the strangely folded woman in the woods. She was under a polished white rock. We took her home and opened her out very carefully, dried her by the fire. She had eyes like a surprised crow. She told us tales with a language that sounded like black wings circling winter trees. When she fell asleep, we pressed her flat again and took her back to the forest, pinning her down beneath the same stone. It was then we noticed the elaborately carved sign. It said ‘Do not -’. The final words had been scratched out.
When we got back home we found her stories sitting in our chairs, warming their huge boots by the fire.
Andrew Turner has been published online and in print. He lives in Staffordshire.