This was written for the Scratch Writing Camp Weekly, but I'm proud of it nonetheless. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure story, where you make choices that influence the ending. There are four possible negative endings and one possible positive ending, so choose wisely!

If you want to see some of the planning and plotting I did for this, here's the link <3

IMPORTANT: if you are very scared of being chased or hunted down, having to escape from people who are looking for you, please don't read this as it contains that.

You are a witch, trying to escape from the Witch Interrogation Centre in the city of Westone. Westone, a walled city, is one of the most dangerous places in the land for witches, populated by Hunters determined to capture or kill them, and you will probably only have a few hours to live if you do not get out of it. If you are recaptured, you will be taken away and never seen again.

You stunned the guard who came to take you away, stealing his uniform transfiguring his face to be like “yours”. Unbeknown to the Hunters, when you arrived in the cells, you were not wearing your own face. You had taken on the appearance of an elderly woman, whereas really you are a teenage girl. Now your disguise is wearing off, making it harder for the guards to find you. But you are still in great danger. Escaping from the WIC is unusual and the Hunters are determined not to lose face, searching the city for you.

Click here to start your adventure.

You pant for breath, your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls of the Witch Interrogation Centre. A window lies ahead, unbarred and open despite the rainy weather. If you can just get through it, you will be able to get out into the city. You are gathering yourself up for one final sprint when a scream rings out behind you.

“Help me!”

You turn your head. One of the guards—a woman with blood covering her uniform—is being viciously attacked by one of her colleagues. He stamps down on her arm and she screams again. “Please help me!”

You hesitate. Is this a trap? You’re sure that the woman is a guard, not a witch—she was one of the ones who picked you up off the streets and carted you in here to be investigated—but all the same…

a) Help her despite the risk
b) Leave the Hunters to fight among themselves and get out the window while there’s time

You run towards her, lifting a hand towards the other guard. You have hardly any energy left for magic, but you use a precious amount to knock him backwards. As he crashes into the floor, you turn towards the woman. You expect to have to drag her up slowly, but she gets up herself. You’re about to congratulate her and beckon her to follow you when she draws a knife.

It was a trap.

a) use all the remains of your magic energy to knock her out
b) run for it

She lunges at you. Ducking, you pull yourself together for one final effort and blast her with all the magic you can summon. It rings through your ears, deafening you far more than the loud thump as she falls. You turn to run, but precious time has been wasted. The guard you knocked backwards rises up, striking as fast as a black cobra. You fall backwards and he pins you down. More Hunters come charging down the hallway, handcuffs clinking as they bind you.

“You won’t have a chance to escape now, witch,” growls one.

You have been recaptured.

Click here to restart your adventure.

She lunges at you with the knife. You stumble backwards, your arm stinging like it has been burnt. Something warm and wet is trickling down it, but you can’t look at it now.

Desperately, you turn to run. The window isn’t that far. Is it?

Behind you, the guard screams, “Reinforcements! Help!” You hear the sound of pounding feet and yelling, coming as though from a long way away. Something whistles over your head. The knife. Another comes.

You turn around, trying to put up a defensive wall with the last of your magic. But it is weak and it crumbles before the onslaught of arrows and knives thrown at it.

As they hit you, your last thought is that at least you haven’t been taken away.

You are dead.

Click here to restart your adventure.

You shake your head. If she was a witch, she shouldn’t have helped capture you—and if not, she certainly deserves what she’s getting.

You dash to the window, twisting at the last second. Both Hunters—the one who was screaming and the attacker—are charging after you, swords drawn. You have a split second to realise that they are obviously working together and you narrowly avoided their trap before you land hard on the cobbles below the window.

You race across the courtyard in between the building and outside its grounds. Scaling the fence, you jump down.

Blending in just outside the WIC is easy in your stolen Hunter uniform, but sooner or later someone is going to notice that this “Hunter” is too young and doesn’t have a weapon. Glancing around to make sure no one notices, you quietly use magic to switch your uniform for an outfit outside a shop—brown skirt with a black jumper over your leggings and undershirt, with a red coat on top.

You need to get out. By now, bells are tolling, the sound low and thrumming through the air. The news is spreading that someone has escaped from the Witch Interrogation Centre. The people walking along the street are nervous, looking around at each other as if one of them is going to pull out a broomstick and soar over the drizzle-spattered stone buildings, shooting spells at passerbys.

