The Witch in the Woods

“What’s that yummy smell, Henry?” my sister, Gina, asks.

We’re walking to school with our neighbor Lucas. To get to school, we have to pass by the woods. Every day, the most delectable smells come from the woods. The air smells like pies, cookies, cakes, brownies—every tasty treat you can imagine.

But there’s a problem. The smells come from the creepy old house in the woods. And the person who lives there, Mrs. Raven, is strange and scary. In fact, she’s a witch, and everyone knows it.

I sniff the air. It smells like butter and chocolate. “It smells like cookies,” I say.

“I love cookies,” sighs Gina.

“You have to be careful,” says Lucas. “If the witch gets you, she’ll bake you into a pie!”

“WHAT?!” Gina asks.

“Well, she’s obviously the witch from the fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel,” says Lucas.

“I don’t know that story,” Gina says. “What is it?”

“In the story, Hansel and Gretel were two kids who went into the woods,” Lucas explains. “They found a house made of candy. 

But it belonged to a witch! She made the house out of candy to lure children to her. She wanted to make them come to her. Then she wanted to fill them up with sugar. After that, she could bake them into sweet, delicious pies.”

“Oh no!” Gina cries. She looks at me, worried. “Henry, is that true?”

“It’s just a fairy tale,” I say. 

I don’t want to scare Gina.

But I think Lucas is right. 

Why else would Mrs. Raven live in that creepy old house? And why does she bake all the time? There’s only one answer: She’s practicing to bake us into pies.

“Anyway,” I tell Gina, “as long as we stay away from the woods, we’re safe.”

When we get home from school, Gina and I check the mailbox. A small package is inside.

I gasp. It’s addressed to Mrs. Raven!

“Oh no!” says Gina. “Why is this in our mailbox? What do we do?”

“Let’s ask Mom and Dad,” I say.

We find them in the kitchen. 

“It looks like this package was misdelivered,” Mom says. “It was brought to the wrong address. We can take it to Mrs. Raven’s house.”

“You can’t go there!” I say.

“Why not?” Dad asks.

“Mrs. Raven is a mean, scary witch!” Gina says.

Mom and Dad look at each other. Then they laugh.

“Mrs. Raven is not a witch,” Mom says. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“In fact,” says Dad, “you two can take the package to her after school tomorrow.”

My jaw drops. So does Gina’s. We are stunned. We can’t believe it!

“Don’t worry,” Mom says. “Everything will be fine!”

Gina is quiet at dinner. I push my peas around my plate. Neither of us are in the mood for dessert. Besides, maybe if we’re not full of sugar, Mrs. Raven won’t want to bake us into pies.

After dinner, we go upstairs to bed. But we can’t sleep. My heart is pounding. I hear Gina tossing and turning.

“Henry, I’m scared,” says Gina in a small voice. “Are we going to get baked into pies?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I really, really hope not.”

When I wake up in the morning, I feel fine . . . for about a minute. And then I remember what Gina and I have to do today. My chest fills with dread.

We get ready for school and drag ourselves downstairs. Mom is waiting with the package. She helps me zip it into my backpack. “I’m sure Mrs. Raven will be very thankful,” Mom says.

Of course she will, I think. We’re bringing pie ingredients right to her door! And WE are the ingredients!

On the way to school, we tell Lucas everything.

“You can’t go to Mrs. Raven’s house!” he says. “She’s going to turn you into Henry pie and Gina pie!”

Gina looks miserable. I want to comfort her. But how can I make her feel better about getting baked into a pie?

I think about the package all day. I get more and more nervous.

After school, I find Gina outside. We give each other a grim look, as if to say: We’re doomed.

When we get to the woods, we can smell the sweet aroma of cupcakes. Gina takes my hand. We walk down the path into the woods.

Finally, we’re at the house. I take a deep breath. I knock on the door.

Mrs. Raven opens it. “Hello, Gina and Henry,” she says. She’s a small woman with white hair and a kind smile.

“How do you know our names?” Gina says.

“Why, your parents called me and told me you were coming,” she says. “Come in!”

Gina and I look at each other. We go inside—and we can’t believe what we see.

Mrs. Raven’s house is warm and bright. There are flowers on a table. There’s a fluffy cat curled up on the rug. There’s a tray of chocolate cupcakes with sprinkles on the counter.

“This doesn’t look like a witch’s house,” Gina says.

Mrs. Raven laughs. “Why would this look like a witch’s house?”

“Well . . .” says Gina.

“I’m not a witch,” says Mrs. Raven. “I used to be a pastry chef. My job was baking desserts. I especially loved baking pies.”

“Really?” Gina says. “I love pies. I love all desserts!”

“But who are you baking for now?” I ask.

“Well, I also used to bake for my children and grandchildren,” she says, “but they moved away a few months ago. Now there’s no one to bake for. But I still love baking.”

Mrs. Raven looks sad. Gina and I aren’t sure what to say.

Then I have an idea.

“What about the farmers’ market?” I say. “Every Saturday, people sell food that they’ve grown or made themselves. You could bake things to sell there.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Mrs. Raven says. “Maybe you can help me. What should I put inside the pies for the farmers’ market?”

“Chocolate, toffee, and peanut butter!” says Gina.

“Marshmallows, pretzels, and caramel!” I say.

“Great ideas!” says Mrs. Raven.

We dream up all kinds of scrumptious, mouthwatering, delicious pies. Mrs. Raven writes our ideas down.

“I can’t thank you enough,” says Mrs. Raven. “For the package, and for your company. It’s so nice to have children in the house again.”

She gives us cupcakes before we leave.

On the way home, I say to Gina, “I can’t believe she’s not a witch!”

“And I’ve never been so happy to be wrong!” Gina says. She takes a big bite of chocolate cupcake.

On Saturday, we go to the farmers’ market. We see a table full of pies.

There is a crowd around it. It’s Mrs. Raven’s table!

“Hello!” she says to us. “Thank you so much for your ideas. I’m selling so many pies!”


“That’s great!” I say. “What kind of pies did you make?”

“See for yourself,” says Mrs. Raven.

There are labels in front of the different pies. One of the labels says “Henry’s Pie.” Another says “Gina’s Pie.”

Gina and I look at each other and grin. I guess we got turned into pies after all.