“We must move,” the witch said. “There's no time to waste.”

Beneath the witch's hat, Oozewart could feel the heat from the candle. It was hotter now, as if angry they'd found a way to thwart its plans. Even without seeing it, she knew the metal of the candlestick was white hot. She knew it was causing the flesh of her palm to bubble. She didn't need to see it, she could feel it. Every burn. Every blister. 

“This way,” the witch said, as she took off down what seemed like a random street. For an old woman, she moved quickly, her feet skipping over uneven cobbles and other obstacles with ease. This was a woman taking a well-practiced route. 

“How many times have you done this?” Oozewart asked, as she scurried along.

“Too many to mention,” the witch replies. “For every festival there is a sacrifice.” 

“But why?”

The witch stopped and sighed. “We have no time for explanations. All I can say is the Grand Custodian owes a huge blood debt to the fairies… one that will never be settled. Actually, there’s another lesson for you: don’t make deals with fairies. Or try to trick them. Especially not tricks that backfire and have them stuck in your home with you for all eternity.”

‘Well, duh,’ Oozewart thought, but she said, “And people here should know not to mess about with goblins. This candlestick is bloody hot at the moment, but I reckon I could deal with it as long as I get to eat Archie’s brains… or that Grand Custodian chap.”

The witch moved closer to Oozewart, looking down at her like a teacher might look at a student who just wasn’t getting it. She put her hands on Oozewart’s shoulders and gripped tightly. Making eye contact, she said, “You do not have time. They… are… coming.”

She said the last words slowly, as if making sure there was no way for Oozewart to misunderstand them. 

As if on cue, a fairy appeared as if from thin air, and divebombed the witch’s hat. Little hands grabbed at the material, trying to rip it away and free the candle’s flame. Both Oozewart and the witch held onto the hat as tightly as they could, both scared of ripping it.

“We must move, it’ll tear at any moment,” the witch said. 

“You’re doomed anyway,” the fairy said. “I found you without the flame. Others will too when I call for them.”

“Then ya better not be callin’ ‘em,” Oozewart said. Moving quicker than the fairy anticipated, Oozewart removed her hand from gripping the hat, formed a fist, and pounded into the little creature. The fairy was floating in mid air, so the punch just pushed it along a little, but it was enough to confuse it. Apparently, fairies were not used to fist fights. 

“RUN!” the witch yelled.

“What ‘appened to stealth?” Oozewart asked, but found her question was answered already. 

The witch’s hat burned bright. The fairy flame blazed with even more intensity than it had before. That singular flame managed to light up the night. Shadows receded. There was nowhere to hide. 

It was definitely time to run. 

Swarms of fairies flew in from all directions. Each one screeching loud enough to wake the dead, the sound almost stopping Oozewart in her tracks. The witch grabbed her free hand and pulled, dragging her down the street. 

“Just a little further,” the witch said between panted breaths. 

In the distance, Oozewart could see her salvation: the iron gates. 

When she’d arrived, she thought they were there to keep the fairies out, little did she know they were there to keep them in. 

Galvanised by the potential for escape, the fairies attacked Oozewart and the witch. They plunged their teeth and nails into Oozewart’s flesh, reopening wounds that hadn’t had time to even think about healing. 

“Ya got any spells?” Oozewart shouted, struggling to be heard over the fairies’ screeches and the witch’s howls of pain. Her voice sounded small and insignificant. 

“Plenty,” the witch replied, as she tried to pull a fairy away from her face. “But… none.. will help us… here…”

“Well, that ain’t helpful.”

“No, it isn’t. But I haven’t been able to get out of town to learn anything new… on account of the whole curse thing. Remember?”

“Oh…” Oozewart replied. She’d just figured that magic users just knew all the magic they needed to know. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might have to actually go and learn it. She felt a bit bad, but there was no time to dwell on it or apologise; the fairy desperately trying to pull open her tightly closed eyelid was a reminder of that. Oozewart squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She’d heard that fairies did unspeakable things with eyeballs and she didn’t want her peepers to have any part of that. ‘Over my dead body,’ she thought, and then realised that was a very real possibility.

“Ya got a plan?” she called out, but beyond a series of grunts, the witch didn’t answer. Oozewart chanced opening one of her eyes and saw that the witch was covered in fairies from head to toe.

“You need to run, goblin,” the witch said, the words clearly a struggle.

“What about you?”

“RUN!” the witch screamed, sounding every bit like a storybook villain. Meanwhile, the fairies laughed, the sound radiating innocence and light. This place was wrong. Nothing could be trusted. Then again, Oozewart shouldn’t have been trusting people to begin with. 

The tone of the witch’s voice caused Oozewart’s feet to start pounding the cobblestones before her brain could realise that she was abandoning her new friend acquaintance. Soon she was at the gates. Behind her she could hear the witch’s voice repeating the word “RUN!” over and over. Oozewart paused, one hand on the gate, fingers clasped around an iron bar. Should she go back? 

She looked back at the witch, whose form was barely recognisable under the swarm of fairies. They pulled at the witch’s hair, toppling her over. On the ground, she was easy pickings. They all knew it. 

Oozewart had never been more conflicted. She knew she should run and save her own skin, but for one of the few times in her life, she wanted to help someone else. 

The witch’s head poked out from the pile of creatures. Her face was bloodied, and her eyes were missing. 

“Go! ESCAPE!” she shouted. “Tell people about this place! Tell them not to come! Don’t let this be in vain!”

Oozewart took a step towards her injured companion, but stopped as one of the fairies jumped into one of the witch’s vacant eye sockets. 

It was over. 

A cold numbness overtook Oozewart’s body and she staggered backwards until her back hit the iron gates. Fairies still snapped at her, but to Oozewart they seemed like they were miles away. 

She looked back at the pile of fairies, but the witch underneath remained unmoving. The fairies were covered in crimson, their mouths full of flesh. One of them held an eyeball aloft, taunting her. 

It was over. The witch was gone. Without her, any visitors to Obsidia were doomed. 

Her body shaking, Oozewart turned and squeezed through the bars, all the while trying not to burn herself on the candle flame.  She forced her way through the iron bars of the gate and collapsed on the dirt road outside, her hand thankfully empty of candlesticks. 

Chancing a look back into Obsidia through the iron bars, Oozewart tried to see what was left of her new acquaintance, but the witch was nowhere to be seen. Nor were the fairies. Nor was the carnage they’d created. The town looked peaceful. 

The only thing to prove that any of the night’s events had happened were the wounds lining Oozewart’s body, and that was enough proof for her. 

After one final look through the bars, Oozewart hopped away from the road, and disappeared into the comforting darkness of the forest. 

It was safer in the dark.