Free Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin by Liesl Shurtliff

the nose. Instead, she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into The Woods.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “I’m taking you to The Witch of The Woods.”
    “You are? You know where she lives? How?”
    “Just stay on the path.”
    “But there isn’t any …” I trailed off as I looked down to see the path beneath my feet again, stretching out into The Woods. Now I was certain this was a path that only revealed itself for Red.
    We followed the path for a ways until dark trees surrounded us and the village had disappeared behind. This path didn’t wind or wander much. It was narrow, but clear, with stones along either side.
    Red walked fast and determined, still pulling me by the arm. A squirrel chirped and screeched right above my head. “Squirrel!” I squeaked, crouching down and covering my head with my arms.
    Fitzgerald, a boy younger but much bigger than me, was once challenged to run into The Woods and he got attacked by mad squirrels. He still has little teeth marks all over his face and neck.
    “They won’t attack you,” said Red. I slowly looked up and saw that the squirrel was gone. “And they never attacked Fitzgerald, either. That’s the story he tells, but his scars are really just from the pox and scratching so much.”
    We were walking uphill now. And the farther up The Mountain we went, the colder it got. Soon snow began to fall, even though it had been warm in The Village. Big, fat flakes came and settled, threatening to cover the path if we didn’t hurry. My feet were numb.
    Then finally, as if it had just materialized before me, we saw a cottage, nestled in the trees, smoke rising from the chimney.
    I stood frozen for a minute and I almost ran back just as fast as I had come, but the door unlatched and someone came out, hobbling bent over a stick.
    I stared. My mouth hung open.
    “Red, child, is that you?” said the old woman.
    “Hello, Granny,” said Red. “Rump wanted to see you.”
    My mouth ran dry. Red’s granny! The Witch of The Woods! Red’s granny was The Witch of The Woods!
    My tongue got all wrapped around my teeth. “Y-y-you-your granny! Your granny’s the W-w-w …”
    “She’s not actually a witch,” Red said defensively. “She’s perceptive .”
    The witch laughed. “Yes, very,” she said with a wink.
    “You have very good senses, Granny. Ears and eyes and nose and all. It’s part of your destiny.”
    “Oh, and what a treat to feast my senses upon. Well, come in, my boy. I’ve been waiting for you. I am sorryabout your gran.” Red’s granny didn’t look how I always imagined a witch would look. She was old, of course, but she didn’t have warts or green teeth and her smile was sincere and inviting. Maybe witches were supposed to be inviting, so they could lure you in to chop you to bits and put you in a stew.
    “Come on. I’ve got stew brewing in the fire.”
    I stepped back again. “Stew …? What kind of stew?”
    “She’s not going to eat you, Rump.” Red shoved me forward. Then I smelled the stew. My mouth watered, it smelled so delicious. I walked in the door.
    At first I saw what I would expect to see in a witch’s lair. There were bottles everywhere, tiny vials to giant jugs. It was too dim to see inside of them, but I imagined they contained eyeballs, blood, snakes, or roaches. Little fingers, maybe. A hen clucked and rattled its cage in a corner. Herbs and plants and flowers hung from the ceiling. They looked very fresh, and I wondered how she managed to grow things in the frozen ground—not to mention in a haunted wood. By the fireplace there was a giant pot. That’s where the witch would put all my little chopped pieces, no doubt.
    The witch, or Red’s granny (I didn’t know how to think of her now), beckoned me over to the fire. The pot was full of broth and vegetables I hadn’t seen in ages, even though I had been eating a lot. Basil, celery, onions, meat, and other smells reached my nose and made my stomach