The Boy in the Tower

Roughly two miles outside of the village of South Glenn stands a tall stone tower. There is no road through the forest to the tower, and some wonder how all of that stone came to stand in the center of their forest. There is no door in the tower, only a small arched window set just below the gable, leaving many questioning how someone would enter or leave the tower without a ladder. When the villagers speak of the strange tower, which they do as little as possible, they do so in hushed whispers lest the witch who inhabits it overhears.

“There was singing,” Dame Gellar hissed to her neighbor late one afternoon over tea. “In the forest. My son heard it when he was hunting.” The women shared a knowing look and made the sign against evil across their chests.

Dame Leary stared through the kitchen window towards the woods that surrounded their village. “Been some years. Poor thing.”

“Do you think another prince will come round?” Dame Gellar’s voice rose a hair above a whisper, causing her neighbor to shoot her a look.

“Lord, I hope not.” She spoke softer than before, as if to balance out Dame Gellar’s change in volume. “You remember that last one?”

They shook their heads in near-unison. “God rest his soul.” They crossed their chests.

A brief moment of silence passed between them and then Dame Gellar leaned across the table, bumping the wood with her rounded stomach and making the teacups rattle. She crooked her finger and Dame Leary shifted closer, her eyebrow quirked with curiosity. Dame Gellar glanced around the room, seeming to search the shadows for hidden listeners. When she spoke, Dame Leary had to strain to hear.

“I hear they had a son. He was taken too, snatched the same as the girl was.”