No one visited Polly’s cottage, not after she turned the door to door wagon salesman into a toad, so Polly was quite surprised when she heard a knock and opened the door wide.

        Unused to daylight, she blinked three times and then down at a boy who had no strength to lift the adult sword in his hands.

        “Ah, villain,” the blonde lad greeted. “At last, destiny has thrust witch and witch hunter together in glorious combat. This shall be a fine battle - hey!”

        Polly closed the door and returned to her cauldron. Dinner would not make itself. She was cutting up the carrots when she heard her door handle vibrate and then bang.

        Sighing, she dried her hands and headed out into the horrid sunlight.

        “Aha,” said the little boy. “It’s no use running. Prepare for thy doom.”

        “Can I help you, young man?” Polly asked. Usually, the sign nailed to her garden gate was enough incentive for privacy but maybe this boy couldn’t read.

        THE FOOL WHO KNOCKS MY DOOR ALONE WILL FIND THEIR BODY TURNED TO STONE.

        What were they teaching in schools these days?

        “My mother is the local witch hunter,” the boy bowed slightly at the waist, almost displacing the too big helmet from his blonde head.

“I’ve retired,” Polly interrupted but the boy pressed on.

“I’m afraid she’s ill so it falls on me to rid the world of - hey.”

        “Bloody kids,” Polly moaned as she closed the door now her stew was burning. Some people had no consideration. In her prime, people sang about her burning the witch hunter king in his chariot. Children whispered in fear of her smashing the witch hunter’s temple and then buying a nice cottage with their stolen spoils.

        Now strangers waltzed up to her house without appointments like they owned the place.

        “I can wait all day, villain,” the boy yelled through the letterbox. “I mean my mother said I have to be home by seven and I have to pick up the shopping at three so for the next ninety minutes I’m your worst nightmare-”

        Polly smelled magic before she heard the crack of thunder. The sonic boom shook her house and she sighed when the moss covered chimney wobbled and then crashed like a meteor off the roof.

        When she opened the door, the boy was gone and only a large burn mark where her roses had been remained.

        Sniffing, she looked up as she heard a howl and saw the boy being carried off by a woman on a broomstick.

        She seemed to be heading towards the evil woods.

        “Bloody kids,” Polly sighed.

                                                ***

The birds stopped singing as Polly pulled her cloak tight against her, a barrier to the thorns as she headed deep into the ugly woods which she had once called home. She felt no cold but still her flesh quivered when she saw the campfire.

        No witch liked heat, it was responsible for the destruction of her sisters. Her coven that had danced beneath the murderous moon. But that had been an age ago when she was young and full of hate.

        Now she was retired and only hungry for stew.

        “Sister?” Polly called out and felt her stomach cramp when she saw the blonde boy tied upside down to a tree.

        “Ah, you’ve come to surrender, have you?” Demanded the boy. “I can take you both with my hands tied.”

        Polly slowed her heartbeat and listened to the night. Once it had been her guide, now it only told her about the footsteps other mortals would miss.

        “Well, look who crawled out from her stone,” a blue haired woman dropped her firewood and settled her old bones down on a rock with tired groans. She rubbed her feet and then recoiled at some scent.

        “Is that you?” the woman coughed as if almost overpowered by some strong smell. “The stink of humans is appalling.”

        Polly studied the boy. He didn’t seem hurt, she was pleased she’d arrived early enough to find him whole.

        “I heard there was a witch hunter in town,” the blue haired witch mused. “They seemed taller when I was a gal. But I don’t intend to live on berries and stew like SOME PEOPLE. I’ll eat meat like the old days - like all witches should.”

        Polly had been brought up proper and removed her pointed hat as she stepped forward, invading the sacred clearing.

        “Sally - we must send him home. We don’t have to be those people anymore. The old ways are dead.”

        The blue haired witch smiled with yellow teeth as she let the moonlight fill her eyes. “I don’t fear the old ways. Things are changing too fast for my liking. People have forgotten what it's like to fear us - I will remind them.”

        “I can’t let you,” Polly said.

        “I don’t need your help,” the boy cried. “I have this under control.”

        The blue haired witch whistled and the fire died out.

        “You always wanted to be a hero,” Sally lamented. “I gave you a chance to prove yourself - to kill the great witch hunter king and you bloody married him.”

        “I retired,” Polly corrected.

        “You think you’re better than your coven? Because eating children is somehow wrong? I bet you tell people lies about how you turn door to door wagon salesmen into frogs to keep them away.”

        “I’m not here to fight.”

        Polly gasped when the blue haired witch vanished, leaving only the scent of magic behind her.

        “I am,” something said and the thing with wings blocked out the moon.

        I won’t believe that’s a dragon, Polly thought and then stumbled behind a tree when a wall of flame smashed against the bark, burning her nose hair as she breathed in.

        “God, I hate dragons,” Polly said.

        The creature roared, turning her attention to the bound boy.

        “I - I was trained to fight witches,” he said, miserably as the monster found her hunger. Dragons ate cooked food. Sally filled her lungs with fire and cackled hate.

Polly saw her chance and hissed in pain as she snapped a charcoal scorched branch from off the tree and whispered the illegal words she had sworn never to repeat since her retirement. She gave the arrow a mission and threw it with all her might.

The dragon coughed once as the branch flew down her throat, then when it spun round and blocked her airways, Sally choked and spluttered. In terror, she stomped down a tree in pursuit of air but found none. The fire she had birthed in her belly ate away her insides, burning her from within.

Polly turned away when the thing that had once been her friend turned to ash. The wind seemed to scoop them up in invisible hands and scatter them across the black burnt grass.   

The boy whined and finally opened his eyes when Polly took his hand and cut him down.

“Prepare for combat,” he challenged. “I’m going to make my mom proud.”

He stopped talking when Polly pressed a purple flower into his hand and said, “Crush this into a powder and sprinkle it into your mom’s food - it will cure most ailments.”

The boy stared at the flower and then at the witch. “M-my name’s Adam,” he said.

“I don’t care,” Polly sighed. The walk home was long.

“My mom will find you, villain,” Adam called from somewhere. “She’s the best witch hunter in the world.”

“I’m retired,” Polly called back. At her signal, the dark cloaked round her and aided her escape home.

If she was quick, she might save her stew after all.

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Matthew Wilson has been published repeatedly in Star*Line, Night to Dawn magazine, Hiraeth Books and many others. His first short story collection Gargoyles in the Abbey is available on Amazon.