Luckily, no one’s looking at you. You keep your head down, trying to blend in, mirroring the scared expressions of a family across the street. You make sure to jump whenever someone moves past you, stumbling slightly on the slick cobblestones.

This could be your only chance. If the witch-hunters find you and recapture you, you’ll be interrogated. Then, when they discover the magic that sizzles through your veins, the ability to cast spells and brew potions, to befriend animals and bewitch a broomstick… you’ll never be seen again. No one knows what happens to witches when the Hunters find them.

The rain is getting thicker, soaking your hair to your face, turning the normal light brown, fluffy waves to draggled black-brown locks. Although it’s cold and wet, it’ll help you hide from the Hunters. Any of the ordinary people roaming the street could be out to capture you.

Or maybe they won’t bother with that. As you approach the end of the street, they’re beginning to set up a blockade. Uniformed Hunters, imposing in their deep blue uniforms, are standing there scanning the public. Looking for you. Already, a couple of elderly women are being held back, asked for ID.

Luckily for you, you always drank those wrinkle and grey hair potions before going out on the street. Now, your face has melted back into its actual form—round, young, teenage. Your hair is bedraggled. Even if it was brownish when the guards were fighting you, the grey wearing away, they won’t notice. No one is going to suspect you. Or so you tell yourself, fists clenched, heart beating as you walk past the Hunters. They don’t spare you a second glance, focusing on the elderly woman who’s tottering along the street a few steps back.

You’ve made it. You’re walking down the street when suddenly a deep voice calls out behind you.

“Hey! You girl there in the red coat!”

What do you do? Do you:
a) stop and turn around, wide-eyed and innocent
b) pretend you didn’t hear

Ignore her. Pretend you didn’t catch what she said.

You listen to your inner voice, trying to walk on with the air of a girl who has nothing to hide and doesn’t possibly think a Hunter could be talking to her. Keeping moving is essential here. Risky, but if you can get out of earshot…

“Girl in the red coat!” The voice is angrier, higher. You don’t want to turn to make sure, but you’re fairly sure it’s a woman. “I, a Hunter of Westone, am calling you! Come back here!”

Come on, you urge yourself. Just a few more steps and…

You relax as now the voice has stopped. Daring to turn around, you glance back. But instead of the view of a guard, turned back to examining those walking past the blockade, a woman grabs your shoulder.

The Hunter.

Her eyes, a deep blue, are suspicious and narrowed. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you listen to me when I called you? You do realise that disobeying the order of a Hunter can result in a fine for minor offences, and for major offences—”

You try to twist away, sure that you can overpower her if necessary but hoping it won’t come to that.

“Answer me!”

“Sorry. I have bad hearing.” You realize too late that your attitude is all wrong. Although the words are something that a scared citizen might say, you have said it with an impatient, irritated tone instead of the cowering apologies an innocent child might make.

Her eyes widen: she has obviously gone through the same thought process. Her lips widen in a smile. “Of course. You can come with us gently, or—”

You punch her as hard as you can, your fist connecting with her nose. She splutters, going backwards. “Witch! Annika!”

One of the other guards, thirty feet away at the barricade, looks around and then starts to run towards you, weapon drawn. “Don’t move or I fire!”

Her voice is so high it is comical. The threat sounds insubstantial, meaningless. You cautiously move sideways. A bit, then a bit more. Now a bit more–

Bang.

You are dead.

Click here to restart your adventure.

Slowly, you turn around. You’ll have to be careful here. “M-me, madam?”

“Don’t be scared,” says the Hunter, her voice softening as she takes in your wide eyes and shaking knees. “We’re here to capture the witch. We won’t let it hurt you. We just want to know—have you seen anything suspicious?”

Your impression of a terrified girl is going well. “I… don’t think so?” You keep your voice faltering, uncertain. “I—I mean, I might’ve, but if I did I didn’t realise, if you know what I mean…”

The babbling has obviously convinced the guard: she looks slightly irritated, but also slightly amused. “Very well.” She waves a hand at you. “You can go.”

