Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Her sister is a troll.

Well.

Not literally a troll.

Jane is hopeful that trolls don’t exist. She’s new to the witch hunting business though so she cannot say for certain. Her sister, Emilia, has only confirmed that vampires do not exist, but she hasn’t exactly ruled out the rest of the supernatural pantheon.

It’s Emilia’s fault that Jane is out hiking through woods instead of home curled up with a good book and a pot of jasmine tea on a rare day off from her government job as a tax analyst.

She is definitely not the hiking type. If her ex could see her, he’d never believe it. Paul loved the outdoors. When they’d been in the honeymoon phase, their differences had felt like opposites attracting, and when their marriage had run into difficulties, their differences had felt like every reason they did not work.

She’s tied her long brown hair back into a braid and eschewed her usual make-up routine for a good suncream to protect against another outbreak of freckles, a swipe of mascara so it looks like she has eyelashes, and a smear of cherry balm over her lips.  She’s dressed for the occasion too with a blue t-shirt under a red parka and comfortable old jeans. But her sturdy boots are rarely worn and Jane can already feel the sting of a heel being rubbed the wrong way.

She sighs and continues on.

The woodland is beautiful. Tall leafy trees provide ample shade from the strong sun and there is a dirt path through the undergrowth. The air is filled with a green and earthy scent, perfumed with the blue blossoms that are dotted through the woodland, hugging the roots of the trees poking up through the ground. Occasionally she’ll see a small animal dart across the path. No wolves yet even though there are tales that a pack of timber wolves lives in the forest.

Jane focuses instead on her destination.

There is a cabin the woods up ahead. She can see the faint grey smoke drifting through the blue sky and tree canopy. It’s the home of an old woman, an old witch.

Gertrude Sapple is in her eighties. Her file had provided a picture of an apple-cheeked, large woman with a broad smile and fluffy grey hair, bright blue plastic glasses framing equally bright blue eyes. She sells cakes locally as ‘Grandma Sapple’s Baking.’ She comes across as a friendly elder.

In reality she’s a serial killer.

A witch who moves every ten years into a local wood, establishes herself through her very tasty baking, and who lures three people to the cabin where she eats them. Three lives which sustain her for another ten years.

Jane steps over a fallen branch and into the clearing in front of the cabin. She removes her water bottle from its pocket and holds it ready. Witches have no defence against the type of water Jane carries, but the trick is taking them by surprise.

There is nothing more normal than carrying a water bottle when hiking, Jane thinks determinedly.

She steps up onto the porch and rings the doorbell.

There is a long stretch of silence before she hears the pad of footsteps coming towards the wooden door. It opens and Jane readies the water, loosening the cap enough that she can quickly pull it away and…

She blinks at the sight of the half-naked man in front of her.

He is gorgeous. A riot of dark and lighter curly brown hair is swept back off his face in a rugged messy style. His warm amber eyes land on her with a bright curiosity peeking out from a tanned mobile face with a wide toothy smile and a scruffy amount of stubble along the jawline. Her eyes sweep down his broad shoulders, muscular torso with its scattering of hair, over the blue jeans, and down to his bare feet.

She snaps her gaze back to his face, only too aware that a blush is storming across her cheeks.

“Well, hello, Red,” the man grins at her, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Hello,” Jane congratulates herself on not stuttering. “I’m looking for Gertrude Sapple.”

“I’m afraid your Grandma’s not home, Red,” he says cheerfully.

Really.

Jane’s eyes flicker to the truck parked across the clearing. She arches an eyebrow as she returns her gaze to the man blocking the doorway. “She’s not my grandmother and I’m not Red Riding Hood. May I ask who you are?” She fiddles with the cap on the water bottle as she considers her next move.

“You can ask,” he says with a grin. His eyes widen and he suddenly sniffs the air. His gaze drops to her bottle. “Well, well, well. You really aren’t Red Riding Hood, are you? You’re the Hunter.”

Jane resists the urge to take a step back. “I have no idea what you mean,” she lies.

“Hello, Hunter,” the man holds out a hand for her to shake, “I’m the wolf, although my friends call me Dylan.”

Jane looks at his hand and looks back at him. “The wolf?”

Dylan shrugs and waggles his hand at her. “Werewolf to be accurate.”

“Werewolves are real?” asks Jane, staring at him incredulously.

“Real,” he looks down pointedly at his hand.

She blushes and takes his hand in her own, shaking it firmly and ignoring the fluttering feeling in her belly at the caress of a warm callused palm against hers. “Jane.”

“I take it the Hunter Council sent you?” asks Dylan as he steps back, allowing her to enter the cabin.

She nods as she steps straight into a cosy den.

There is a row of hooks filled with outerwear by the door, boots sitting primly underneath.  An old grey sofa is to her left, fitting perfectly under the window. It has a tumble of mis-matching cushions and a tartan throw messily abandoned.

On the wall in front of her are bookshelves filled to the brim and overflowing, stacks in front of stacks, either side of the hearth. A smouldering fire is partially hidden behind a mesh guard. On the rustic rug in centre of the room, Sapple lies sprawled across the centre like a doll thrown by an angry child. The old woman is dressed in a baking apron over a floral smock dress. Her lifeless eyes are glassy and shining with the shock she must have felt in her last moment. Her throat is missing.

Jane freezes at the sight.

“She tried to lure a cub,” Dylan says in a quiet hard growl beside Jane. “The pack takes care of its own.”

Jane hums. She can’t exactly argue with the outcome since she came with the same goal.

“I was going to bury her but since you brought the water…” Dylan continues.

Jane represses the urge to sigh. It makes a certain kind of sense. She takes a couple of steps forward and throws the contents of her water bottle over the dead witch. The body melts away leaving behind a puddle of clothing and a goopy red stain on the rug.

Dylan wrinkles his nose. “I should probably bury the rug.”

“Probably,” Jane agrees. “Maybe burn it if it doesn’t risk a forest fire?”

He cocks his head before his gaze flickers to her, regarding her thoughtfully.

“Let me see you out,” Dylan says abruptly.

Jane follows him back to the door and steps out into the fresh air. She takes a greedy gulp of the woodland scents and lets them ground her.

“Thank you for your help, Jane,” Dylan smiles warmly at her from the doorway. “If you’re ever in this neck of the woods again, look up the Brown Wolf Reserve.”

“I will,” Jane says. “Thank you for…” she waves a hand at the cabin.

Dylan shrugs, his easy smile flashing across his face again. “You never have to thank me for ridding the world of a witch.”

Jane smiles weakly. She raises a hand in a weary farewell and sets off back across the clearing towards the path through the woods to her car.

She’s at the edge of the forest when something makes her look back.

There on the porch watching her is a huge brown timber wolf.

Werewolf.

Right.

Jane walks away at a steady pace, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest as the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in an atavistic warning.

Thirty minutes later, she’s glad to be back in the air-conditioned comfort of her old sedan. She swipes at the sweat on her brow and calls her sister.

“Sapple is dead,” Jane informs her briskly. “I had an unexpected assist from a werewolf.”

“The Brown pack?” asks Emilia in far too innocent a tone.

“You might have warned me,” Jane grumbles.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Emilia laughs.

Jane stabs the hangup icon on her phone and tosses it on the passenger seat.

Her sister is such a troll.

fin.

Next story: Hidden in the Family

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