The Last Witch of North Berwick House

by T J Podger

  “Just thinking about my wife. She’s scheduled to join us soon, and we’ll probably have to find a rental house until ours is habitable.”

  “I have a cottage for rent, if you’re interested.”

  Adrian sat up straight. Even if the cottage was unsuitable, he was renting it. For the first time in a while he felt as if he could take control of something.

  “That would be magnificent, thank you,” Adrian replied.

  “Well, tomorrow at first light, I can take you there for a look around. It’s nothing grand, of course, but clean and warm.”

  Mack ordered his pint and the pair continued to chat about life and the news, particularly the Korean War that was raging.

  “Surprise!” Adrian heard. He opened his eyelids, which was an effort considering the hammer in his head was banging them closed. He groaned.

  “Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead.” Agnes’ singsong voice grated on him. He wanted to pull the covers over his head but refrained.

  “I wasn’t expecting you today,” he said, forcing a smile as he sat up in bed.

  “I wanted to surprise you. The landlady was a little reluctant to let me come up, though.”

  “I guess anyone could have said they were a wife, or a husband, and crept up the stairs to do untold nasty activities to her guests.” He added a wink and Agnes blushed.

  “Adrian! Whatever do you mean?” She sat on the edge of the bed and her cheeks coloured. Adrian reached out and pulled her to his side. He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled in beside him.

  “It’s good to see you, Agnes,” he said, as she sighed with contentment.

  “I’ve missed you, so I thought I’d come earlier than we’d arranged. That’s okay, isn’t it?” Agnes asked, for once there was a little hesitancy in her voice.

  “Of course, my darling. I have much to show you. This morning we are going to visit a little cottage that is available to rent until the house is in some sort of order, and, no, Agnes–” Adrian held up his hand to stop the protest. “The house is not habitable right now. It has been arranged that we will visit the cottage and rent it, if only for a month.”

  Adrian’s voice was stern and Agnes conceded. She nodded and then smiled. At least it was short term. She’d be in her beloved home sooner than she actually expected. She climbed from his embrace and allowed him to leave the bed. She wanted to visit this cottage he’d found as soon as he was dressed. Agnes noticed a small kettle in the corner, set upon a tray with a cup and saucer. She made Adrian a tea, not necessarily because she wanted to wait on him but to speed up leaving the pub. She felt uneasy in the old building and wasn’t endeared to the landlady in the least. She’d tell Adrian as soon as they were out of its stifling confines.

  Once Adrian was dressed, they made their way down the stairs. As they passed the landlady, Agnes made sure to place her hand over Adrian’s arm, as if claiming him. Adrian was aware of the smirk each woman gave to the other and his ego inflated a little. He silently chuckled as he led Agnes from the pub, where Mack in a rusting old Land Rover met them. He was surprised to be introduced to Agnes, but made quick work of charming her into the rear seats and had her laughing as an old dog licked her cheek.

  It was a short drive along an uneven track until they came to a property that had Adrian smiling. It was a sweet building, very typical of a farm cottage with its white, or what should be white, façade and wooden beams. Agnes made no comment and her displeasure rolled off her like a perfume. Adrian didn’t care for her attitude and he scowled at her. Mack opened the front door and stood to one side to allow Agnes and Adrian to walk ahead of him. In silence, they toured the small house.

  “It’s very pleasant, Mack, and will certainly do for a month,” Adrian stated. He heard the sharp intake of air through Agnes’ nose but ignored her.

  A shake of hands was enough to seal the deal and money was exchanged. Mack handed the keys to Adrian, smiled at Agnes, and informed them, in addition to the cottage, there was a vehicle in the garage better suited to the local roads than their little car for their use. He left them, then.

  “Have you lost…?” Agnes’ statement trailed off when she saw the look on Adrian’s face.

