Cometh the Witch

By Kevin J Adcock

Little Green is a witch. Not your ordinary, wearing black, pointy hat, cat-owning witch. She is more of a feisty hippy, green dress, bare feet, blonde-hair with-flower-in-it and no-cat witch, and you mess with her at your peril.
Armed with only a garden gnome, she fends off marauding goblins. When homeless hillbillies arrive in Brooklands, she’s there to help: racing against bullies in Lord Maxwell’s horseless chariot race, using extraordinary magic to help the circus Indian find his way home, dealing with cruel and wicked witch-finders. All this and it’s her birthday too. She really doesn’t want any fuss, so who’s the strange sailor knocking at the door?
Oh yes, Little Green is certainly a witch and, my word, what a witch!
This is going to be magic!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398432000

Kevin J Adcock

Kevin J Adcock was born in Nottinghamshire and currently lives in rural Leicestershire. He has been married for over 45 years and has one son. His musical taste remains eclectic and his golf has not improved.

Book preview

Little Green and Sweet Leaf

Of all the other worldly creatures, goblins are the worst. They are usually a dirty green in colour, which, to some extent, hides the fact that because they seldom wash they are dirty anyway. However, because they don’t wash, they are smelly too, which only goes to emphasise how dirty they really are. Their clothes, such as they are, amount to no more than rags and invariably are as dirty as their owners.

The food they eat is often raw or burnt to a crisp, be it fruit, vegetable or meat and much of it is stolen. When not stealing food, they will happily eat rat, mole, weasel or slug. A diet which does not make for fresh breath and nice teeth.

They are spiteful, lazy, mean and delight in causing trouble. Also, they are cowardly and tend to rarely go around alone, but congregate in groups or gangs, of which the biggest bully is usually the leader.

The shallow caves they tend to live in are usually damp with moss and mould growing on the walls. Nothing like the clean, palatial deep caves and caverns where dwarves live.

So, all in all, goblins are generally a bad lot and as a result most other creatures would try to avoid them whenever possible. Far from being upset at being social outcasts, goblins revelled in their isolation and treated everyone and everything with contempt. They felt they are superior to everything else and didn’t need to mix or be friendly at all.

As has been mentioned, goblins like to go around in groups or gangs and like to give their gangs horrid names like ‘The Bogey Pickers’, ‘The Raw Rat Chewers’ or ‘The Knocks in the Night’. Now, in a valley of Wales there was a particularly nasty gang called ‘The Children of the Grave’. The leader of this gang was called Orchid and a meaner goblin you could not meet. His gang rustled sheep and cattle, they stole chickens and eggs. They were even known to kidnap sleeping children from their beds at night and babies from cots, all of which were made to slave for the goblins who were too lazy to work for themselves. Things got so bad that many of the people that lived in their vicinity were forced to move away, abandoning their homes and livelihoods. Finding pickings harder to come by, Orchid had decided to lead his gang into England and they would rob and pillage as they went along, leaving behind a trail of misery and destruction.

On the outskirts of the village of Brooklands, in a tidy cottage, overlooking the river, lived the young witch Little Green and her guardian the old man Carey. Little Green was not your normal witch, she didn’t have a cat or a pointy hat and never wore black. She wore a green dress, no shoes and invariably had flowers in her long blonde hair. In fact, she looked more like a hippy than a witch, but looks can be deceptive for within that kind, pretty body was a clever, observant and a very shrewd mind, with all the skills any witch could wish for. Little Green was pleasant, kind and considerate, she was as good as a witch could be and didn’t have an evil bone in her body, but she didn’t stand for any nonsense and like any witch, she had a broom.

She also had a wonderful pair of magic ice skates, given to her by the local wizard Jove for helping him out with a recent problem. As soon as the skates touched water, it instantly turned into ice, enabling her to enjoy her favourite pastime of ice skating all year round. In fact, she usually started the day with a skate on the river to get her going in the morning. As it happened, it was as she stepped out of the cottage for her morning skate that she saw it.

At the foot of the tree at the front of the cottage was a gnome. It definitely wasn’t there the previous night and Carey would have mentioned it if he had seen it. The gnome was about eighteen inches high including its hat, which was bright red. It wore dungarees, gardening boots and a yellow check shirt. On its back was a rucksack from which hung various gardening tools and a fishing rod protruded from the top. The gnome stood rigid and still, a smile could be seen through a white beard and the bright eyes gazed unblinking as if it was in a trance.

Little Green walked over to the gnome and looked down on it.

Where have you come from and what do you want? she asked in a friendly sing song voice.

