Witch-Goblin

This story contains: Lesbians, Monstergirls, Goblins, Shortstacks, and Magically-Assisted Sex.

***

When the village of Amplestand heard that a 'Witch-Goblin' had settled down in the forest next to it, they didn't know what to make of it. They knew what a goblin was, generally speaking. Goblins were small and annoying individuals, and large numbers meant trouble. They definitely knew what a Witch was. The only reason why the villagers didn't go marching into the forest with pitchforks and torches was the possibility of curses and catastrophe. Still, it was frightening to know that the forest had become home to a Witch-Goblin.

The Burgomaster, Mr. Clarker, had called everyone to the town square -- even the women. Legends spoke of women being a witch's primary target, so Mr. Clarker wasn't about to let the potential victims be left out of the discussion.

"It has come to my attention," Mr. Clarker belted out as he paced on a wooden deck, double chin wobbling, "That we have a witch in our forest."

"Witch-Goblin, Mr. Clarker," Oron ventured up. He hunted in the forest frequently, and he was the first one out as soon as he discovered the invader. He had run into the village, straight to Mr. Clarker, hollering something about a 'Witch-Goblin', living in the forest.

Mr. Clarker looked at Oron. "What's that supposed to mean?" Mr. Clarker asked.

Oron shrugged. "Dunno, just thought it was important."

"Anyways, we haven't seen any new persons in our village," Mr. Clarker continued, "so I kindly ask for proof that there is indeed a 'witch-goblin' in the forest!"

"Tulip won't give no more milk," Bessda said. She was a tall, proud, if harried woman, wife of Farmer Grubber and mother of three. "Calves' gone to sick as well, an' my pies keep on goin' bad on the windowsill. Can't figure out why, either."

The crowd buzzed. Bessda was very well respected; she knew most everything about caring for cows, and if she didn't know what was going wrong, then it was likely the witch-goblin testing their powers.

"All right," Mr. Clarker continued, "Any other events? Anything?"

A steady stream of accusations came forth. "Someone is stealing things from my house!" said Mrs. Hubble, a rather old woman. "My house is being taken apart and my tools are being thrown about!" yelled Dreven the Woodcarver. "We've a stint of bad luck, an' it ain't natural!" piped up Mr. Hagris from the back, whose son had broken his arm recently in an accident.

In the crowd, Rose watched. She had her doubts, to be certain. It could just be poor luck. But the people of Amplestand were dead-set on the idea of there being a Witch-Goblin.

Mr. Clarker paced the stage, stroking his chin in contemplation. Everyone could see the hints of doubt in his face. Obviously, he shared some of Rose's concerns, even if they were a little bit inflated. "I must confess," he announced, "That I am not so sure about this 'Witch-Goblin'. If she exists, and we are not overreacting, she may be peaceful or we could talk her into being friendly."

There were assorted boo's from the crowd.

Mr. Clarker held out his hand to silence the crowd, and continued. "What I propose is sending an emissary to the abode of the 'Witch-Goblin' and seeing what she wants. Unarmed, of course, perfectly harmless."

"Yeah, but what 'bout the beasts o' th' forest?" Bessda brought up.

Mr. Clarker looked expectantly at Oron. Oron coughed awkwardly and said, "They've not really been an issue this past year. I've seen nary any wolf tracks nor a sign of bear or boar. The deer have been plentiful, and the birds are abundant."

"I believe that that is a good sign," Mr. Clarker said. "The only question remains; who shall go? Only a volunteer, please, I'm not conscripting anyone into this."

"Oh, I'm not going! I ain't meddlin' about with any witches!" Oron said immediately.

The village abounded in suggestions and denials until they eventually quieted down and parted around Rose. Rose's eyes widened and she whirled about. Everybody looked rather apologetic, but singling her out was a cold thing to do.

"Well, Rose," Mr. Clarker addressed Rose, "Out of anyone here, you do have the second most amount of experience in the forest. Would you like to visit the Witch-Goblin for us and see what she wants?"

It was true. Rose did have the second most amount of experience with that forest, next to Oron. It was because her grandmother, may she rest in peace, stubbornly lived in the forest and Rose used to visited her often with pastries that Rose had baked. Rose's grandmother was the only family she had for a good portion of her life. She had died a few years ago, and that forest has never been like it used to be.

Rose looked around. Everyone, from Mr. Clarker to Bessda to Mr. Hagris was looking at her, waiting for an answer. She was as curious as anyone else, and she was best-suited. Well, second-best-suited, next to Oron. What the Witch-Goblin was, if she was even real, was a nervous yet tantalizing question. "Yes, Mr. Clarker. I'll go and seek out the Witch-Goblin," Rose said.

