Dire Woods

“You have a portal?” John Joseph and Emily squeaked at the same time.

The old woman reached behind her and tossed another log casually onto the fire. “This house has had a portal for years,” she said. She glanced up at her companions and grinned. “To tell the truth, there’s been one in this house for over three hundred.”

“Why would you need one?” asked John Joseph.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” complained Emily.

“Because you didn’t need to know,” Mrs. Wickaby said, dealing with her granddaughter’s question first. “And for your information John Joseph, hedge witches weren’t always popular, you know. On more than one occasion a local hedge witch was conveniently blamed for a freak of nature or some unfortunate accident. They were usually dealt with in a most upsetting way.” The old woman gave an exaggerated shiver and then continued. “It was decided years ago that they needed a safe house. Someplace persecuted people could go and more importantly, a place where they could escape from. They picked Wickaby cottage.” Mrs. Wickaby waved her hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “The portal is over there. I haven’t used it in awhile.”

“It’s in the kitchen?” asked Emily eagerly. “Where?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mrs. Wickaby answered. “Right now we have to get ready to go.”

“We?” asked John Joseph.

“I can’t let you head off into Dire Woods alone,” answered Mrs. Wickaby.

“Dire Woods?” whispered John Joseph.

“Dire Woods,” answered Mrs. Wickaby. “Get packing, Emily. We’ve got to be out of here before Angerona Alabaster discovers her nephew has skedaddled. We‘ll make better time if we leave before it’s too dark. A full moon is lovely, but I‘d rather be sipping a hot mug of tea under it, than setting up a tent.”

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous to bring your granddaughter with us?” asked John Joseph.

“No choice,” answered Mrs. Wickaby. “Her parents are away and she’s staying with me. I can’t leave her behind. Your aunt has the habit of making people pay for her disappointments.”

In twenty minutes, they had their food, clothing, and various paraphernalia ready. Mrs. Wickaby got them to wrap their belongings in waterproof bags. “Why?” asked Emily.

“A necessary precaution, really. Chances are you‘ll see for yourself,” answered the old woman. “John Joseph, Emily, amuse yourself trying to find the portal, but remember, it’s a tricky one. I’m going to trigger a few house spells in case dear Angerona comes knocking.”

Emily and John Joseph pulled open cupboards, peered into cubbies and rifled through drawers. Nothing. Mrs. Wickaby wandered back into the kitchen, cleaning off her hands. “Find it?” she asked, a smirk on her wrinkled face.

“Give us five more minutes,” Emily begged.

“Sorry, my dear,” answered her grandma. “We’ve got to go. Now this portal isn’t exactly like the one in John Joseph’s house.”

“Obviously,” agreed John Joseph.

“Oh, not just in that way!” Mrs. Wickaby said. “You see because this portal was originally built as an escape route, it’s got some added features.”

“Such as?” coaxed Emily Lavender.

“Well, it’ll take us to Dire Woods,” Mrs. Wickaby continued. “But we won’t know exactly where it’s going to drop us off until we land. “

“I don‘t understand,” said John Joseph. “I thought portals took you right to another portal, like the one in Alabaster Manor. It takes you directly to St. Francis Academy.”


“Not this one,“ Said Mrs. Wickaby, with a satisfied smile, “It’s got a built-in roaming device. A randomizer, if you want, that changes the destination after the current hedge witch goes through. Brilliant really, even if someone follows you through the portal, they won’t arrive at the same place.” Mrs. Wickaby, picked her pack up from the table and headed towards the cold storage bin. “That’s why we wrap everything in waterproof cloth. A big part of the Dire Woods happens to be underwater.” Mrs. Wickaby leaned forward, pulled the cold storage bin open on its hinged lid. A dozen small potatoes squatted amid the dirt.

“We checked there already,” Said John Joseph, giving Mrs. Wickaby an inquiring look.

“Don’t worry, young man, I’m not losing it,“ Mrs. Wickaby winked. “You may have looked, but not well enough.“ Then she shut the door, tapped it twice and opened it again. The potatoes had disappeared. John Joseph could see that the drawer now led into a dark, empty room about the size of a small closet. Mrs. Wickaby handed her granddaughter a waterproof sack. “You first, darling, then John Joseph. I’ll cram myself in behind you. Then we‘re off.”