The World of Mrs Cragbrook

“Go on Ollie, knock on the door. She won’t hurt us.” Pammy and Ollie stood at the bottom of the steps to 106 Linter Street; Mrs Ellie Cragbrook’s house.

“I’ll knock on the door in a minute”, spouted Ollie to his sister, annoyed at her persistence.

The house looked shabby and unloved, with broken window panes and holes in the woodwork that showed evidence of mice.

Ollie took a cautious step forward, onto the creaky steps, that led to a leafy porch-way. He paused, “Maybe I’ll get my ball back tomorrow.” He was wary of the fierce temper of Mrs Cragbrook, which he had experienced in the past.

“Don’t be silly. We’re here now.” Pammy huffed and rolled her eyes.

Mrs Ellie Cragbrook had lived in the house for 73 years, since she was a little girl. She never had any visitors, ’maybe because she is so old and grumpy’ thought the children.

“Go on, knock on the door” Pammy demanded and nudged Ollie forward.

“But I’m scared,” he squealed as he held onto the gate post, stopping himself being pushed any further. “She might put a spell on us and then cook us in a stew!”

Pammy was ten years old, petite and rather energetic. “Oh Ollie, when are you going to learn to stand up for yourself? She can’t hurt us!” and she looked at him with her big brown eyes and cute infectious smile, hoping he would suddenly have an air of braveness.

“I can’t help it,” he said almost in tears but holding them back. He didn’t want to appear cowardly.

Pammy was younger than Ollie by a couple of years, but she was the braver of the two. Maybe because she was a bit of a tomboy who loved to get dirty and get involved in any scrap that she came across.

Now Ollie, he was a little different. Actually, he was a lot different. He was tall and skinny and always played the big brother routine by telling Pammy what to do, how to behave and where and when she should go out. But she never listened to him.

“Don’t be a wuss! She won’t put us in a stew. She can’t hurt us. If she tries anything I’ll bite her long warty nose off and tread hard on her gammy toes!” Pammy screwed up her face and acted out the movements by stamping her feet, showing him how she would do it.

Ollie turned away, fumbled around in his trouser pocket and retrieved a coin. “If you knock on the door I’ll give you 50p from my pocket money?” and he enticed her by holding out a fifty pence coin that shone brightly in the sun.

Pammy grabbed the money and without hesitation she opened the gate, ran up the steps and gave three hard knocks to the door. Then, she ran back down and quickly hid behind Ollie, poking her head around him.

“Don’t hide behind me. You can face her as well,” he said and pulled her from behind him; maybe she wasn’t that brave after all.

They waited nervously at the bottom of the steps for Mrs Cragbrook to answer.

“Do you think she’s in?” asked Pammy. “Maybe she’s dead. She is so very old.”

“Don’t be a fool! She can’t die. Witches live forever.”