Read Online Curse of the Dream Witch by Allan Stratton - Free Book Online Page B

dashed up the hill. A faint breeze carried the scent of burnt wood and straw. Where his home had been was a smouldering ruin. To its left, he could see his mama and papa huddled together by a small campfire.
    Milo bolted to his yard, followed closely by Olivia. At the sound of their approach, his mother scrambled to her feet.
    ‘Who’s there?’
    ‘Me. It’s me.’ Milo ran inside the gate.
    His father raised a pitchfork. ‘Stay back.’
    ‘Papa?’ Milo froze in confusion.
    ‘Who are you? Why are you calling me calling “Papa”?’
    ‘Don’t you recognise me?’
    ‘Why should we?’ his mother demanded. ‘There’s none but fiends and ruffians loose at this hour. Which are you? What do you want?’
    ‘I don’t want anything,’ Milo gasped. ‘Just to be with you.’
    ‘Why? Can’t you see we’ve nothing? We’ve lost our boy, our home, our everything. If you have any decency, leave us to our grief.’
    ‘But Mama, Papa, it’s Milo!’
    His father’s tears glistened in the firelight. ‘How dare you taunt us? Our boy is gone forever.’
    Milo trembled. Your parents will never see you again , the Dream Witch had said. It was true. Their eyes saw a stranger.
    ‘Despair is her mightiest spell,’ Ephemia murmured from the grasses. ‘You’ll never break it.’
    Still, Milo tried: ‘What would you do if I said you’ve been bewitched? That the Dream Witch has blinded you with pain.’
    Milo’s father gripped his pitchfork. ‘I’d slay you for being the cruellest thief who ever lived: A thief who’d use our love for our dead son to gain our trust.’
    Olivia stepped forward. ‘Milo is alive, no matter what you think. You mustn’t give up hope. That’s what the Dream Witch wants you to do.’
    His mother peered hard. ‘And who are you?’
    Olivia hesitated. Who’d believe a muddy girl was their princess? Worse, what might they do if they knew her as the reason the Dream Witch stole their child? ‘I’m a friend of your son.’
    ‘So am I,’ Milo said. ‘I was with him in the witch’s cavern.’
    ‘You lie, the pair of you,’ Milo’s mother exclaimed. ‘We’ve never seen either one of you before. As for you, rascal, how could you be in that devil’s den and live to tell the tale?’
    ‘By luck, by grace. Call it what you will, but here I am,’ Milo answered. ‘And I swear to you, your son is in my head even as we speak. The words, “Mama, Papa, it’s Milo,” are his.’
    Milo’s father turned his pitchfork from one to the other. ‘So now you claim to be a conjurer? Why should we trust you?’
    ‘Because I know things only Milo could know.’ Milo nodded to his father. ‘The last time you saw him, you were whittling a bird from a piece of birch wood.’ He nodded to his mother. ‘You were peeling potatoes.’
    His father’s pitchfork dropped to the ground. ‘You know!’
    ‘And more besides. Milo was storming off to the cornfields. You begged him not to go. He wouldn’t listen. And he said a terrible thing. He said he wished to run away and never see you or this place again.’ Milo’s voice grew thin. ‘It wasn’t true. But he said it. And now it’s too late to unsay it. And he wants you to know he’s sorry, so sorry, for all the pain he’s caused you.’
    ‘No pain, never pain,’ his father said. ‘Our boy brought us nothing but joy. It was our fault. We were too hard. We wouldn’t listen. Oh, if he were only with us now, everything would be different.’
    ‘You say you were together in the witch’s cavern,’ his mother whispered. ‘Is he all right? Did he escape, too?’
    ‘Yes,’ Milo nodded. ‘We fled together.’
     ‘Where is he now?’
    Milo waved his arms helplessly. ‘As near as breath, as far away as happiness.’
    ‘Don’t torture us with riddles,’ his father pleaded. ‘We have to see him. Take us to where he’s hiding. Please.’
    ‘I can’t. I don’t know how. All I know is that he loves you. He loves you more than anything.’ Milo