Hi everyone,

With Halloween season, I felt inspired to write about a witch short story. I hope you will enjoy it, I had a lot of fun doing it.

* * *

My legs hurt. I’m sweating. As I reach the last of the 5000 steps of this endless stone staircase, I feel like I regret every choice I made in my life that led me up until that point.
I turn round and look at the view. I take my pointy hat off my head and fan myself with it. Sweat is making my hair awful and dishevelled, but I don’t care. I am too hot and exhausted to think about the way I look right now.
The view of the Chinese valley and mountains slowly appease my bad mood. It is so beautiful. The trees are vivid green – the kind of green you cannot find anywhere in England, nor in Europe. It’s vibrant.
Turning my back to this enchanting sight, I notice a pagoda. I put my hat back on my head and walk towards it.
Peeping inside the ancient, run-down building, I see that the place is completely empty, except for one tiny old man, sitting on a three-legs stool. I look at him and he looks back at me, unfathomable.
“The way up wasn’t a pleasant journey,” I reproach him.
“Why did you go up then?” he replies back.
“That’s a good question,” I grumble.
He gives me an amused smile, because it was rhetorical and he perfectly knows why every witch and wizard bother to ascend his diabolical staircase — without being able to use any magic. I sigh and walk towards him; he stands up.
“Payment first,” he said. “Then you can have what you are looking for.”
“How would you know what I am looking for?” I mock.
He shrugs.
“You lot always come for the same thing. The very one and only ingredient that grows on this mountain.”
I bite my lips. I came all the way up to here just because of one plant: a moss that grows on the stones at the top of this mountain. This rare and precious potion ingredient is collected meticulously and dried during months in special conditions by the old man standing in front of me. There is no other way to get it.
“Here you go,” I say.
I open my bag under his avid gaze and take a bottle of Scottish whiskey out of it. I hope the information I heard about him were right.
As I present him the bottle, he takes it to examine it. I wait with a little apprehension. According to what I heard, he had studied and lived in England for five years before settling in this isolated place. Since he lives alone, he doesn’t need money, or anything materialistic. The only thing he misses from the outside world is whiskey.
“Scottish,” he notices, his eyes gleaming. “400 years old. This is difficult to find.”
“It is,” I nod.
It costed me an arm to get it. (It was not my arm, but still.) But if the old man was pleased, he would be keener to give me the moss.
“Very good brand indeed. Your payment is accepted. Here is what you are looking for, young lady.”
He takes out of his pocket a tiny vial, smaller than my little finger. I feel a little disappointment. With all the energy and effort it took me, I was hoping to get a pound of the damn plant at least! I conceal a sigh. Well, it’s better than nothing.

He outstretches his hand towards me. As I am about to grab the vial, he says the strangest thing out of the blue:
“Whatever you’re seeking with this moss, this isn’t the way to obtain it.”
“Huh?” I said stupidly.
“What you are looking outside, you can only find inside.”
I stare at him for a second, but he smiles at me innocently. I take the vial hesitantly.
“Have a safe trip back home.”
“Thank you.”
I leave the pagoda, puzzled. Then I look at the staircase that is waiting for me, and I sigh, forgetting the old man and his weird prophecy. This is going to take me ages to go down the mountain! Should I contact Dragon Fly Line to tell them to reschedule my flight?