The Witches

by Roald Dahl

“I shall never have a bath again,” I said. “Just don’t have one too often,” my grandmother said. “Once a month is quite enough for a sensible child.” It was at moments like these that I loved my grandmother more than ever.

“But how could they possibly make them eat their own children?” I asked. “By turning them into hot-dogs,” she said. “That wouldn’t be too difficult for a clever witch.”

“It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody loves you.”