It started when I was born. Doesn’t it always? My name is Hazel. When I went to school, two nasty girls chanted, Witch Hazel, Witch Hazel, go away. I had never liked my name, but this made me dislike it even more. I told my Mum what happened when she picked me up. “My little Witch,” she said, and gave me a hug. “You know what they say?
“Some witches are called Hazel, and some are Amanita, personally, I’ve always thought that Bella Donna’s sweeter!”
“But why, Mum,” I said. “Why is Bella Donna sweeter?”
“It’s like this,” she said. “Bella Donna is a plant with a very pretty flower, and dark poisonous berries. Lots of people call it deadly nightshade.
“Oh,” I said. “Bella Donna doesn’t sound very sweet to me. Is witch hazel poisonous?”
“No,” came the reply. “Witch hazel can heal pain, bruises, burns and swelling in the skin, and is also good for other things. My middle name is Hazel too,” and she gave me another hug and smiled. “I am a good witch,” she said, “and you can be as well. Hazel is a good name. Let’s go and run your bath.”
After that, the two nasty girls carried on calling me Witch Hazel, but I didn’t mind so much: my Mum was called Hazel too! I told her, and my Mum’s eyes glinted green, and she smiled and gave me a kiss.
Just before the beginning of October, – my birthday month – for my birthday is October 30th, we were having supper one night: Mum, Dad, Phil my older brother, and me. I said I was getting excited about my birthday.
“It’s so important,” I said. “I will be 7. And it’s the night before Hallowe’en.”
“What’s so important about that?” said Phil. “Seven’s nothing, I will be 9 on my next birthday.”
“You’re a boy,” said Mum quietly. “It’s different for boys. It’s really important for Hazel,” said Mum quietly. “It’s the magical number 7”, and she put her arm round me. “Don’t they teach you anything at school?” She looked at me, and somehow her eyes glinted green in the evening light.
“Nothing like that.” Dad spoke quickly. “It’s not part of the National Curriculum.”
“The National Curriculum’s boring,” said Phil.
Mum hugged me again, “I can see I shall have to teach Hazel about the Magical number 7,” she said.
The night before my birthday, Dad took Phil off swimming. Mum and I were alone. I was doing my homework. She came over and sat with me.
“You can do that later – I’m going to tell you about the magical number 7, and why it’s important for you. You see, I was born a witch, – that’s why I’m called Hazel. Our family were always good witches, but when I married your Dad, I had to give all that up. He’s human. And so is Phil, – but you, you can be a witch if you like. And your 7th birthday is important, as that’s when you get to make your first choice. Choosing’s hard: it’s often hard to choose to be good. But your seventh birthday will give you strength, – it’s the magical number 7. Seven is like number 3, and cannot be divided; there are 7 days in the week, and 7 is the natural limit to what humans can remember.
I will draw a magic circle round you tomorrow and stay in it with you all day and night. Dad knows all about this and will bring us food. But careful, the Devil may pretend to be your Dad, – only take your food from me! If you take food from the Devil, you will be his!”
The next day, I woke up in a circle with my Mum. Some of my books were there and toys. I stretched.
“Wake up, Sleepy Head,” said a voice. It was Dad. “I’ve brought you some breakfast!”
“No,” said Mum. “Look at his ears!” It was true, they were pointed, like the Devil’s. “You’re not my Dad,” I said. The man spun round and vanished.
“Well, done,” said Mum. I began to get hungry. I could see someone walking towards us. “Hungry now? I’ve brought you some birthday cake,” said Dad. It was cold, and the man was wearing Dad’s coat, and a hat pulled down over his ears. I hesitated. “Take your hat off,” I said. He whizzed round, but before he disappeared, he cried, “Careful! Next time, I won’t be so nice!”
“Very well done.” This was Mum. We hugged each other close. “That’s the devil, and he wants you to eat his food so you have to go with him.”
All of a sudden, a circle of fire surrounded us. There was no-one to be seen. But a man’s voice cried out, “If you stay in the circle, you will be burnt. But why not have some of that yummy cake over there?” I looked, – there was some yummy cake. But I would have to go outside the circle and leave my Mum. “No,” I cried. “I want my birthday cake at my party with my friends. Leave me alone.” The fire sizzled and burnt more fiercely. Mum stood up, her eyes green with anger, and she muttered something. It began to rain. The fire went out. “You’re safe,” she said. “You’re safe from the Witches’ Dance: that’s what the Devil wanted you for. it’s Hallowe’en tomorrow. Let’s go and set the table for your party.”
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Charlotte's Wonderful Stories 