Nodding, you quicken your pace, making sure to glance back a few times, keeping in character. You needn’t have bothered: the guard is already holding out her hand for ID from an old woman who is snapping, “This is ridiculous! I shall file a complaint with the mayoral office—”

You continue down the street. From memory, if you turn left, there is a gate out of the city and you head for that.

Drizzle is misting the shoulders of your coat and you shiver. All the adrenaline from the escape and question is fading away, leaving a numb, empty feeling in your stomach. You start to wonder what you’ll do when you get out of the city: it has been your home for so long, however dangerous. It’s not like anyone will miss you—you’ve lived alone since you were thirteen, surviving on the meagre money from an illicit potion business—but still…

As you reach the end of the street, a flash of remembrance lights up your brain. Down the street to the right, there is a small shop. It is rumoured to be a safe place for witches, containing a portal out of the city. You’re not sure where you picked up the rumour—from one of your former customers, perhaps? It’s unlikely to be true.

With the hunt for the witch getting bigger, looking in all corners of the city, you can’t afford to lose time chasing wild geese. They might not even let you in. Yet if it was true, you would be finally safe.

In the opposite direction lies the nearest city exit for a few miles. You know where that is and how to get out. It’s a much more certain route away from the city… and yet, that is the way that the Hunters might expect you to go.

You stand there deliberating for a few seconds. Which to pick?

a) go to the shop
b) take the city exit

Making up your mind, you turn left towards the city exit. Here, the streets are full of entertainment sections, made to catch the attention of tourists—gambling houses, restaurants, and shows. Music blares out from every direction, coloured lanterns flashing bright in the dull evening. It is all rather overwhelming after the quiet stone echos of the WIC.

A man stumbles into you, unsteady on his feet, beer in hand. “Sorry,” he slurs before staggering off. You rub your shoulder, heading towards the exit.

To your surprise, there is a long queue. Standing on your tiptoes to try to see over the heads of the crowd, you voice your thoughts out loud. “What on earth’s the matter?”

A woman passing, dressed in blue spangled silk and hanging on to the arm of her partner, volunteers the answer. “Didn’t you hear about the witch? They’re trying to catch it there.”

You raise your eyebrows. “It wouldn’t be stupid enough to come here, would it?” Witches are referred to as “it” in Westone. It both irritates you and amuses you. So petty, but the motivation behind it is not to be trifled with.

“I don’t know,” laughs the woman’s partner, twirling her around. “Everyone wants a good time sometimes.”

They depart shrieking into the crowd and you sigh. The queue is long and the Hunters are scanning it carefully, asking for ID. Of course, you could try to bluff your way through, sending misdirection spells everywhere. Even so…

You could, of course, go to the shop. Check it out. But once you do that, they’ll have tightened security even further, trying to ascertain that you must be in the city and flushing you out. Time is precious and it is running out.

a) try to bluff your way through the exit
b) go to the shop

This is the fastest way out.

Pushing your way through the queue, you manage to get quite near the beginning of it. It is only a few rain-spattered, shivering minutes before the guard nods at you to get your attention. “Name and reason for leaving the city, please?”

You already made a name up, but didn’t know that you’d have to give a reason for leaving the city. You give the name as quickly as you can. “Elma Aston. I live outside the city in Little Anchton”—you name the nearby village—“and I’ve been having a day off here.”

The guard nods, his gaze bored. “Bad day to pick with a witch on the run, but at least it wasn’t until late. Your temporary ID then?”

You hold out a blank piece of paper, willing the guard with all the force you can spare to believe it is an ID.

He nods you on. For a moment, you cannot believe it. You are very nearly free. Just walk on a few more steps, past those Hunters, and—

“Marcus,” says another Hunter, sharply. “Let me see that—” His eyes catch yours and you realise that he’s noticed both the blank paper and the look of exultation and relief you gave when you thought you could get free. And, too late, your caught, guilty look.

He lunges forward, pistol in hand. You duck one. It soars into the queue behind you and there’s a gasp and scream.

“No!” you cry, twisting around. Someone innocent has been shot because of you—

Then the bullet hits your arm. But instead of the burning pain you were expecting, instead it feels numb. So numb. You try to lift your hand, flexing the fingers, but it’s such an effort. Maybe just walk instead. If you could feel your legs you might. Wait. You need to run. Why can’t you run. You can’t. Can’t think. Think.

You have been sedated and recaptured.

