The carpenter and the Witch

The story of the carpenter and the Witch.

Long ago there was a carpenter. When wood was a new medium, few people knew how to use the trees to make anything other than tools and basic shelter. But our carpenter was an artist his wood working was beyond his years, his skill with the chisel and hammer were beyond any previously noticed view of beauty or skill in craftsmanship. Making fine detailed carvings, that could mimic the most delicate leaf, flower, or feather. he became known for his masterful handy work.

One day while hunting for an oak sapling to hone a long bow for the master of his village. The carpenter came across an old woman bathing in a cold-water stream, her hair was thin and smoky gray, her hands were claws made from arthritic knots. Her teeth lost, but for three yellow and black stinkingly foul stones that jutted from her rotten mouth. Her flesh hanging from her skeleton in pale liver spotted globs. Her back hunched and curved, her spine covered in oozing sore covered skin pulled thin and tight over her bones.

“I see you spying on me boy” she said calmly but firm. The cackle of her voice seeming to quiet the forest.

The Carpenter turning to leave; “I’m sorry Old Mother I had no idea that another soul would be so deep into the forest, I meant no trespass you see. I was just looking for an-“but before he could finish his thought there she was standing front of him as if the moment his eyes left her down in that stream over thirty yards away, she was close enough to smell the decay of her breath.

“What brings ya so deep inta my forest Boy” she said as she poked her long yellow fingernail into his chest three times. Tap, tap, tap.

“I , I was just saying th, that” the Carpenter stuttered

“what ya looking fer here? “ she interrupted.

“Only a b-branch or sapling to carve into a s-sapling, I mean branch, I mean long bow, f-for the master of my village.” He said trying to advert his eyes upwards to the tree tops as to avoid a glance at her still nude and now uncomfortably close presence.

“so yer here to find a stiff piece of wood are ya boy” she said as she pressed her putrid physique against his young fit body. “Did ya find it boy” as her hand pressed against his inner thigh.

Disgusted “No old mother not like that” still looking up; something odd caught his eye.

“more like that!” exclaimed the carpenter as he pointed to the tree tops.

Brushing the hag to the side the young carpenter began to climb. It was an old maple tree whose branches were strong and supple, it stood tall in the forest its limbs reaching the canopy.

It was in this tree near the top in a crook in the top branches that the carpenter had spotted the strangest thing. An oak tree had been growing straight out of this divide of branches it must have been growing for a few years because it was perfect. Its single branch reaching for the sun straight as an arrow, like the tree it was growing in was the string about to fire it into the sky.

The carpenter knew what to do. He cut the branch down and climbed down the tree never dropping it , taking extra care not to damage the wood any further.

“so ya weren’t just spyn on an a naked woman in the woods, ya came to butcher my trees did did ya?

“Sorry old mother but I can’t stay and chat this needs to be treated and carved” said the carpenter in a rush of excitement and thought.

“So ya only have love fer your craft do ya, ye’re different form other men that trespass in my forest, not looking for war or to hunt, so I will grant ya safe passage home boy, but remember taking from my forest has its cost”. She said as she placed her knotted hands on his prize.

“ I would pay any price to be able to craft from wood this fine,” he said seriously, while looking the hag in her yellow eyes. His hands tightening their grip on the would be bow as if he expected her to try to snatch it from them at any moment.

“take yer wood boy, and remember this is no gift I give ya , this is a transaction, one day yer price will be paid. She said through a stinking smile as she let go of the coveted lumber.

The carpenter ran home as fast as his legs could carry him. His mind focused on what he could do with such a fine piece of wood. When he finally made it home he spent the next 32 days working on this hunting bow for the master of the village, his hands bleeding from cuts and splinters, the blood staining the wood red brown.

When he was finally done, he presented a polished burgundy masterpiece to the village leader wrapped in albino deer hide. It was so well received that the village elders said he could pick any available girl in the village to be his wife.

But the carpenter already knew his love; and it was not some girl from the village. His love was with him always, His art was more than just carvings in wood and stone his art was alive, and she loved him back. She held him in his sleep she kept him fed and kept him company. Yes his love was his art and his art proved her love in return.

Although the village held many young beautiful womenfolk none could catch his eye like a firm oak tree or supple pine. When his love would call to him he would always answer with excitement and passion. That night his love left him satisfied and grateful, his belly full and his dreams of beauty.

