Photo credit Goroyboy
The two children, shivering slightly in the damp cold of late November, stood on the front steps and watched the door.
“Just go up and knock,” the girl whispered to her brother.
“No!” he fretted in a whisper. “It’s not safe! She’s a witch!”
“They say she’s a witch,” she replied. “That doesn’t mean she is one.” She set her jaw and took a breath, then stepped forward.
The door was simple enough; no gargoyle bell-pulls or ghoulish handles. The girl reached out and knocked, then bounced back to grab her brother’s hand.
The door opened immediately, but it wasn’t the witch that greeted them. The entry way was smothered in whiteness. Drifts of snow submerged everything: the furniture, the coat rack, the carpet. Snow was falling from the empty air.
The breeze strengthened into a gale and shoved them in. They thumped down on their knees, afraid. A voice came out of nowhere.
“Well, you have found me after all, children. Now what can I do for you?”