The Witches Wood of Heworth in York

The Witches Wood

Surrounded by red-brick, semi-detached houses in a small suburb of York, there nestles an ancient wood with a bubbling stream of crystal clear water known as Tang Hall Beck trickling slowly along amongst the trees and bushes.

This elderly glade of trees and bushes is known as Heworth Holme and its entrance is so small that if you blinked while walking along the road, you would miss it, and, on a good day, takes no more than about five minutes to walk from one end the other. 

Recently, within the last 30 years or so, it has almost been forgotten by all but a few local people who still use it to stretch their legs or walk their dog, but, and it's a big but, they only ever venture among the knurled and twisted trees during daylight hours. 

Local families have been taught over eons never to venture into the wood during the hours of darkness because stories have been read to them by passing generations that it’s not safe. Not from muggers or thieves, but from something far more dangerous… Something that turns the victim from a living, breathing human being, into a warped and contorted tree. 

This thing is known as the Willowspine. 

Legend has it that the Willowspine began life as a perfectly normal, beautiful young woman who suffered nothing more than a small scratch on her forearm from a bush or bramble when she was out foraging for mushrooms in the woods.

Over time the scratch became a rash, which in turn changed into patches of dark brown, extremely rough skin, covering large parts of her beautiful pale and young skin. 

The villagers of Heworth believed she was possessed by a demon and banished her from the village forcing her to live alone amongst the overgrown bushes and trees in the ancient wood.

Over time the young woman’s body became completely covered in brown rough skin, so much so that any normal person would swear her skin had turned to tree bark. Her beautiful shiny hair had become so matted and entangled with twigs and greenery from the wood it was easy to believe her hair was now like the leaves and branches of a tree. 

The poor woman was never seen again by the villagers and presumed dead. 

Time passes as it does, and one evening when the mayor's beautiful young daughter was walking through the wood at dusk, she lost her footing and fell head-first into a slimy, muddy bog by the path. She screamed out for help but there was no-one around. As she struggled and sank deeper into the bog, people from the village heard her cries and ran to help using burning torches to light their way. As the group approached her, a large tree by the path slowly bent over and using its long and twisted branches, plucked the frightened young girl from the bog. 

The people were shocked by what they had just seen but cheered in joy that the girl had been saved until it became obvious that something was very wrong.

The tree lifted the girl high into the air and instead of putting her back safely on the path, twisted its branches in such a way that the girl was forced down through the canopy of leaves and into its large main trunk as if the tree had just swallowed her whole. 

They gasped in horror as the girl's blood-curdling screams could be heard all the way back to the village…and then the tree began to speak.

'Never come into my wood again. You abandoned me and now I take one of yours. Be gone. Call me Willowspine. I was once one of you but now I have become one with the trees.' 

The villagers were confused and soon their whispers became cries of fear and disbelief…The tree was the young woman they banished to the woods all that time ago.

For many years no-one dare set foot in the wood which had come to be known as the Witches Wood, and Willowspine had become a thing of legend among old and young folk alike. 

Time has a great way of healing, but also of clouding the past, and after many generations had come and gone, children completely unaware of what had happened many years ago, began venturing back into the dark and twisted wood to play and use their joyful imagination as young ones do.

Stories of little people playing and skipping around in the Witches Wood were told by the children to their parents who ignored the tales as nothing but imagination running wild in the minds of babes. 

One warm and sunny day, one of the children persuaded her mother to go along to the witches Wood with her and see for herself what all the children were talking about.

Many, many years earlier, more years than anyone could remember, steel railings had been erected all-round the wood. No-one really knew why, but it was generally thought it was to keep everyone from entering, when in reality it was to try and make sure that whatever was inside didn’t get out.

The mother pushed hard against the dilapidated old steel gate which slowly swivelled open with a teeth-scratching squeal from the large, rusty hinges and her daughter skipped through not worrying about anything, as children do. The mother was much more cautious and tread slowly and carefully through the overgrown nettles and gorse bushes as she ventured deeper into the wood, which, even though the sun was shining brightly at midday, was dark and cold. 

She called out to her daughter to wait for her but there was no reply. Immediately

she was concerned as any mother would, but she needn't have worried because as she brushed aside a branch full of leaves, there, just in front was her daughter crouched down looking at something up ahead. 

  'Mummy.' Whispered the little girl. 'Look. It's the little people.' 

And to the mother's astonishment, only a stone’s throw away in a clearing were what looked like children playing, except there was something very strange about them.

They were only six inches high. 

As she watched, studying their every move she could see they were not children like our children, but their skin was brown and rough…similar to bark from a tree, and their hair was different shades of green like leaves from a bush.

They played as any normal children do, laughing and joking, running and jumping, obviously enjoying themselves and loving being alive.

Suddenly the girl jumped up and ran over to where the little people were playing. Her mother was frightened for her daughter and called out.

'Wait. Don't.'

But the girl carried on into the clearing. The little people didn't stop playing and amazingly allowed the girl to join in and play with them. The mother could hear them talking and laughing to each other and realised this had obviously happened before so she relaxed a little and continued watching her daughter play and enjoy herself.

Many joyful hours passed until the sun was slowly sinking in the sky and the mother decided to call her daughter over to go home.

As the daughter said goodbye, the mother stood up rather too quickly, frightening one or two of the little people. They ran as fast as their little legs would allow towards a large, old and twisted tree on the edge of the clearing. Within the blink of an eye, the old tree doubled in size and its crooked and twisted branches opened out gathering all the little people up. The mother scooped up her daughter and was just about to run but one of the tree’s branches had wrapped around her waist and began squeezing tighter and tighter.

'Who are you? What are you doing here?' Boomed a deep and menacing voice. 

'My…My daughter has been playing with the little people.' She cried out desperately holding on to her daughter and unaware as to whose voice it was.

The branches slowly released their grip and pulled back allowing the mother to stand freely again. In the twilight of the evening sun she could see the outline of a woman's body and face in the bark of the trunk of the old tree.

'Your girl has been playing with my children?' Asked the face in tree.

'Yes. She loves to play with the little people. They are friends.' Replied the mother trembling slightly as she held her daughter close.

'Friends. I have not heard that word for a long time.' Said the face in tree. 'Being friends is good.'

'Yes.' Replied the mother less frightened now. 'Very good.'

It became very quiet for a few seconds, then…the large old tree pulled back its branches and the little people could be seen waving, so the mother and daughter waved back.

'Friends is good.' Boomed the tree, but never come here at night when it's dark. I protect my family and I don't want to hurt anyone. I have the power to turn people into a tree like me….or even worse.'

I…'I understand.' Replied the mother now holding tightly the hand of her daughter.

They both turned and made their way back to the squeaky gate. It was home time.  

Over the coming weeks and months, the mother spoke to her friends many times about what had happened in the wood that day, and they in turn spoke to their friends, and so on, until everyone in Heworth knew about the face in the twisted, old tree, the little people and most of all…never to go into Witches Wood at night. 

The tree was just protecting its family the same as any normal parent, and besides the face in the tree was once a young girl...according to legend anyway.

So people. Don’t go into Heworth Holme woods at night. You have been warned. 

But during the day, when the sun is high, if you're quiet and very careful, you may just be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the little people playing in a clearing...if you're very lucky.

The End…maybe