  “Mind? Is that what you were about to say? Agnes, the house isn’t liveable just yet, you have arrived weeks earlier than expected, and there is no room in the pub. Be thankful Mack had this cottage available. It is perfectly suitable for short term.” His voice was stern and he held her gaze until she lowered hers. “My darling, I know you are excited, but you’ll soon see the house isn’t ready for us. We needed somewhere in the meantime and this is much cheaper than the pub.” He softened his voice.

  “I’m sorry for being so sour. Yes, I’m excited and a little disappointed. I shall be sure to rein in my emotions. Do you forgive me?” Agnes asked. Adrian nodded and laughed; he pulled her into his arms and kissed her nose.

  Adrian wasn’t sure when the change in Agnes really started, but it was around the time her aunt died. She had been extremely close to her aunt, having no other family left, but Adrian hadn’t been enamoured to the old woman. She was a crafty, shifty type of hag, who could have one quaking in their boots with just a look. He’d been sure to avoid all but necessary contact, much to Agnes’ annoyance. Perhaps that was why Agnes took delight in reminding Adrian frequently their good fortune was down to Aunt Agnes.

  “Did you hear me, Adrian?” he heard. Agnes’ voice brought him from his thoughts.

  “No, sorry. What did you say?”

  “With a lick of paint this could be a charming little house,” she repeated. Adrian wasn’t sure he wanted decorating added to his list of things to do.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be here long enough for that. Now, shall we find this vehicle and head to the house?” He wanted to divert her away from the unnecessary work.

  Agnes helped to open the heavy wooden garage door and in front of them was a vehicle under sheeting. As he pulled the sheeting off, so a dust cloud swirled around causing them both to cover their mouths and cough. Standing before them was the grandest, maroon Jaguar. A slow whistle left Adrian’s lips as he circled it.

  “What a beautiful car!” Agnes exclaimed.

  All Adrian could do was nod in agreement. He tested the driver’s door handle and the heavy metal swung open. The keys hung from the lock and he gently slid behind the wheel.

  “Climb in,” Adrian called out.

  Once both were settled comfortably, even though Agnes had complained about the dust, Adrian started the car, not actually expecting it to. They sat for a moment while Adrian marvelled at the engineering of the dashboard. He gently reversed the car from the garage and turned to face the right way up the lane.

  He looked over to Agnes. “Are you ready to see your house?” he asked, unintentionally stating ownership of the property.

  Agnes left out a cry of delight as Adrian pressed on the pedal and the old car jerked forward. It was a powerful motor under the bonnet and it took a few minutes for Adrian to adjust to it. Soon, however, they were on their way.

  “Oh my, look, Adrian,” Agnes whispered as they approached North Berwick House. The house didn’t have that same appeal for Adrian but he smiled in response.

  Even before Adrian had managed to pull the hand brake into position, Agnes was out and striding to the front door. She turned to look for him when she realised she didn’t have the key and hopped from foot to foot in excitement. Adrian, belligerently, took his time to ensure the car was parked securely before joining her. He placed the key in the lock and the door swung open, as if opened from the inside. He frowned, checking the hinges and wondering if Mack had oiled them the last time he’d been to help.

  ‘It’s just as I remember, Adrian,” Agnes squealed, as she ran from room to room. She nodded as if confirming that statement to herself.

  Adrian took her arm to encourage her to calm a little. They walked around while Adrian explained what work had been done and what was left to do. As he listed, he was a
ctually quite impressed that he’d managed to get more things ticked off the list than he imagined he would have.

  Finally arriving at the kitchen, Agnes placed her handbag on the small table and inspected the cupboards just waiting for doors to be installed. Adrian told her about the crows and the fright they’d given him. Agnes laughed along while pointing out one was sitting on the windowsill. She mused, wishing she’d brought some bread for the poor thing. Adrian was quite concerned and thankful she hadn’t, he had no desire for a crow as a pet.

  They talked about paint colours and finishing touches and Agnes was thrilled to learn the Aga could be repaired. She pulled a pad and pen from her bag and made notes.

  “I absolutely love it here,” she said, slumping back into the wooden chair. “Yes, I feel very much at home.”

