Witches and Worldgates

It is on a night like this– in the dying hours of autumn– when the trees shed their last leaves of rust, and a whispering wind warns of winter, that you can feel a particular sense of magic. 

The streets are lit by a shining moon to guide the journeys of children in their finest candy-fetching attire. In a time marked by death, there is a powerful resurgence of life for a few hours on Hallow’s Eve. One such child, wearing a crooked witch’s hat and a matching black dress built of the visage of rags and spiderwebs, was content to remain with the vitality of human life on that leaf-covered suburban street.

 Until she detected a strange path in the thick grove to her left. 

The witchling slowed, her pillowcase of spoils from the night’s expedition still swaying in her hand. Trees, gnarled and twisted beasts without their foliage, curved over the winding walkway. Try as the girl might, she could not see more than a few feet into the trail, as if the moon’s light refused to follow. Simply looking at the path had goosebumps forming on the girl’s arms. But even such a visceral sign of fear did not have her scampering on to the next house like most other children.

This witchling might not be like other children. She seemed to read the wind as it blew past her face and beckoned her down the path. There was a wonder in the curious tilt of her head and the slight widening of her eyes. She didn’t shy away as the gust’s icy fingers pulled at her wavy tendrils of brown hair. Yes, unlike others who had walked past that forest grove, this one could sense that something was calling for her. With one last look at her friends dressed as ghosts and monsters scampering up the next lantern-lit driveway, the girl stepped into the darkness.

And suddenly, the darkness faded.

A small ball of flame sparked to life a few yards away from the witchling’s black booted feet. The girl stopped once more, her young face brightening with awe as she watched the apparition glow like a small night light in the dark, casting its soft light on the leaf-covered path around her. 

A faint hum came from the ghost light as it hovered a few inches from the ground. The girl was drawn to the orb, stepping forward towards its otherworldly call. The flame winked out as soon as she approached, and another appeared ahead. Smiling, the witchling followed the peaceful speckles of playful light.

Following the path guided by ghost lights, the girl didn’t notice how far she had wandered until an unfamiliar pond appeared before her. The water’s surface was as smooth as a glass mirror and was cast in silver as it perfectly reflected the moon’s light. The flaming orbs continued to guide their follower towards the pond where a lone hawthorn tree sat along the shore. The ghost lights began to appear all around the girl, their soft tongues of flame seeming to grow in size as they circled the tree like torches. 

The forest was eerily silent now. The only sound that could be heard was the humming of the ghost lights as their combined vibration grew in intensity. Following the glowing path, the witchling approached the scraggy hawthorn tree until she was standing right in front of it with her face cast in the strange yellow glow of the phantom flames. 

With a powerful gust of wind, all of the lights were blown out. 

The girl screamed, suddenly only having the moon's silver glow to brighten the dark forest around her. She attempted to suppress a shiver as she hugged her arms, the cold of the night painfully returning without the passive heat from the floating fire guides. 

And with a massive, bone-quivering thrum of energy, the trunk of the hawthorn tree burst to life in blinding yellow light. It took the girl a moment to realize that the light emanating from the tree had formed words. Shielding her eyes and taking another step forward, the girl mouthed the words as she read:

One does not simply enter the Otherworld. One must dive in. 

The girl scanned the text twice. Without another moment, she stepped around the hawthorn tree, rolled up her sleeves, and dove into the pond beyond. No waves followed in her wake. The water’s surface remained serene, with a simple ripple of energy emanating out in rings from where the witchling had dipped under the water like a single drop of rain from a leaf. As those soft ripples reached the edge of the perfectly circular pond, the entire clearing seemed to shimmer with a small flash of energy.

The witchling was gone. And then the grove was undisturbed once more.