Around the camp fire.

The cabin in the woods was abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Sinister, was the way it flickered, like streams of death held its finger on it. Misha stared at it, from a distance. The eerie smell of the vomit-coloured sky wavered, like the peaceful blue sky was trying to punch through. But it was forlorn, the hazy smog chocked the life out of the forest. Leaving the trees bare, twisting with their spindling limbs. Misha lived with her father, and mother-of-step. Their small cottage sat in the dense woods of haze, the odd yellow house seemed like a swab for the dead forest. But miles away, was the old cabin, that held the flickering light of the candle.

Misha walked forward, trying not to remember who lives here. The dreaded Baba Yaga, the sister of Misha’s step-mother. Misha’s step-mother was horrible to her, getting her to do a bunch of dirty jobs. Cleaning, scrubbing, washing, wiping, sewing, ironing, scrapping, cooking, and dusting. When Misha’s father came home to visit, the step-mother acted nice to her. But when he was gone away for travel, she only fed her the scraps left over from her meal. Soon Misha grew very thin.

“I want to do some sewing!” Shouted Misha’s step mother, so suddenly that Misha dropped the dish she was cleaning. “But I don’t have any needles! So go to my sister’s, and get me some needles. You lazy girl!” She shouted at her. Misha shuddered, she wasn’t just scared of the wolves, and the bears that roam the area. But that her mothers sister was an awful witch, called Baba Yaga. She is as ugly as a slug, and has iron teeth. Misha began walking out, when she grabbed a piece of cheese, and a meaty bone when her step-mother wasn’t looking. She wrapped them in her handkerchief, and set off.

Misha opened the gate to the cabin, and a dog leapt, nipping at her, and Misha held it back. Long enough to undo the handkerchief, and give the dog the meaty bone. The dog had a look of bewilderment, and happily took the bone. And Misha walked to the door.

The door of the cabin creaked open. And in a startling hiss, a cat came pouncing at Misha. It snarled, and spitted. Misha took a step back, “you poor thing, you must be halve-starved!” She quickly undid the handkerchief, and gave the cat some cheese. The cat purred when Misha stroked its back.

“Baba Yaga is out, but she’ll soon be back. Go while you still have a chance or she will eat you for supper,” meowed the cat. But before Misha could reach the door, she heard a swishing sound. She peeked through a window and there she saw Baba Yaga in a huge mortar, steering with a pestle, just landing out of the gate. Misha saw the candle abruptly blew out, like her evil presence smothered it. Baba Yaga climbed out, came crashing through the door, and stopped when she saw Misha. “What do you want!?” She screeched. Misha was too frightened to speak, but she managed to say, “your sister sent me to borrow some needles”.

“Did she? Did she indeed!” Cackled Baba Yaga. “Well, you’ll have to wait until after supper. First, I’m going to have a bath,” she croaked, gnashing her iron teeth. “You can do some weaving while you’re waiting,” she went into the bathhouse, and slammed the door. The light of the candle burned brightly again, wavering with the sour wind that was blowing.

“Quick Misha, go now,” meowed the cat. “Or you’ll nether escape. Take the needles; I’ll do the weaving so Baba Yaga hears the loom clacking away, and think your working it”. The cat disappeared, running into a room. Misha was about to open the door and sneak away, when the cat stopped her. “Here, take this towel and comb, when you hear her coming, throw them to the ground. First the towel then the comb. Now go”.

“Thank you, thank you,” whispered Misha and tiptoed to the door. She hurried down the steps. The dog ran up to her, but didn’t bark. Misha ran away down the path in the forest, running as fast as she could. In the little house, Baba Yaga shouted from the bathhouse, “are you weaving my dear?” The cat worked the loom, clackety-clack, clackety-clack. “Yes, auntie,” the cat meowed, trying to sound like Misha.

When Baba Yaga came out of the bathhouse, she saw the cat sitting at the loom, and screamed, “why did you let the girl escape? You should have warned me”. The cat stared at Baba Yaga. “I’ve worked for you for years and years, but you nether gave me a piece of cheese like she did,” the cat said. Baba Yaga tried to kick the cat, but the cat jumped out of the window, and disappeared into the forest.

Gnashing her iron teeth in rage, Baba Yaga ran out of the cabin. When she saw the dog she shrieked. “Why didn’t you bark to warn me that the girl was getting away?” The dog looked at her. “I’ve worked for you for years and years, but you nether gave me anything like Misha did. She was kind to me, and gave me a bone with meat on it”. Before Baba Yaga could kick the dog, it ran and jumped over the fence, disappearing into the forest. “I’ll get her, I’ll get her. She won’t escape from me!” Screamed Baba Yaga, climbing into her mortar. Waving the pestle, she pumped across the forest floor.

Darkness seemed to follow her, the awful smog, and the scary bump! Bump! Bump! Of the mortar. Fear grasped Misha’s heart, when she heard the mortar come crashing this way. Baba Yaga hissed in Misha’s ear, “you’re mine now!” Misha instantly threw down the towel, dropping it on the floor. Soon a water rushed out of it, making a rushing river; in-between Misha, and Baba Yaga.

Baba Yaga screamed when the heavy mortar hit the water. She steered around, and headed back into the forest. Misha ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the living nightmare. She risked a peak behind her, and saw Baba Yaga drive her herd of cattle to the river. The cattle quickly began drinking, and drinking, until the river was dry. Baba Yaga grinned at the dry river-bed, and climbed into her mortar. Misha ran in a cold-sweat panic, the horrific sound of bump, bump, bump closed in on her.

When Misha felt cold, clammy hands clutch her shoulder, she threw down the comb. The comb’s teeth sprang into a dense forest of thorns and thistles. The witch screamed when the thorns pierced her skin, and roared when the thistles loosened her grip on Misha. Misha ran, unscathed from the magic. Misha was running towards her cottage, that was now in sight.

Baba Yaga gnashed her iron teeth, chewing up the thorns and thistles. Baba Yaga climbed back into the mortar, and waved the pestle. She came bouncing up the path. Bump, bump, bump. Went the mortar. Misha was closing in on her house, and pounded on the door. She screamed for her step-mother to open the door, but she heard nothing. Except for Baba Yaga climbing out of her mortar.

Misha’s step-mother sat at the other-side of the door, keeping it locked. She heard Misha’s scream, when Baba Yaga came near. But the scream was cut short, and the only noise was the insidious cackle of Baba Yaga. Thunder roared when Baba Yaga said, “thanks for the free meal, sister”.

The counsellor finished the tale, the fire lit the face’s of the scared campers. "remember, no nightmares!" Joked the counsellor, he chuckled. But the kids wern't moving, in fact, they looked as if they were made of petrified stone. The air smelled rancid, and the counsellor smile faded in a heart stopping terror. They stared into the dark forest, listening to an awful, screeching laugh. And echoing across the forest was the sound of Bump, Bump, Bump...