The next morning the carpenter was awakened by knocking at his huts well crafted door, followed by a symphony of young girls giggling,

“I’ll be right there“ The carpenter shouted through the milky haze of last night’s festivities,

He did his best to wipe the sleep from his eyes and pull his brown shoulder length hair back from his face, as he fumbled to the door.

He opened the door silently peeking his nose from the safety of his home.

“ we spent all morning picking berries to bake you this” said Maybell Goodfellow the daughter of the village baker, she was a healthy plump young redheaded girl, barely sixteen and full of a longing to grow up much faster than she ought.

“It’s maple blueberry “ said Lilly Underbrush the oldest of the thirteen Underbrush sisters tall and plain was one way to describe her whole family, today she was dressed in her finest dress. Her long brown braids sat on her shoulders, her brown eyes looking at the carpenter through the crack he had opened in the doorway with hope and joy. They were easy enough to see as she stood a foot taller than her two companions.

“I made sure all the berries were sweet and ripe just for you” grunted Martha Pembrook, her hands stained purple from the berries as she held up the beautifully made pie under the carpenters’ nose. Martha was loud and always had an opinion to ad to a conversation even ones she had no part in, she was considerably less healthy a round than Maybell, her fingers looked like plump little purple sausages holding up the still warm blueberry pie. her freckles standing out on her cheeks in abundance the same color of her hair a light mousy brown.

“Thank you, This will make a fine breakfast” he said as he lifted the warm confection from Martha’s hands, ignorant of the meaning of the gesture the three young eligible women had just given him. He closed the door and walked to his dinner table. Outside he could hear the girls bickering.

“He looked happy with it”

“ oh shut your stupid mouth Lilly how could you tell from way up there anyhow”

“you should talk Martha you smashed those berries in your hands on purpose to make it look like you did most of the work”

“so what if I did? I did what I had to, anyhow just because your mother is the baker doesn’t mean you did all the work Maybell”

“ its my oven”

they bickered and jabbed at each other into the distance.

Word of the carpenters permission to take a wife had moved through the village like the flu every girl of age would be knocking on his door now. Afterall being married carried status in the village. You could go to the meetings with the elders and help make decisions that affect every person’s life from day to day.

The carpenter cared for none of this.

As long as there are trees growing or there are stones in the ground the carpenter would create and build. He lived differently than others he relished the work and the sweat his lover desired from him; and soon enough she would have him to herself.

The carpenter snuck out of his house and away from the village his belly full of sweet berries and goats milk to wash it down. The pie was indeed good but it gave him an itch he had to scratch. A box to place uneaten pie in so it would not attract flies and would allow a fresh pie to cool.

So back through the woods the carpenter started to walk, he walked for hours finding nothing worthy of such a task. He kept walking until he came to a certain stream in a part of the forest he had wished to forget.

And in the same stream washing her long hair was not an old hag but the most beautiful woman the carpenter had ever seen . her skin was fine white like the bark of a quaking Aspin her hair swayed back and forth in wet golden strands that reminded him of weeping willows in the fall. Her body was indescribably perfect, fit and tone.

The carpenter covered his eyes and smiled “I’m sorry miss I don’t mean to intrude but I have happened to walk to far from my own village I mean you no harm I was just out looking for some locust wood to build a box and-”

“Are you the carpenter my grandmother told me about” questioned the sweetest voice the wind had ever carried.

“yes ‘ er well maybe, I mean perhaps, I don’t believe I made the best impression on her I am sorry if she’s around I would like to apologize. You see I was a bit lost in thought and not sure if I had made a proper introduction. The trees that grow here are marvelous and-,”

“Their not the only things that have grown marvelously around here” whispered the same sweet voice into his left ear.

The carpenters hands broke free from his eyes.

Wrapped in bear skin and white fabrics standing in front of him was a beauty so intoxicating he could not resist his eyes from taking in a full body glance.

“Do you like what you see carpenter?” she said through a sly smile.

“ I, I don’t know, I mean I don’t know you, ugh what im trying to say is-“

“my name is Cilest now you know me carpenter, you have been walking a long time pleas come home with me and rest, you seem like you could use it dear sweet carpenter”

“I suppose I should say hello to your grandmother, I do owe her an apology after all” the carpenter blushed.

They walked for more than an hour into thicker and thicker forest each tree more beautiful than the last of every kind from fir trees, to fruit trees, even large pines too. Until they came to a colossal redwood tree it looked to have a door and window that seemed to have grown naturally into the old wood,

“ you live here” the carpenter asked trying to mask his excitement to see what the inside of such a marvel would look like.