The town was divided into a sigh of relief and worried mumbling for Rose's sake. Personally, Rose was wondering if cookies or cakes would help with a Witch-Goblin's attitude.

The preparations passed in a blur, and Rose was ready to set out the next morning. She had a lantern with oil, enough food for two days, and a mottled forest-green cloak. She had a red one, made by her grandmother, but it was far too heavy with memories. The food was in a basket, along with some cakes to get on the Witch-Goblin's good side.

And so Rose Rubiker journeyed into the forest to find the Witch-Goblin. She hadn't been in the forest since she was 14 years old, a little over 4 years ago now. It was Oron who had found her grandmother dead in her bed, and she hadn't gone back in since. Even now, ordinary branches seemed more claw-like, the shadows of the trees darker and filled with the menaces of imagination.

In the intermit time between the loss of her grandmother and now, she had blossomed into a fine young woman. After her parents both died of sickness, Rose's grandmother judged that a forest was no place to raise a child. Mr. Bakker, the, well, the town's baker, had taken her in. He had spent much of his time making sure Rose was the best baker she could be. Everyone in the village loved the products of her baking, and there was some gossip between the women of finding Rose a nice young man to settle down with. Rose didn't quite feel it; it just didn't seem right for her.

Rose had grown into a pale-skinned young woman with flame-red hair, her skin free of blemish. Her features were thin and pleasant, with clear green eyes and well-shaped lips. Almost as tall as some of the men as well as lithe, with a small but firm bosom and buttocks, she was beautiful. Even now, walking through the shifting greens of the forest, she wore a common dress with thick boots, the forest-green cloak around her shoulders.

Around Rose, the forest rose and sprouted every which way. Trampled paths used by man and beast alike wove through the trees, gnarled and straightened chaotically. Ancient stones, coated by moss or choked by vines, sprouted out of the ground as memories of some other time. Light pierced through the wafting leaves, shining down upon flowery patches but leaving other passages as darkened maws. As Rose journeyed in further, the trees became more and more gnarled. Her feet found surfacing roots and the occasional stone, each laden with memories of times walking to her grandmother's.

The Witch-Goblin's home appeared from out of the murky forest like a ghost. It didn't even take her until lunch to find the place. A ray of sunlight broke through the leafy branches above to illuminate the clean and cheerful building. It was small, but well-kept, in good repair and with an outhouse out the back. There was a sign above the door. It read "Witch, Goblin". Witch, Comma, Goblin. 'So this was how Oron found out about the Witch-Goblin,' Rose thought, 'He could do with some more reading lessons.'

She had to say, Rose was not expecting a well-kept, cutesy cottage out in the middle of the woods. The fencing was laughably short, with a gap for an entrance and a path that turned from trampled grass to pebbles as it led up to the door. There were no shingles missing, no splintering wood, nor was there any broken glass. How did the Witch-Goblin even get all the materials past Amplestand in the first place? Amplestand was the only road leading into the woods, to Rose's knowledge.

Rose slowly walked up to the cottage door and knocked on it. It wasn't terribly tall, and swung open of its own accord.

The room that greeted her was fairly spacious, and reminded Rose more of a shop than anything. A circular rug covered the broad wooden floor, and shelves were lined with dark items floating in a menagerie of jars. There was even a desk with a door behind it, covering a sizable portion of the door, and a fireplace sharing what was left of the wall. But there wasn't anybody in the room!

Clutching her basket of cakes close, her heart beating nervously, Rose called out, "He-hello?"

No answer. Rose crept her way into the room. Fish-eyes and curled-up salamanders looked down at Rose from their jars. A nervous shiver crept down her spine. She should just write down a note somehow and leave it with the cakes, saying hello to the Witch-Goblin. That would remove the chance of a nasty encounter.

"Hold on just a tic, I'll be right with you!" piped up a high-pitched voice from behind the door behind the desk.

Rose froze. Soon, she'd see what a 'Witch-Goblin' was, whether she wanted to or not. She couldn't imagine what kind of strange creature they would be. Would they be ugly? Covered in warts with green skin and a long, beaky nose? Perhaps grey and slimy, like a toad! Eyrgh, her imagination was getting the better of herself!

The door inwards swung open, and Rose's first impression of the Witch-Goblin was that of a two-foot tall black pointy hat, its tip kinked twice and at eye-height. "Sorry, sorry, I've been busy setting up the house. Just got here, you know," came the voice from beneath a wide, flopping brim.

