Howl's Twisted Castle

5: A Stranger in my Home

Lub, dub. . .lub, dub. . .lub, dub. . .

Either someone was playing the drums loudly, or the witch had hit me hard enough that my heart relocated its self in my skull. Reaching around, I touched the back of my head gingerly where a sizeable lump had formed, a painful reminder that I was bludgeoned with a lamp.

The witch of the waste had a decent batting arm.

I carefully opened my eyes, letting bits of sunlight in as they adjusted to my surroundings. The house where I had been unconscious in was no longer there. From where I sat, which happened to be on a garbage heap between two houses, my prospective future was looking a little dim. I had to hand it the witch of the waste though; she must have had an immense power to have conjured up a building and then demolish it in less than twenty-four hours.

"Wait a second why am I praising that evil old windbag anyways?" I grumbled to myself.

"Mommy! That weird old lady is talking to herself," a little girl across the street from me stood and pointed a finger in my direction.

Weird? . .Old?  To my left, I saw mounds of garbage and to my right, more waste. Then it occurred to me that I was the old lady she was referring to!  I peered down at my gnarled old hands, paper thin and covered in tiny little red veins. I touched my face, my arms, my legs and everything about me was wrong; I was too soft, too stretched out and so frail. The panic welling up inside me came to a boiling point, threatening to make me run like a mad woman.

"Allison we don't talk to beggars, they can be dangerous," a woman grabbed the little girls hand and rushed her away, studiously avoiding me.

"Beggar? Who's a beggar?" I snapped back, shaking a fist at her. The woman covered the little girl's eyes and hurried her out of site.

Staring down at my tattered and stained clothes, I had to admit I fit the description better than I wanted too.

I eased myself up using a stick that I'd fashioned into a makeshift cane. Spying the corner of an old blanket, I pulled it out of the heap and appraised its condition. Shaking it out, I covered my head to disguise my wound and draped the rest across my shoulders like a cloak. Climbing out of the mess I found myself staring down the street, entirely at a loss for words.

My first instinct was to go home for a well-needed shower, but that meant seeing Lettie and explaining why her little sister was now her grandmother. Besides that, it would suggest getting her involved in something dangerous. I wasn't selfish enough to take that risk.

What else could I possibly do though?

My next best option then was to find a way to tell Howl what happened to me and hope he could use his magic to reverse it. The more I thought about it, the more I liked this plan. I'd just have to write the witch of the waste cursed me on a piece of paper and handed it to him. He'd work a little magic on me and then voila! No more curse. Simple right?

I laughed humourlessly. That loophole couldn't possibly be that easy, or the witch of the waste wouldn't have bothered cursing me in the first place. Even still, it was a better plan than anything else I could think of at the moment.

Odd looks were being tossed in my direction, reminding me how aware I was that I needed a change of clothes and a bath. There was no question; I had to risk my luck at home.

And after that, I'd search for Howl.

***

I ran my hand along the splintered window frame of our shop, searching for a small space where we wedged a spare key for safe keeping. My fingertips found the sharp edge of the key, and I eased it gently out of the gap. It was rusted with age, having been placed there well before my father passed away, but I was thankful now that he'd had the foresight to plant it there.