Stitch

Chapter Four: Grounded

It was the first day of Mr Evans new job and his wife had errands to run in town.

I cant trust you to be home alone after your recent behaviour, Mrs Evans looked disappointed in her daughter.

Yes you can. I promise I wont leave the house, not even if its on fire, Maisie begged.

I have the perfect solution. I spoke to Mrs Stitch yesterday evening and she is more than happy for you to go and spend the day at her house. I know we dont really know her but she seems nice enough and youve really left me no option given yesterdays performance.

She waited for her daughter to protest. Nothing Odd Maisie smiled. Odder still.

Okay.

Really? asked mum. I thought you would protest.

Its fine by me, so long as she doesnt expect me to call her granny.

Mrs Evans ruffled her daughters curly, auburn hair. Good. Now hurry up and finish your cereal. I need to get on. Ive a lot to get done today.

Maisie took another spoonful of blueberry Wheaties and chewed thoughtfully. This was her opportunity to discover the truth about the little old lady, to gather inside information.

What if Mrs Stitch puts a potion in a drink to make me forget anything I learn about her? The thought suddenly occurred to her. Can witches make peoples memories vanish?

Mum sang along to a tune on the radio as she washed the breakfast dishes.

Remembering not to speak with her mouth full, Maisie finished up her cereal then asked, How long do you think you will be in town?

Most of the day, I asked Mrs Stitch if she wouldnt mind making you lunch.

Yes but what will it be? Maisie wondered. Eye of newt and bat wing soup?

As if hearing her thoughts, her mother said, If her treacle pudding is anything to go by it should be lovely.

*****

The living room clocks tick was nearly as loud as the noises Mrs Stitch made slurping from her china cup.

Custard cream dearie? the old woman asked. She bent forward in her armchair and offered a plate heaped with the biscuits.

Maisie took one and sighed. The house was not what she imagined. It was dusty with carpets worn so thin in places the floorboards beneath were visible, cobwebs hung from the ceiling in dirty ribbons and the air had a fusty pong to it. Grubby shelves were covered with the old ladys collection of china cats and antique light bulbs gave off a weak yellow light making everything look discoloured. Most annoying of all there wasnt a single item in the house that Maisie could consider even the least bit witchified. Not a cauldron, broom or pointed hat in sight. All in all, the old womans home was a big disappointment.

Picking pieces of custard cream biscuits off her jumper, Mrs Stitch popped them into her toothless mouth and mumbled. Waste not, want not.

There was only one thing that even faintly resembled what every witchs den should have and that was her cat.

Maisie watched the scruffy looking animal as it cleaned itself. It looked almost as dusty as its china counterparts sat on their equally grubby shelves. The black cat squatted in the middle of the floor and, observing her with its keen, green eyes, ran a paw over one ear to flatten its wayward fur.

As Maisie watched the cat preen himself the little old woman watched Maisie. The clock ticked irritably and Maisie fidgeted uncomfortably on the small milking stool she had been given to sit on.