PodCastle

* Author : Aimee Picchi
* Narrator : Jen R. Albert
* Host : Summer Fletcher
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
Discuss on Forums



Originally published by Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores.


Rated PG-13.
In a Field of Bone-Bonnets
Aimee Picchi
The hut shuffled to face the sunrise, a habit that pleased its old witch, and kindled the fire in its hearth for her morning tea.
The witch groaned as she wobbled from her bed and picked up a ragged note from the floor. The scrap had been slipped under the hut’s door in the middle of the night while the witch had snored in her feather bed. During the note’s delivery, the hut had remained still because the witch had told it many years ago that her customers were scared enough already and might be frightened off if a giant chicken-footed hut suddenly moved.
The witch and the hut both knew what the note would say. The messages were always the same, even if the words were different.
“Another woman needs my help.” The witch wheezed as she reached for her bag of medicines.
The ever-glowing skulls strung by the hut’s doorway clattered. You need to rest.
“My dearest hut, I must continue with my work until I can no longer. Stoke your fires at dusk. That’s when I will return.”
As she reached for her walking stick, she gave the hut’s central beam a pat.
The hut watched with worry as she limped into the woods in search of the young woman who had written the note and crept to the hut’s door in the middle of the night.
As the sun arced across the sky, the hut rotated on its chicken feet to follow the warmth. It opened its shutters and aired its insides, then closed the shutters when the afternoon air grew hot and humid.
As the sun was setting, the old woman stumped back, her breathing labored. Fatigue lined her face, and she stepped inside unsteadily.
You are too old to keep doing this, the hut clattered.
“Helping others does not stop at any age.” The witch climbed into bed, drawing her quilt to her chin. “I know in my bones my end is near. You have served me well, with more care than I ever could have imagined. But you are a magicked thing, and you will need another witch’s power to remain alive. I have used the last of mine to grant you three days to find a new witch. After that, I can do no more, and the magic will drain away.”
The hut settled on its haunches. I cannot continue without you.
The witch touched the hut’s timbers. “Dearest friend, I hope that is not true.”  She began drifting off, but mumbled softly, “To find her… the town holds a clue, but is no place for you. Wrong turn, you could burn. Red among bone finds your new home.”
The hut tended the fire to keep her warm and it rocked from foot to foot to soothe her pain.
By morning, the old witch was as still as stone.
The hut stood in the clearing. The old woman had always done the thinking for them.
The hut’s timbers groaned as it realized the old woman would no longer hobble across its wooden floors or demand it run through the woods so fast the birch trees lashed at its windows. The hut would do anything to feel her footfalls again. The emptiness swelled inside it.
It sought out the willow where the old woman liked to sit on hot evenings. It dug into the dirt, ignoring how its claws ached.
At last, it stepped back,