Click here to restart your adventure.

You turn right, walking down along the street. It is quieter here than the crowds that normally throng the tourist traps around the city exit. People are hurrying home as the sky darkens. You hear a few whispers of a witch roaming the city, but by now you are so used to that rumour that you don’t have to stop yourself from flinching or looking suspicious.

Which shop was it again? You screw up your face, struggling to remember. It was a clothing shop, wasn’t it? Something about cloaks. Cloaks and something else beginning with c. Cloaks and Cauldrons? Ridiculous. That name would be suspicious at once. Cloaks and Clocks? Cloaks and… Cooking?

You scan the signs sticking out from the building around you. Some are illuminated by small lanterns in various shades—warm pink light bathing a sign for a bakery, pale blue for a bookstore, bright, flickering yellow for a small shop. Others are not. You have to squint to see the lettering on the sign: Cloaks and Kirtles.

There is no light in the window and no one appears to be in. Yet someone comes to the door only a couple of seconds after you arrive. Holding it open a crack, a pale face with dark brown hair falling over it is visible. “Hello?”

You lower your voice. “I wanted to buy… a very special cloak. Something that could shelter me from not only the rain, but other, darker things. Maybe it could even transport me away from them.” You cringe slightly at how over-dramatic this sounds, but hopefully it’ll tell him what he needs to know if he knows. And if he doesn’t, you’ll just be another weird customer.

“Oh.” The door is opened wider, revealing the attendant to be a guy around your own age, dressed in black trousers and a thick wool jumper nearly the same deep blue as the Hunters’ uniforms. “You’d better come in.”

You nod, stepping over the doorframe. As soon as he shuts it, casting the hallway into dimness, he turns to you. “You’ve come for the portal?”

You nod again. “I’m… a witch.” You half expect Hunters to burst through the door, waving guns and knives, clapping you in chains.

“The escaped witch who’s shut down half the city?” questions the boy, a small smile on his lips.

You nod for the third time, wishing that you could say something interesting but feeling strangely tongue-tied. It must be the shock.

He grins, leading the way through into a small kitchen. “Tea? They not only put blockades on the streets, but shut down all the city exits and added double checks—what did you do? I’ve never seen it this bad before. It’s surprising you managed to get here.” Your glare makes him jump. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

You laugh, feeling better than you have in a while. The warmth and cosiness is amazing after so long. You stretch out your arms, letting the tiredness wash over you for the first time. It's good to know you made the right decision in coming here instead of trying to get through the exits. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

He hands you the tea. “If you drink that while we wait—we’ll have to wait,” he explains at your puzzled look. “Don’t you think I look too young to own a shop? It belongs to my grandmother. And so does the,” he makes a spinning motion with his hand, “you know. Portal. She’s the only one who knows how to use it, and we’ll have to wait for her.”

You feel slightly overwhelmed by the flood of words. “We’ll have to wait?”

“Yeah. She went out shopping, you see, and often she’s not back until midnight—”

“Midnight?” you squeak, staring at him. “I can’t wait till then. They’ll start searching the houses and—”

“Calm down,” says the boy, in a would be soothing way.

It just makes you more upset. “We’ll be discovered!”

“We probably won’t. The statistical chance of us being discovered is much lower than the chance of us getting—”

“Shut up!” you snap. He looks wounded but you glare at him anyway. “Where is this portal?”

He shrugs, his eyes shifting from side to side. “I’m not allowed to tell you.” But his gaze has already gone to the cupboard door at one side of the kitchen.

Marching over, you yank the door open before he can stop you. Inside lies something. A machine with buttons on it. Rusty, old and silver: it would look interesting but nothing special if it wasn’t for the faint hum of magic around it, casting a faint light in which dust particles shimmer. Touching the buttons, you discover one that says ‘port’.

“Stop!” the boy says. “Only grandmother can operate that, and if not—”

a) Ignore the boy and go before you can get discovered
b) Listen to what he has to say

You’re so tired of people trying to tell you what to do. The other witches who were captured with you, counselling gentleness. They were taken away for all their morals and scruples. The Hunters prowling the city for you, asking citizens where you could be. And this boy, who is trying to stop you from reaching safety.

You reach out and press the button, speaking over him. “Thanks for the tea.”

