Summary of Where the Chicken-Footed Dwell by Marisca Pichette
Lightspeed #188, January 2026
A young woman decides to venture into the woods in search of the legendary chicken-footed houses and the witches who inhabit them. The stepmothers and grandmothers in her village mock her decision, assuming she’s seeking love potions or beauty serums—slim thighs, wider hips, a way to make boys look at her. The men whistle and call her ugly and cold as she leaves, demonstrating that she needs no spell to attract their unwanted attention. She reflects bitterly that “there’s no spell alive that can keep men from looking. If only there were.”
She packs almonds and lady apples, pulls on hiking boots, and carries an umbrella along with a letter she’s written to herself that no one else has seen. Once the villagers have finished making assumptions about her motivations, she walks away into the forest without looking back. In the woods, she finds freedom from judgment—no one jeers at her fat ankles or shapeless hips because no one sees her at all.
Key Plot Points
- Following tracks that are too large to belong to anything else, she finds a house on chicken legs at dusk
- The house senses her approach and pivots to face her, windows glowing with orange light and smoke rising from its chimney
- When the door opens and asks if she seeks a love potion, she says no—not love, lust, beauty, or death
- The house reveals a surprising truth: it isn’t inhabited by a witch—it IS the witch itself, a sentient being
- The young woman requests an “anti-dote”—a potion to stop people from doting on her, looking at her, whispering about her, wanting or not wanting her
The house is puzzled by her request to disappear from attention entirely. It explains that it doesn’t possess the power to make things completely invisible—after all, she found it easily enough. The young woman argues that the house has power because people fear and respect it, leaving it alone. The house points out the irony: “And yet, here you are.” Nevertheless, it invites her to follow, promising to show her one way to vanish.
The house strides through the forest on its massive chicken legs, and the young woman runs to keep up, deciding that whatever dangers the house might present are lesser than being alone in the woods at night. More importantly, she came seeking to disappear, didn’t she? Deep into the night, they arrive at a clearing filled with purple poppies, where other lights appear through the trees.
Three more houses join them: one made of gingerbread and candy that smells of sugar and soot; a ruined house with gaping holes in its walls and roof; and a house made entirely of glass, shimmering like a lantern. The young woman is amazed to discover multiple chicken-footed houses—a coven of them. When she asks who makes the potions if they have no hands, the houses reveal an unexpected truth: they don’t make potions at all. They simply deliver them.
The potions are made by people—ordinary humans who create them and hide them in secret places: under pillows and stones, smashed in fireplaces. When people leave these bottles filled with wishes, the potions mysteriously appear inside the houses, which then deliver them to those who seek them in the woods. The young woman asks if the potions actually work, and the houses turn the question back on her. She realizes she doesn’t personally know anyone who’s used a potion—it’s always someone’s distant relative in stories. Perhaps the magic isn’t in the potions themselves, but in the belief, the hope, the transformation people seek.
The houses explain their origins. The candy house and glass house have always been as they are. The ruined house says it woke when the person who made it moved away—it has never been anything other than broken. The young woman asks if she can stay with them, if she can become like them. The houses point out the differences: she’s small, vulnerable, needs shelter and food and fire. But she’s determined. She’ll build a house of her own.
The candy house warns that her people will come looking, will ask for things. The young woman promises she’ll give them stories and advice if they’ll take it. After conferring silently, her house—the one she first found—lowers itself to the ground and rolls a phial out its door. The glass is smoky and cool, the liquid inside glittering with crystals that might be sugar or quartz. The house tells her: “Whatever you wish. Drink it, and choose.”
The young woman removes the stopper and tastes the potion. It’s sweet with notes of birch bark, moss, maybe maple sap, maybe lemon juice—household ingredients nearly anyone could mix. It might just be well water, but illuminated in the light of the house, it looks like a sunrise over the sea. Swallowing someone else’s magic—or perhaps just someone else’s hope—she closes her eyes and wishes. The story ends without revealing her specific wish, leaving it open whether she transforms into a house herself, simply finds a way to live peacefully in the woods, or discovers some other form of escape from the constant scrutiny and expectations of the world she left behind.