On a chilly winter night, under a sky sprinkled with twinkling stars, a kind farmwoman sat by her warm fire, spinning soft wool threads. The sweet smell of fresh bread filled the air, making her feel cozy and safe. Just as she began to hum a little tune, a loud knock thundered at her door. BANG! BANG! BANG! “Open up! Open!” cried a voice that howled like the winter wind.
Curious and a bit shivery, the farmwoman opened the door. In walked a strange lady with a single, short horn spiraling from her forehead. Without saying a word, she plopped down by the fire and began spinning, her fingers dancing like the breeze. But before the farmwoman could ask anything, another loud knock echoed through the night. BANG! BANG! BANG! This time, in came a woman with two horns, followed by three, then four, five, six, and seven! One by one, the horned witches entered, until the twelfth witch appeared, her twelve horns curling like vines!
The air crackled with dark magic, wrapping around the farmwoman like a chilly blanket. The witches began to brew a spooky cake with strange ingredients that made her belly twist. “Fetch us water!” they ordered, their voices booming like thunder. Suddenly, her feet moved on their own, and she trudged to the well, her heart racing in the dark night.
At the well, a glowing spirit rose, whispering, “Fill your sieve with mud and moss. Carry it home without spilling a drop. Then, spread their cake across your threshold and bar the door with rowan wood.” The farmwoman nodded, her heart pounding as she hurried to follow the spirit’s wise advice.
She filled the sieve with mud and moss, pressed it tightly, and balanced it carefully as she returned. The witches cackled with impatience, their eyes sparkling with mischief. At home, she spread the dreadful cake across her door and poured the water over it just as the spirit instructed. Then, trembling but determined, she found a sturdy rowan branch and barred the door.
The witches rushed forward, their eyes wild with hunger. But when they reached the threshold, they stopped, screeching! An invisible wall shimmered in front of them, glowing with a bright light from the rowan wood. “LET US IN! LET US IN!” they cried, banging on the door, but it held firm, stronger than all twelve horns combined.
As dawn broke, their howls faded into the mist, leaving the farmwoman feeling relieved and safe. She took a rowan branch and nailed it above every door in her cozy home. For years to come, it stood watch against the darkest magic, a reminder that old wisdom can protect us from the dangers that lurk in the night.