted uneasily, unsure whether they should interfere, while others watched the women with amused eyes. After a while, Mrs. Bark began sobbing and only then did people realize that they should help.

A few men jumped in to break down the fight while some women held up Mrs. Bark. Mrs. Bark pointed a finger at Mrs. Wickle and screeched, “She’s gone mad! We… We should get rid o’ her.”

The townspeople stared at the dirty, red-eyed Wickle and nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Wickle’s eyes widened in disbelief, “I just want my daughter back! She… She laughed it off as if Petunia’s ain’t worth nothing! Hampson, you’ll help me, right? I know Fletcher never finds the children! But if we send more people—”

Mr. Hampson solemnly took a step forward. “We do… want her back. It’s just… she’s not worth our time.”

Mrs. Wickle’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She looked at others for help, but no one dared to meet her eyes. Then she clenched her fists and walked away.

“You think she’s gonna be okay?” A woman glanced at the vanishing silhouette of Mrs. Wickle as she turned to her husband.

“Yeah. You’ll see, she’ll be fine in a few days. They always do.”

And so, they shrugged it off and went back to work.

Featured Image- Dark forest Courtesy of WallpaperCave

by Joy Zhang