  Adrian had to give Agnes her due; she rolled up her sleeves and got to work alongside him, Mack, and the builders. She scrubbed and painted, sawed wood, and she hammered in nails. At the end of each day, Adrian and Agnes settled in the car and drove back to the cottage where, after a bath and dinner, each would collapse on the settee until it was time for bed. Soon enough, Agnes declared the kitchen, living room, two of the many bedrooms, the library, and the small pantry were ready for furniture and occupation. The rest of the house could be worked on around them. It had taken five weeks, a little over the month they had rented the cottage for, but Mack was pleased just to have someone in the property he let them off the last week’s rent. He was, of course, being paid handsomely alongside the builders so, as Adrian thought, he could probably afford to.

  Agnes spent hours in the local telephone box, shoving her coins in so she had long enough to make the arrangements she wanted. She had organised for the furniture and items they had kept from their previous home to be driven by van to Scotland. She had also taken a trip into town with Mack’s wife to select curtains and soft furnishings, things Adrian had no desire to be involved with. Agnes could sew and would make most of what she wanted, but she still liked to window shop for ideas, as she called it.

  Vans had started to arrive and tradesmen unloaded items of furniture. Agnes was in her element, directing operations as she called it. Adrian was avoiding the postman. He’d had a couple of rather stern letters from his publisher that he had ignored, it was time to either confess he was nowhere near finished or take a few days out to get to the end. He did neither, of course. Instead, he found himself the recipient of constant headaches, enough for him to have to take to his bed and lay for a while. Agnes paid him no attention, other than to provide meals; she was still so engrossed in the house and the rest of the works that needed doing.

  It took a couple of days for Adrian to pull himself together and leave his bed.

  “Are you feeling better?” Mack asked, as Adrian wandered into the kitchen.

  “A little, I guess I had a virus of some kind.” Adrian found a mug after opening and closing many of the new cupboard doors. He felt the teapot and was pleased it was still warm. He poured, offering the teapot to Mack after.

  “Agnes said you were ghastly,” Mack said as he poured himself a hot drink.

  They chatted about the house, the local area, what was happening at the pub, and how Agnes had instructed the builders to continue to work, even though she hadn’t obtained a quotation in advance. Adrian sighed and shook his head.

  “Not to worry, my lad, I’ll be keeping an eye on what’s going on,” Mack said. Adrian smiled not at all assured by that statement.

  Adrian took himself off to the newly finished study, sat at his desk, and stared at his typewriter. He flicked back through the last few pages of the manuscript, and once he’d loaded a fresh page, he typed. He would get the damned book finished if it killed him!

  Chapter Five

  It was within the first month of living at North Berwick House that Adrian notice further changes in Agnes. She seemed to mumble to herself a lot and when questioned, she’d either have no knowledge or proclaimed to be reciting a list of shopping or chores to be done.

  “Can you hear that bloody cat?” Adrian said one morning.

  “Adrian! Please don’t curse, and no, I don’t hear a cat. Is there one stuck somewhere?”

  Agnes wasn’t fond of bad language and it was very rare that Adrian used it, but of late, he’d found himself cursing a lot. He even laughed after. On occasions, he simply sat in his study whispering as many awful words as he could. It entertained him.

  He had also become obsessed with finding the cat.

  Agnes never heard it; Adrian did, day and night. He’d wake and shake Agnes by the arm so she could hear. She’d grumble there was no noise; it was in his head or perhaps his ears needed checking, before turning over and falling back into her slumber.

  Night after night, broken sleep added to Adrian’s worries. He had made contact with his publisher, told them of his move and his recent illness, and begged for a further extension. He was granted one last deadline. No matter what, though, when he sat to type the words wouldn’t come. Well, words came, just not the ones that should be concluding the horror story he was writing. Instead, it wasn’t until the evening when he’d shuffle the pages to add them to the pile, he’d notice they were filled with nonsense or curse words. He had been typing words his brain hadn’t instructed him to. It didn’t take long for Adrian to feel very confused.