The gnome didn’t move a muscle. Little Green bent down and prodded it gently with her finger. The gnome rocked slightly but remained as still as could be.

You’re not fooling anyone, you know, she said, but the gnome refused to respond.

I know you’re not supposed to move when people are about, but I’m a witch and I know you can move about as well as anyone else.

Still the gnome refused to bat an eyelid.

I could turn you into a frog, she warned.

The gnome still did not move, but the smile on its face began to fade slightly and a bead of sweat appeared from under its hat and ran down its cheek.

Little Green bent down and picked a dandelion out of the grass and gently brushed the fluffy seedling head of the flower under the gnome’s nose. This was more than it could bare and after a moment’s trembling the gnome sneezed, not once, not twice, but three times.

That’s cheating, it gasped in an annoyed tone of voice.

Ah, you can speak. Little Green laughed.

The gnome instantly froze stock still.

It’s too late now, gnome, you’ve given the game away.

After a moment, the gnome gave a sigh and slumped down on the grass, looking slightly forlorn.

Little Green sat down beside the gnome. So then, what’s a gnome doing in these parts?

The gnome looked embarrassed.

Look, you can talk to me, I do know what you are and there must be a reason why you’re here. After all, you wouldn’t normally be outside a witch’s cottage. Haven’t you got a garden to tend? she asked, trying to encourage the gnome to speak.

The little chap seemed hesitant, but then as if reciting a speech he had prepared earlier, he said, I bring greetings on this illustrious occasion to your misstressness on your coming of age from gnomes across the country. I am Sweet Leaf the official representative of gnomekind to witness your inauguration. With this, the gnome stood up, removed his hat and bowed before pulling his hat back over an impressive head of white curls.

Little Green was shocked. Her birthday was still weeks away and OK, she would be twenty-one, but that was nobody’s business but hers, and anyway, she wasn’t intending to have a party, much less some fancy inauguration, which certainly meant nothing to her.

Are you sure you’ve got the right witch? she asked.

Sweet Leaf looked her up and down carefully, then taking a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, he read the instructions on it, looked her up and down again, before crumpling the paper up again and returning it to his pocket. Yes, you’re the one, he said with a note of finality that couldn’t be argued with.

Little Green was stunned. Look, my birthday’s weeks away and there’s no party or inauguration. There might not even be a cake.

If you say not, smiled the gnome.

Well, why are you here now? she asked, bewildered.

Ah well, since I was coming anyway, the dwarves asked me if I would give you a message.

It’s not like dwarves to ask gnomes to carry messages for them, queried Little Green, they would normally deliver their own messages.

I’ve not met many dwarves, admitted Sweet Leaf. I was quietly fishing in this pond when this dwarf suddenly appeared looking all hot and bothered and asked me if I knew the wizard Jove. I said no, but I was going to see the witch in Brooklands. They said that was fine and could I give you the message. Do you know dwarves can’t count? They think a month is a year. It’s all that living underground that does it, no sense of time.

You had a message for me, Little Green reminded the gnome.

Sorry, I got distracted, confessed Sweet Leaf. Yes, it’s about the goblins, and with that the gnome shuddered.

Little Green suddenly became serious. What about the goblins?

Sweet Leaf realised by the witch’s change of mood that this was important. There’s a large gang of Welsh goblins called The Children of the Grave coming this way. The dwarves are keeping an eye on them.

How long ago was it you saw the dwarf? she asked jumping to her feet and heading back to the cottage.

Well, I came as fast as I could, apologised Sweet Leaf. I’ve only got little legs and I ran all the way.

Little Green turned towards the gnome, I’m sure you did your best but how long ago was it?

Err… Sweet Leaf began to count on his fingers, three days, two nights and only four meals. I don’t suppose you have a sandwich, do you? I haven’t had breakfast yet.

You can have breakfast on the way, answered Little Green.

She rushed into the cottage and grabbed her broom and a floral-patterned shoulder bag, which she quickly slipped over her arm.

What’s the rush? came a voice from the corner.

Sorry, Carey, I can’t stop, I’ve got to check on some goblins. And with that, Little Green picked up Sweet Leaf, mounted her broom and plonked the gnome on the handle in front of her, and took off. The gnome looking for all the world like an ornament you see on the bonnet of posh cars.

Carey stared at the door. Well, he thought, goblins before breakfast, whatever’s next? and returned to toasting his bread in front of the fire.

Sweet Leaf was terrified; gnomes are used to keeping still, but when you are usually only eighteen inches from the ground, but flying way above, it really scares you stiff.

Little Green was