The hat circled around the desk, giving Rose her first view of the Witch-Goblin. She was short at just over three and a half feet tall! However, her dark, tight clothes hugged her decidedly adult curves. Large, plump breasts, each almost as big as the Witch-Goblin's head, pressed against dark fabric, the cloth bunched underneath them as if to support them. Her arms were bare, as were her legs, to reveal smooth, brown skin. Was what she wearing a single piece? There was a pseudo-dress portion of it, stitched onto the front and back of her pelvis, but it had large gaps on the sides that let Rose easily see her wide hips and rounded thighs and it clung to the tiny woman's bubble-round butt!

"Well, then!" the Witch-Goblin said, placing her sizeable hands on her wide hips. Rose looked at her large feet (it was hard not to) and saw that they were bare, with long, clever-looking toes. Her hat jerked back, and Rose saw her face. Calico bangs covered large, innocent, black eyes. Her nose was just a button, her full lips born smiling. Her leaf-shaped ears, poking out from her irregular shoulder-length hair, were so large and stuck out so much that they supported her hat's brim. She was adorable, just like a cat was. "What do we have here?"

"I-I'm Rose Rubiker. I'm from the village outside the forest?" Rose stammered out.

"Oh, hello! I've already told you I just moved in, right? I guess that makes us neighbors!" the Witch-Goblin enthusiastically said. "I'm sorry, I really should introduce myself. My name's Kryss Applebottom. I came up here from down south, needed the country air for a bit. I hope you don't mind too much that I'm living in the forest!"

Rose stood there, jaw slightly agape. She was nothing like Rose was expecting. Rose was thinking of something unpleasant, and this Witch-Goblin in front of her was cute! "Oh, um, these are for you!" Rose quivered as she presented the basket, "Well, the cakes are. The rest is kind of my supplies for getting here and back."

"Ooh, thank you!" Kryss snatched the basket and looked into it, her hat-tip bobbing around like a moth. She pulled the cakes out and handed the basket bake to Rose, and then went to the desk. Kryss hopped up onto a stool behind the desk that put her at chest-height and began eating.

"So, um, you've moved up here," Rose said nervously as she looked at the jars. A big dead salamander eyed her cluelessly, and strange cheese bobbed up and down in green fluid next to it.

"Eyup," Kryss said between crumbs. "It's not so good down south. I wouldn't say times are rough, but it's tough work living as a goblin in a city. I had to get out to somewhere where I could be me!"

"Really?" Rose said absentmindedly. She passed from a jar full of discolored olives (she hoped) to a bottle of sparkling liquid labeled 'Unicorn's Tears' to a tightly sealed jar full of nothing. Her gaze then passed onto a very large rat.

Rose squeaked uncontrollably and tumbled back. A rat! A rat bigger than any cat she'd ever seen! How had that thing gotten there!

"Oh! You've found Squeakums!" Kryss bubbled forth, standing up on the stool. "Here, Squeakums!"

The giant rat chittered as it squeezed past the jars on the shelf, then leapt onto the desk. Kryss placed out a cake for the creature, and it began to gnaw through the baked good. It had a mottled calico fur pattern that was brushed and clean, its pink fat tail almost half of its length.

Rose gaped as the giant rat wolfed down hunks of the pastry she made. There was something wrong about a giant rat eating something she made with her own hands, but she was more bothered by the name. "Squeakums?"

"Eyup! She's my familiar. Wave hello, Squeakums!" Kryss said enthusiastically. She was an endless font of bubbly happiness.

Squeakums turned from the cake just long enough to wave hello with one of her forepaws.

Rose stared. She had just seen a giant rat, who was eating her cakes, wave a pink paw at her. That was the one detail that made it feel real. "You really are a witch, aren't you!" Rose burst out.

"Well, I'm not wearing the hat for giggles!" Kryss said. Next to her, Squeakums finished her cake.

Rose was left sputtering. "Wha, bu whu, hu, how, why are you here?!" she asked, a bit more angrily than she intended.

Kryss looked at her with playful eyes. "So I'd have a place of my own. I'd heard that there were witches abroad up here, and I was hoping to meet one that I'd heard a few things about and get to be part of a community that would actually know and care about me, but when I arrived, I didn't find anyone."

"Witches? Up here? But we haven't any!" Rose spouted.

"There's me!" Kryss said with an innocent smile.