A second later, the world starts whirling. You hear the boy’s panicked shout as everything spins into a blur. “No! She said—it’ll malfunction! No!”

There is pain. Pain like tiny needles stabbing, like tiny fires burning. Getting tinier and tinier and tinier and tinier until… nothing.

You are dead.

Click here to restart your adventure.

“If not, what?” You withdraw your hand, feeling triumphant that you found it in spite of him.

The boy looks calmer once you step away. He reaches past you and shuts the cupboard doors. “Only she knows how to use it. She doesn’t—if you try to use it, it’ll malfunction.”

“Malfunction?” you echo.

“You know, not work, take you somewhere deep underground, outer space, in midair, destroy you into smithereens.” He sounds very matter of fact about it all. “You nearly gave me a panic attack.”

You wince as you realise how close you were to death. Your insides make a swooping motion as you try not to think too much about what happened. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” He repeats your earlier words back to you with a grin. “At least you didn’t actually explode yourself.”

You nod. “Always a benefit, that.”

He snorts and walks back towards the cupboard. “Let’s try and forget it. I bet you’re hungry… want supper?”

When his grandmother arrives back home, she finds you both polishing off the remnants of macaroni and cheese and chatting about whether potions or pentagrams are more fun to do. You look up to see a tall elderly woman with grey hair, not unlike the one you impersonated earlier. She seems vaguely familiar.

“I’ve been followed,” she says.

“Wait, what?” The boy—Jan, he told you his name was—jumps to his feet, knocking over his chair.

She nods. “They caught me and a few others waiting near the potion business I used to go to. Apparently, the witch was recently taken into custody and they were suspicious enough to hang around.”

Your eyes widen as you put two and two together. “You used to buy potions from me!”

She glances at you, then nods in recognition. “Yes.”

You shudder as you realise something. “I—I thought… I thought I’d made up the face I’d enchanted myself to look like. But… but I think I subconsciously… I think I based it off you.”

Her tone is reassuring, belying her white knuckles as she grips a kitchen chair. “It’s fine. Please don’t worry. You will still be able to get to safety. You too, Jan.”

“What?” Jan’s face is distraught. “If you’ve been followed, then we possibly have less than a minute before they come in—quick, you need to get to the portal, please—”

“Calmly, Jan,” she says, before side-stepping around the chair lying on the floor. She pulls open the cupboard, revealing the faintly glimmering portal. “Both of you, put your hands on this.”

“But—” begins Jan.

“Jan,” she says firmly. He places his hands beside yours and she fiddles with a few dials. “There we go.” She pulls back.

For a second you think nothing is happening, then you're spinning through the air. You land in soft grass, under a dark, starless sky.

Jan is springing up. “Where is she? She isn’t here!” His face is panicked, distraught.

“She ought to be—” you begin, and then you stop. Everything is coming together.

“Jan,” you say slowly. “I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“I—why?” He stares at you.

You say it as gently as you can. “You remember I based my face off her? The Hunters will think she’s me—the escaped witch. If they don’t find someone who looks like that… they’ll turn the entire city upside down looking for them. So…”

Jan has gone paler than ever, stumbling over his words. “So… she—she sacrificed—she let us go and she stayed to save us—and she’s gone?”
You nod. “She—she sacrificed herself to save us. She stayed so that we could go and so that the other hidden witches of Westone will remain free.”

You wait for his reaction. He’ll probably blame you, you know. Well, it was nice to know him, however briefly.

But Jan just nods. He’s not talking for once as he starts to move across the field, then stops. “Coming?”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, if she wanted to save us, then we’d better save ourselves,” says Jan. He points up the hill, to where the lights of a farmhouse shine out. “I know here. This is my—where I used to live before I moved to hers.”

You try to figure out what he means. “Your parents live here?”

He nods. “We didn’t always get on well because of stuff. Witchcraft. Neither of them inherited it and it caused clashes occasionally. So I went to live with someone who could train me.” He speaks jerkily, in sentences. He pauses before he adds, “But I think they’ll take us in anyway. If you’re coming.”

You don’t have anywhere else to go. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

Jan nods and you both head up the hill to the farmhouse.

You are safe.

Congratulations on achieving safety! If you want to play again, click here. If you enjoyed this, please tell me in a post! If you have any constructive critique to give, feel free <3