When they entered it was a simple hobble, one bed, a make shift table made from river stone covered in a red cloth, a large iron cooking pot in one corner blackened from soot and years of use. Various herbs and dried meats hung from lines around the cooking area.

What cought his eye next was a new set of carving tools laid out on the bed, Cilest sat next to them and asked the carpenter a simple question. “ Do you see anything you want its yours all you have to do is pay the price. He looked at the tools and to the dream woman sitting provocatively on the bed next to them.

“yes” he answered.

“what is it that you want” she asked knowing the answer.

He leaned in and picked up the neatly bound bone handle tools “I want to create”

“are you willing to pay the price” she asked

“I would give anything to work with tools this fine and trees this wonderous”

“would you give me everything,” she asked through a Cheshire grin

“yes” he said flatly

“Marry me carpenter, create for me only”

“Yes” he said without a thought.

The next day they returned to the village he told the village elders of his intentions and the agreed that new blood would be welcomed and they were wed that evening. That night the carpenter laid with his wife and they giggled, teased, loved and pleased each other until the early morning hours.

“My Carpenter, my Husband, would you come with me back to the forest to the home of my grandmother I would love to be away from the lustful view of the other men in your village and you could make the tree just as beautiful as I, you could make us a home.”

The idea swirled in the carpenters head, what a lovely thought it was too, a home made of living wood that he could carve in to the finest home any mortal eyes had ever seen. It would be his masterpiece. It would be his soul song and he would sing it for his love. His art dedicated to Cilest his wife.

Chapter 2 blessing and a curse.

The carpenter lived for many years carving the house, his wife would cook and clean and he would love the smiles she gave him every time he would complete a doorknob or staircase , although they lived and loved they never had children the carpenter had no time his love would call on him form all hours some weeks he would only sleep for a few hours after he had finished a project.

When time was taking its tole on the carpenter as it had been doing for the past several seasons, although his wife seemed to barely age a day the carpenter grew old and one day while carving the trim to the hallway doorframe the carpenter suffered a massive heart attack and died.

This is where one would think the story would end, however this is just the beginning.

The heart attack wasn’t that bad some tightness in his chest and then the lights went out, simple enough. But what came next the carpenter was not prepared for.

Death comes over us like a dream, so real but distant. Cold but peaceful. Quiet and comforting. Death held on to the carpenters soul and kept him bound in its icy embrace for a life time, until the carpenters eyes opened and he could see.

This was his home but every inch of trim on the finished and polished walls was carved so beautifully from vines to fireflies that had tiny yellow stones that seemed to reflect the candle light back in life like flashes. The stairway was a masterpiece the wood carved to tell the story of the old ones all the way to the top all 35 steps. He marveled in the handy work and thought this was heaven it must be his sons must have finished his work, but wait; the carpenter had no children.

“Then who? “ he thought to himself felling numb and half asleep.

The carpenter looked down and saw two hands hardened by death, hands wrapped in cloth that itself had grown old and worn a dusty brown from years of sawdust. These hands were carving leaves on a round banister top at the bottom of the stairs. These were his hands.

Yes these were his hands yet he could not stop them they just kept working carving wood sliver by delicate sliver then from the kitchen he heard his wife’s voice; her voice, he could never forget, her voice.

He moved his head looking for her. His feet and his hands being uncooperative in his efforts but in the dim candle light he could almost see her standing over the her grandmothers cooking pot , only instead of sticks and an iron bar holding it was on a fine swinging arm that brought it in and out of a stone fire place finely polished and shining.

The carpenter tried to call out to her, but his voice was gone, like there was nothing to push air between his lips. He looked more closely at his body, from head to toe he was a grotesque visage of the man he was once was. His whole body was bound tightly in brown strips of cloth his torso a cavity stuffed with rags and sawdust his legs were all but bone his feet matted and broken but somehow kept him standing and steady .

The carpenter started to panic, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry; but couldn’t, he wanted to run to his wife; but couldn’t, he wanted to put down the tools but couldn’t. he wanted to die but he couldn’t.

“What was this” he wondered.

He could hear his wives voice again, this time mumbling something low almost a whisper into the cooking pot she was leaning over.

As his vision was returning he could see her more clearly, his hands still carving.

The carpenter could see that she wasn’t leaning she was hunched, this wasn’t his wife this was her grandmother! It had to be!

The carpenter could never forget that woman although he only ever met her one time. He could never for get her.