"Who were you looking for?" Rose asked, still outraged.

"Uh, I'm trying to recall," Kryss muttered, screwing up her face. "It was an Oakthorne. A Madame Oakthorne."

Rose's blood ran cold. "Are you sure?"

Kryss tapped her chin. "Mmm, yeah, I'm sure. Information's a bit out of date, though. It's like, gosh, Madame Oakthorne would be over 70 by now. Maybe I screwed up! She said she was going northwards. Married, had a kid, wanted a good place to raise the child. You don't know of anybody named Oakthorne around here, do you?"

Rose just stared at the small woman.

"Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost. Are you all right? Oakthorne didn't do something really mean, did she?" Kryss asked.

"Oakthorne was my grandmother's name," Rose said hoarsely, "She died four years ago."

"Oh," Kryss said quietly, all traces of mischievousness gone. "I-I didn't know. I'm sorry, it's hard to keep track of things with this head of mine-."

"How did you know my grandmother?" Rose whispered. She couldn't believe that her grandmother was a witch or knew a goblin who was also a witch, but today, anything could happen.

"Hmm?"

"How did you know my grandmother?" Rose demanded.

"I didn't," Kryss said, kicking back. "My great-grandmother did. Or at least, I think she did. My line's got a weird curse on it, stretching back a whole number of years. I know everything my mother's line knows, and when I die, my oldest will know everything they knew, plus what I know. Hereditary knowledge. I can't recall any kind of memories, nor who was friends with my ancestors, but I do know names and a few things associated with them; facts, if you want to."

"So you came up here trying to meet my grandmother," Rose said, with Kryss nodding in agreement. "But my grandmother can't be a witch! She was a tad weird, but she wasn't a witch!"

Kryss closed her eyes tightly in concentration. "Year 994 (oh, that's 53 years ago!), Miss Clarice Oakthorne wins the annual Talon Mountains Area Witching Competition, setting the record of youngest winner at 22 years old. She presented a number of advancements, including a permanent flying ointment, an ointment to reverse that flying ointment, and a scrying tool that used nothing but sticks, string, an egg, and something dear to the user. Also demonstrated remarkable connectivity with her familiar, including skilled Borrowing capacity and communication with other animals."

"You're making that up!" Rose accused.

Kryss raised a finger to object, and then set it down. "You know, you're right. I could've made that all up," she said with the tone of realization, "How well did you know your grandmother, anyways?"

"Why, better than anyone! And if some two-bit 'Witch, Goblin' is going to spout that they knew my grandmother better than me, then they can, ough, they can burn on a bonfire!" Rose yelled. She turned sharply and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.

Kryss waited for a little bit. She could hear the young woman stomp down the path, and then into the woods. "She'll be back," Kryss said to Squeakums.

Squeakums dived into the basket that Rose had left behind.

***

Rose was practically incendiary by the time she made it back to town, just a little bit past mid-day. Oron spotted her first, and ran off to tell Mr. Clarker. Mr. Clarker, in turn ran up to Rose and asked her, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I guess," Rose muttered back. Her grandmother, a witch? Inconceivable!

"What about the Witch-Goblin? Who are they? Are they a decent sort of folk?" Mr. Clarker inquired. A small crowd of people was slowly gathering around them.

"She's a goblin who's a witch," Rose said. "She's small, and not very threatening. She just wants a nice place to live."

Mr. Clarker looked among the crowd, who looked among themselves in response. "Well, that's somewhat... underwhelming. She's not malicious? You're sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Rose said. She stood up and brushed through the crowd to the bakery that performed double-duty as her home. Mr. Bakker was away to do baking for a lord's wedding far down the road -- Rose had learned from the best, after all -- and she would be alone there. The crowd mumbled behind her like flies.

Rose closed the shop behind her and went to the back room, where a stove waited to bake bread and a large table was dusted white with flour. She needed something to take her mind off of things. There was dough that could be kneaded. It'd do.

She spread a sprinkle of flour around the table, then dusted some on to her hands. She took a slab of pale dough out and slapped it down onto the table. As Rose set about laying her palms into the formless dough, she tried to recall everything she knew about her grandmother.

Old Mrs. Oakthorne, the nice strange woman who lived outside of town. She pressed the dough in on itself. Old Mrs. Oakthorne, the one you called if something bad was happening with a woman delivering a child. Turn the dough, press it in on itself again, make it more concrete. Old Mrs. Oakthorne, the one who helped out injured hunters. The one who lived alone in the forest without any help, and was never beset upon by wild animals.