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Witches.
And everyone knew what witches did to children in fairy tales. The last thing Mrs. Tiddlebottom wanted was to see Rapunzel cut up into little pieces and baked in a pie. Or put into a long deathlike sleep. Or into some witch’s oven.
Or locked away in a tower. Or even kissed by some prince taking far too many liberties with a sleeping princess.
Nope, Mrs. Tiddlebottom was going to stay put. Her Rapunzel needed her. Even as old as she was, she would protect the girl with everything she had.
“Rapunzel! Come inside, will you?” the old woman called out the back door.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom smiled, seeing her sweet girl run in from the field of wildflowers.
“There’s my girl. Here, you look a mess. Let me brush that long unruly hair of yours. I wish your mother would let me cut it for you. Never mind, you are going to look lovely for your birthday!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom had outdone herself. She’d made an eight-tiered birthday cake covered in delicate marzipan flowers and colorful animals. It was an edible menagerie that rivaled even the famous confections concocted by Mr. Butterpants of Butterpants Bakery. It was a grand spectacle of a cake. A masterpiece. It was the most beautiful cake Mrs. Tiddlebottom had ever seen, if she did say so herself. She was exceedingly proud of that cake and hoped Rapunzel would love it as much as Mrs. Tiddlebottom loved Rapunzel.
The cake was placed on a long table in the front parlor and surrounded by a heap of gifts wrapped in gold paper with pink iridescent ribbons. Mrs. Pickle had made a lovely banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAPUNZEL! And the room was decorated with red paper hearts and yellow tissue paper flowers. The only thing missing was Lady Gothel and her sisters.
“By Hades, these madwomen are vexing me to utter distraction!” Mrs. Tiddlebottom had half a mind to pound on the cellar door and command the witches to come out at once.
In all the years she’d lived in that house, she had never gone down to
the cellar. Even in the first months after Gothel’s return, when she’d started to sequester herself away, leaving poor Mrs. Tiddlebottom to care for the baby Rapunzel alone, she never even knocked at the door. She just let her mistress be. So she wasn’t about to knock on the door now, even though she was annoyed they hadn’t come up so they could start the celebration.
“Mrs. Tiddlebottom!”
It was Mrs. Pickle. She was in a panic. Her face was red and she was wringing her apron.
“What is it that has you strangling your apron, girl?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom said.
And for a moment Mrs. Pickle forgot all about Rapunzel. “Mrs. T! What’s happened to you?”
“What in fairy wings are you talking about, girl?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom, becoming annoyed.
“Well, look at you!” she said.
“Oh yes, I probably have flour all over my face, as usual. Now what’s got you so upset? Get on with it!”
“No, Mrs. T! Look in the mirror! Something’s happened,” Mrs. Pickle said, pointing to the oval mirror that hung on the far wall of the parlor. “Go! Look! Right now.”
“Good grief!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom as she made her way to the mirror. “I will if only you’ll stop this carrying on.” But her tone changed when she saw her reflection. “Oh my!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was young. It had been so long since she had seen that version of her face she almost didn’t recognize it. She just stood there, staring at herself in disbelief.
“Oh, Mrs. Tiddlebottom! The reason I came to find you…”
“Yes, child, what is it?” she asked, still looking at herself.
“I can’t find Rapunzel! She’s not in her room, and she’s not outside!”
“What? Are you sure?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom asked, whipping her head around to look at Mrs. Pickle.
“Yes, I’ve looked all over.”
“Rapunzel?” called Mrs. Tiddlebottom. “Where are you, girl?”
“She’s nowhere to be found! You don’t think she’s downstairs with the mistresses, do you?”
“Oh, I hope not!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom, rushing to the cellar door.
She flung open the door in a panic. “Rapunzel?” The girl didn’t answer. Neither did the witches. All she heard were the soft monotone sounds of the witches reciting some sort of song or poem. Mrs. Tiddlebottom couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear their voices growing louder each time they recited the poem again. She called down to the witches. “Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I can’t find Rapunzel.” Still no answer from the witches. It was eerie, like she was in a dream, calling out for help, but no one could hear her. She went down the first few steps, each of them creaking and moaning as she went. The sounds of the witches’ voices became louder. It was a dank, musty place. It smells of evil down here. She hardly knew what she would find when she got to the bottom of the stairs, only taking a few at a time, hoping she could see what was happening from a distance. “Mrs. Tiddlebottom! Don’t go down there alone!” She started at Mrs. Pickle’s voice. “You about made me jump out of my skin! Shhh! If you’re coming with me, then keep quiet!” The ladies descended the stairs, slowing. The voices of the witches became cacophonous, hurting their ears.
