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Knower and the Wicked Witch (standard:fairy tales, 6157 words)
Author: KnowerAdded: Mar 14 2001Views/Reads: 2683/1359Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Knower is a very old man who lives in an enchanted Forest. He has a friend called Thickowl, who like his name is exactly that. This is one of many short stories of their day to day humourous adventures in the Forest.


It was one of those days in the Forrest. The type of day that you would
rather be snuggled up somewhere warm out of the winter cold. The 
morning snow had now stopped, leaving a thin blanket on the ground. 
Coughing and spluttering could be heard coming from inside Knowers 
small one room cottage. Smoke was pouring out of the open doorway, and 
windows, drifting high into the Forrest canopy. A number of crows were 
seen to be also coughing high up in the treetops. The old man came 
rushing out gasping for air. "You stupid flee ridden owl, how many 
times have I got to tell you not to build your nest in my chimney"? He 
shouted back into the hovel. The smoke had now nearly cleared from his 
white beard and long hair; mind you his eyes were still watering. These 
small words of wisdom were of course aimed at his lifelong friend 
Thickowl, who was unfortunately a bit of a thicky. Nature had also 
dealt his friend another blow, and that was the poor little owl could 
not fly. Thickowl could only hop around the Forrest floor and watch all 
the other birds having a wonderful time flying from treetop to treetop. 
But not to worry children, because Thickowl was very happy just to hop 
around all day. Thickowl hopped out to join his friend, he quickly 
flapped his tiny wings to get rid of the smoke, tears were streaming 
down his cheeks as he looked up at his friend. "It's rather cold out 
here don't you think" he hooted to Knower. The old man stared long and 
hard at his tiny friend before answering. "And whose fault is that"? 
The old mad shouted back. His feathered friend thought long and hard 
before answering. "Err, is it my fault,"? Thickowl hooted whilst 
scratching his head. He always scratched his head whenever he could not 
understand a question. 

Meanwhile deeper in the Forrest, in the really scary part, the part
where very young children have nightmares about, the wicked witch was 
waking up. The birds were trying hard to find somewhere to hide before 
she rushed out of her humble little cottage. It was your basic one room 
hovel with an outside broom cupboard, nothing special. Inside was your 
usual type witches layout, a total mess with sculls and dead frogs all 
over the floor. Placed in the centre of this shambles was of course, 
the witches cauldron (the one with a fire underneath), and it was 
bubbling away with some really serious green stuff inside. Outside 
there was a hush, nothing stirred, all the furry animals kept 
themselves hidden. Why they ever lived in this part of the Forrest god 
only knows, I suppose it was because of cheaper living accommodation. 
After a few minutes the dreaded moment arrived, the cottage door flew 
open and out skipped Bignose!! She was skipping and singing at the top 
of her voice. The hidden animals all looked at each other and shrugged 
their shoulders in disbelief. For some strange reason Bignose was in 
one of her good moods. These good moods happened at least twice a year, 
and properly lasted for about 5 minutes. She was dressed in her very 
own designer outfit, knitted feathers mixed with rat-tails and matching 
coat. Her hair was not it's usual fly by look; it looked like an effort 
had been made in removing the layers of knots and lice. She skipped 
into the broom cupboard quickly pulling up her torn knee-high tattered 
tights as she went along. After a short while she came out with a brand 
new broom, which meant only one thing? "Sugar", one of the hidden furry 
animals was heard to whisper "Not a new broom, its not new broom 
training today, is it? Now for those of you, who are not aware of 
training new brooms, let me try and explain. This does not happen all 
that often, in fact, it's very rare. The breaking in of a new broom can 
be very hazarded, anything can happen. The last time this happened both 
the broom and witch headed into space never to be seen again, of course 
all the furry animals cheered with glee, but is was a sad day for the 
witches. Anyway, she held out the broom at arms length and whispered 
something to it. The broom gently left her hand and hovered about 3feet 
from the ground in the horizontal level. "Good boy" she said patting 
its bristles. Then very gingerly she lowered her rather large backside 
onto the broom. Bignose sat sidesaddle on her new broom; her long 
flea-ridden grey hair flowed down to her waist. One last pick of her 
wrinkled nose and she was ready to go. "Right my little friend lets go 
and scare the hell out of those furry animals." The instructions to her 
trainee broom were clear, but nothing happened? Bignose glared down and 
cursed. She gave out her instructions for a second time, once again 
nothing happened. By this time her face, which resembled something like 
a wrinkled prune, was turning a dark red. The rather large wart on the 
end of her nose now stood out like a small tomato. Her nasal hairs, 
which usually drooped down to her top lip, were now fully erect. In 
fact Bignose was pretty angry, as you can imagine. She leapt off the 

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