I wished I could have said that there were no witches in the forest, but there were. There was just one witch that I’d heard stories about, a cold, ugly witch, who lived alone in the forest in a hole in the ground. She would crawl into the hole at night, the hole only just about big enough for her body, and then she would emerge in the mornings, with her broom, looking tired and haggard and old, scratching her head and smacking her lips.