  The symptoms of Adrian’s confusion seemed to coincide with strange things happening at the house. Agnes was most unconcerned about them and that exasperated Adrian and his condition.

  “You’re tired, my darling. You’ve been working so hard of late. Perhaps you should tell those nasty publishers that you will be taking some time off, don’t let them pressure you,” Agnes said one evening. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cold facecloth to Adrian’s forehead. Yet another headache had started to approach.

  “I shall, I think. I don’t know what is happening to me, Agnes,” Adrian replied. His voice was small and not at all like the man he was prior.

  “Shush, my darling, let me take care of you. I have something I think will help.”

  Agnes helped Adrian rise a little and she produced a small beaker with a foul smelling liquid.

  “What it is?” Adrian enquired, his nosed scrunched in disgust.

  “An old remedy my aunt used. It works, my darling, it will soon have you feeling better.”

  Adrian swallowed the liquid. In one way he didn’t really have a choice, his head was held and the contents of the beaker poured into his mouth. He didn’t want to spit it out and cause a fuss.

  Whatever the contents were, Adrian felt a little lightheaded. Agnes gently lowered him until he was resting on the pillow. He had to admit, within a minute or so the headache appeared to have subsided. However, the wooziness he felt intensified.

  “Just close your eyes and rest,” he heard Agnes say. His eyelids felt so heavy he had no choice but to comply. He slept for hours.

  When Adrian finally awoke he felt refreshed, although had no idea which day of the week it was. It was the hammering above his head that he believed had awoken him. He guessed the builders were on the roof. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and was surprised to feel how steady he was. He expected, after such a long stay in bed, he would feel frail and weak. He felt neither. In fact, he was quite spritely.

  “Well, Aunt Agnes, maybe you had something with those potions and whatnot,” he said to himself. He chuckled and headed for the bathroom.

  Washed and dressed, Adrian joined Agnes in the kitchen. The fire was roaring and he could smell a stew cooking in the Aga, his stomach grumbled in anticipation.

  “You look much better,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Whatever was in your magic potion certainly did the job. I feel virus free,” he replied.

  “I’m pleased, I was so worried. I told Mack I was going to call the doctor. You were hallucinating about that cat you keep hearing.”

  Adrian smiled; he had given up mentioning
the cat even though the bloody thing was still screeching. He knew it wasn’t stuck somewhere, it should have been dead; such was the time it would have been without food. He hoped it was dead and the noise was simply the wind creaking and whistling through the old building. If it wasn’t, Adrian was sure to make a point it met with a swift end when he caught up with it.

  For the next few days, Adrian felt fine. He wrote a little, pleased to have broken the writer’s block that seemed to have plagued him. He explored the grounds some more, wrapped up against the strong cold wind; he weaved his way through the woods, inspected a log shed and found it neatly stacked. He silently thanked Mack for that. The well seemed to have received some attention and his thoughts were brought back to the skeleton. There was no sign of bones or paw prints; nothing to suggest what he had seen had existed. He laughed to himself, maybe it hadn’t, and perhaps it was simply part of the delirium he had experienced from the mystery virus. He would think no more about it. It was time to get on with writing and being the husband Agnes deserved. He had wallowed for far too long.

  “Stiff upper lip, straight back,” he said to no one in particular. Adrian mimicked the words his father would say every time he was sick as a young boy. He continued his walk, circumnavigating the house.

  Agnes was busy in the kitchen, she had recently taken delivery of a refrigerator and was batch cooking. She would prepare a week’s worth of stews and other delicious dishes and fill the newly installed device. He had hoped for just a little space for a bottle of the local brew, but it was not to be. He pulled the scarf from around his neck and slipped off his overcoat. Then hung both on hooks beside the Aga; they would warm up nicely there.

  “Adrian! The floor is all wet now!” Agnes said grumpily, pointing towards the door.

  “It’s not raining out and I haven’t stepped in a puddle,” he replied, indignation forcing his brow to screw tight.