Read Online Witch Catcher by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, People & Places, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Fathers and daughters, Witches, Fairies, Pets, Animals, cats, Parents, West Virginia, Single-parent families
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scared of her odd appearance but too curious to run back to the house and Dad.
"Him who lives up yonder in the castle. Him who built the tower."
"Great-Uncle Thaddeus? Mr. Mostyn? Is that who you mean?"
"Mostyn, yes. Him. Where is he?"
"He died a couple of years ago," I told her. "He left his house to my father, so we're living there now."
"Mostyn died?" Her face turned pale under the dirt. "Are ye sure?"
"He was very old, you know. Ancient. Almost a hundred."
"A hundred years ... Fancy thinking that's old." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, he were a right dafty fellow, but at least he kept me safe. Now I reckon it's up to ye."
"You want
me
to keep you safe?" I stared at her. "Safe from what?"
"From the lady, of course." The girl looked around uneasily as if she expected to see someone lurking in the woods. "
Her
who's been here three times now, swishing around, seeking and prying and sniffing for me."
A little shiver raced up and down my spine. "Are you talking about Moura Winters?"
"Hush," the girl said. "That be
her,
but be careful how ye speak. Names have power, ye know."
She peered into the woods again, her body tense, poised to run. "They be a bad pair,
her
and the collector.
Him
with the magic spectacles. They be witches, brimful of evil and wickedness."
I drew in my breath. Hadn't I known from the moment I saw Moura that she was dangerous? And Mr. Ashbourne—those scary glasses, the way he'd made me lead him upstairs just as if he'd cast a spell on me.
But how could they be witches? Confused, I looked around at the familiar world. A gray sky like thousands I'd seen before hid the sun. Trees swayed in the breeze as they always did. Rainwater dripped from the leaves with a familiar
pit-a-pat.
Two squirrels chased each other around a tree trunk. Deeper in the woods, a bird called. Everything was just as it should be, just as it had always been. Ordinary. Safe.
Yet just a few feet away stood an odd, raggedy girl. Nothing about
her
was ordinary. Not the tattered clothes she wore, not the things she said, not the odd words she used. With a shock, I realized she looked like the girl in Uncle Thaddeus's painting—half wild, not quite human.
I took a step backward, suddenly uneasy. Maybe a little afraid. Except for Tink, I was alone, deep in the woods, far from the house. No one knew where I was, not even Dad.
I was tempted to grab Tink and run, but something about the girl held me there. She didn't seem dangerous, just strange. Mysterious. Puzzling.
"Who are you?" I whispered. "Where did you come from? How do you know Great-Uncle Thaddeus and Moura? Why—"
"Them that asks too many questions must wait for answers." With the grace of a cat, the girl reached for a low branch and swung herself up into an oak tree. Perched above my head, thin legs dangling, she peered down at me.
"Yer first question be the easiest one," she said. "I'm called Kieryn. And ye be Jen."
"How do you know my name?"
A sly little grin tweaked the corners of her wide mouth. "I been in yer bedroom, ye great ninny, listening to ye babble away to yer cat. He knowed I were there, crying and begging to be let out, but ye mistook me for a bug. A dimbob cicada. An uglier creature I never seen—red eyes it's got."
When Kieryn paused to take a breath, I asked, "What are you talking about?"
"Ye great booby, ain't ye figured it out yet?" Kieryn laughed down at me, revealing a mouthful of small white teeth. "I were in that skitzy witch trap ye took from the tower and hung in yer window, the one Tink busted. Smarter than ye he is."
Tink climbed up the tree and stretched out on the limb beside Kieryn. I reached for him. "Come here."
He glanced at me and twitched his tail, but he stayed where he was.
Kieryn looked down at me. "Ye don't believe me, do ye?"
I shook my head. "You're almost as big as I am. How could you possibly have been inside that little globe?"
Kieryn's small, dirty feet swung back and forth. Every now and then she
"Him who lives up yonder in the castle. Him who built the tower."
"Great-Uncle Thaddeus? Mr. Mostyn? Is that who you mean?"
"Mostyn, yes. Him. Where is he?"
"He died a couple of years ago," I told her. "He left his house to my father, so we're living there now."
"Mostyn died?" Her face turned pale under the dirt. "Are ye sure?"
"He was very old, you know. Ancient. Almost a hundred."
"A hundred years ... Fancy thinking that's old." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, he were a right dafty fellow, but at least he kept me safe. Now I reckon it's up to ye."
"You want
me
to keep you safe?" I stared at her. "Safe from what?"
"From the lady, of course." The girl looked around uneasily as if she expected to see someone lurking in the woods. "
Her
who's been here three times now, swishing around, seeking and prying and sniffing for me."
A little shiver raced up and down my spine. "Are you talking about Moura Winters?"
"Hush," the girl said. "That be
her,
but be careful how ye speak. Names have power, ye know."
She peered into the woods again, her body tense, poised to run. "They be a bad pair,
her
and the collector.
Him
with the magic spectacles. They be witches, brimful of evil and wickedness."
I drew in my breath. Hadn't I known from the moment I saw Moura that she was dangerous? And Mr. Ashbourne—those scary glasses, the way he'd made me lead him upstairs just as if he'd cast a spell on me.
But how could they be witches? Confused, I looked around at the familiar world. A gray sky like thousands I'd seen before hid the sun. Trees swayed in the breeze as they always did. Rainwater dripped from the leaves with a familiar
pit-a-pat.
Two squirrels chased each other around a tree trunk. Deeper in the woods, a bird called. Everything was just as it should be, just as it had always been. Ordinary. Safe.
Yet just a few feet away stood an odd, raggedy girl. Nothing about
her
was ordinary. Not the tattered clothes she wore, not the things she said, not the odd words she used. With a shock, I realized she looked like the girl in Uncle Thaddeus's painting—half wild, not quite human.
I took a step backward, suddenly uneasy. Maybe a little afraid. Except for Tink, I was alone, deep in the woods, far from the house. No one knew where I was, not even Dad.
I was tempted to grab Tink and run, but something about the girl held me there. She didn't seem dangerous, just strange. Mysterious. Puzzling.
"Who are you?" I whispered. "Where did you come from? How do you know Great-Uncle Thaddeus and Moura? Why—"
"Them that asks too many questions must wait for answers." With the grace of a cat, the girl reached for a low branch and swung herself up into an oak tree. Perched above my head, thin legs dangling, she peered down at me.
"Yer first question be the easiest one," she said. "I'm called Kieryn. And ye be Jen."
"How do you know my name?"
A sly little grin tweaked the corners of her wide mouth. "I been in yer bedroom, ye great ninny, listening to ye babble away to yer cat. He knowed I were there, crying and begging to be let out, but ye mistook me for a bug. A dimbob cicada. An uglier creature I never seen—red eyes it's got."
When Kieryn paused to take a breath, I asked, "What are you talking about?"
"Ye great booby, ain't ye figured it out yet?" Kieryn laughed down at me, revealing a mouthful of small white teeth. "I were in that skitzy witch trap ye took from the tower and hung in yer window, the one Tink busted. Smarter than ye he is."
Tink climbed up the tree and stretched out on the limb beside Kieryn. I reached for him. "Come here."
He glanced at me and twitched his tail, but he stayed where he was.
Kieryn looked down at me. "Ye don't believe me, do ye?"
I shook my head. "You're almost as big as I am. How could you possibly have been inside that little globe?"
Kieryn's small, dirty feet swung back and forth. Every now and then she
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