As though she could feel him looking at her, she turned slowly and matched his gaze, when they locked eyes she smiled that putrid smile.

“huh, I see yer awake again carpenter, I told ya the price would be paid, not cheep no” she said as she shuffled to him

The hag stood in front of him looking him over, “didn’t think ya would ever wake up, but magic is strange and cruel carpenter, so now that yer back ya probably want answers don’t ya,

The carpenter just stood looking at her the whole time his hands still working away. Of course he wanted answers! His wife! His body! His house! He tried to grab her to ask her what is happening, but instead he finished the grape leaf he was carving and started a new one.

This is the price for the tools ya wanted so badly carpenter.

“No! that price was paid when I married my wife” he thought.

“Oh poor carpenter yes ya were a good husband and is true when ya died I mourned yer passing, but a curse is a curse ya know, yes, yes, ya see carpenter yer work on that bow ya made when we first met was bound to my woods and thus my magics, the more beautiful you carved the more beautiful I became”

The carpenters eyes grew wider as the realization of what she said next hit him.

“Yes ya see I had hoped ya would come back looking for more pieces of my forest and when ya came back to me I knew I had to keep ya as mine, carpenter. So I used the beauty ya gave me to lure ya to this tree and take me as yer wife. Yer life poured into yer art and from yer life my beauty was sustained. When ya died so did the blessing it gave me but such a shame it was, so much unfinished ya left behind, so my magics worked on you brought yer talent to life I did! Sure it was in this rotten body but look at the work ya’ve done in the last seven hundred years, mended ya I have, many a time over the centuries yer stinking corps dropping and dripping all over the place. But I kept ya working I kept yer art alive carpenter, I kept your love. So ya still love me yes?” her smile a mocking grin

It was true she had kept his love alive but for 700 years? He knew he never really loved her, his art was his only true love and it had been used to trick him and use him.

The carpenter was broken he just looked at his work his hands still carving as if it was some other person that this was happening to.

The witch stood next to him, watching his hands work and glancing back and forth between them and his eyes.

“I feel nothing , yer awake in there I can feel ya , but I feel nothing from yer work no beauty no magic, just dead, well carpenter if ya cant love then get back to work! Yes work till yer bones crack and turn to dust when that happens yer debt is paid carpenter, shouldn’t be to long only another five hundred years or so!” she cackled.

And so the carpenter worked. he worked, and worked. All the while trapped in his own body mindlessly toiling away, one day he was working on a knot in a closet door frame when he discovered he could plan his art he wanted thorns and he carved thorns, yes it was true he could no longer control his body but he could control his visions and thus his art. He reveled in this and he was once again able to find joy in his work.

One day several hundred years later though his body was little more than bones and the bindings the old witch had used to hold him together he was chopping down a tree when then wind shifted the old oak and it fell on the carpenter crushing all but his right arm. The arm slinked back to the old house, well it was a house now because it had been carved from the mighty redwood it had once been to a lavish home. With roots deep in the ground that held it in place and kept the wood alive and supple. When the arm came in the door the witch knew it was time to move on and let this house be the carpenters tomb. With the witch gone the carpenter was left to his work. His hand was carving using his bony finger tips as the tools he would wear them down to nubs then the flakes of bone would roll and move to carve until eventually all that was left of the carpenter was dust.

Chapter 3

He was at rest again he could feel his soul flying free no more work no more worries.

Then he woke up.

laying in a clearing in the forest he knew oh too well. He found he was whole again barely 25 and naked. The morning due dripping off the tall grass he could feel the wet on his skin. How long had it been since he could feel anything? was it all just a dream had it all just been brought on by good pie and bad goats milk?

The carpenter wandered through the forest back to where he once called home, but when he arrived there was no village there were no people anywhere. Just another empty clearing and old stone piles that were once fireplaces or ovens, he walked to where his wooden hut once stood, now just tall grass and lost memories.

The carpenter laid there in the grass for hours enjoying the sun and breeze on his skin. He made a make shift camp site and started to set up camp. As the night came in his body started to ache

He moved away from the small campfire he had built right before the change took him his bones cracked and shifted his feet grew roots and planted him firm in the dirt below the green grass.

His skin hardened and his form become the house he had built and carved from the redwood. Although he could feel and see everything inside the house as if it were himself he could move furniture open windows and doors, he knew every inch of this home like he knew himself. Although unaware of his surroundings. Inside the home he was alive . the next morning he woke up in the clearing where he had changed and this happened every night from that point forward. He had become a ware-house.