Michael's review of The Witches (original) (raw)

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Michael's Reviews > The Witches

The Witches
by

I was a very sheltered child.

Or was I a wuss? I was probably a wuss.

For instance, when I was a little tot, Sammy Terry scared the shit out of me. I remember being frightened by commercials of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, and the one time I inadvertently saw part of a Friday the 13th movie on TV? Fogettaboutit. Nightmares for weeks.

But that all came later.

But this book. Oh, this was traumatic shit.

I was in preschool, probably 4 years old, when the teacher decided to read us The Witches. Every day we'd sit on the carpet and listen to a little bit more, and . . . well, witches! Witches were frickin' scary at four, it didn't matter how cartoony they looked on the cover. I knew that real witches were scary looking and ugly. And *SPOILER ALERT* when that one kid got turned into a mouse, it scared me so bad I cried! I cried in front of the other kids, and they all thought I was a wuss!

When I got home, I told my mom about crying in front of the class, and SHE WAS SOOOOO pissed. She called the teacher that night and expressed her displeasure with great verbosity and eloquence, probably traumatizing the teacher every bit as much as The Witches traumatized me.

What happened the next day? We switched books. I can't remember the book that followed The Witches; it didn't scare me, whatever it was. Nobody found out what happened to the little kid who got turned into a mouse. For me, he will forever be a mouse. But at least we little chillens didn't have to hear about any more witches.

A happy ending? More of an ambiguous one. Just a couple weeks later, my parents withdrew me from the school after I, in passing, told mom that the teacher gave her two favorite students ice cream bars during lunch, but never gave anyone else one.

(I wasn't a tattle tale, I promise. I was just very talkative. And a wuss.)

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