Knock knock.
“Who’s there?”
…
Knock knock.
“Who’s there?”
…
She was tired of the jokes. Tired of the games. Tired of children playing knock down ginger on her door, daring each other to antagonise the witch. Fed up of the assumption that she was a witch purely because she grew her white hair long and kept two black cats.
Their lazy stereotyping infuriated her.
She set up her chair behind the door. Settled the smallest cat on her lap.
Knock knock.
Knock knock.
…
“Who’s there?”
“Witch.”
…
“Which who?”
“Which witch do you think?”
…
“BOO!”
She laughed at their startled screams.
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