Hettford Witch Hunt: Series One

by James Rhodes

Episode Five: Bring Out Your Dead

  1.

  Milton sat on the office floor. Above him the office safe stood wide open, the papers inside had the disheveled appearance of the recently burgled. Milton’s greying shoulder length hair resolutely refused to align itself to the grim look of tragedy that marred its owner’s face. Milton had been sitting with his head in his hands for some time and his hair frizzed out as though he had his hands on a Vandergraph generator. By contrast, his face was ashen and devoid of anima. A few wads of neatly wrapped bank notes remained in the safe and a few more had been knocked to the ground.

  “Come on, cheer up.”

  Dan burst into the room with the electric bristle of middle aged podge. Even the thick black beard that obscured most of his neck could not cover the stiffness of his upper lip. Dan gestured upwards with his hands, as if that was going to suddenly inspire Milton to stand up. Milton rocked backwards and forwards. Dan thought about the situation.

  “At least they didn’t take any money.”

  Milton did not respond.

  “We’ve still got a few weeks left. We can sort something.”

  Milton stared at the wall in sullen silence. As a last resort, Dan went and made a cup of tea. He returned with it and put the steaming mug down next to Milton.

  “Do you want any biscuits? I’m afraid we’ve only got bourbons.”

  Milton looked up. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot.

  “Jesus,” Milton’s voice scratched out in a desperate rasp, “No crunchy creams?”

  “We have a few rich tea but I wasn’t about to offer them to you. I find that nothing reminds me mortality quite as much as rich tea biscuits.”

  “It would have been the final nail in the coffin. I’m OK but I’m going to have to think about this.”

  Dan nodded.

  “That’s the spirit, never give up.”

  “Who would steal a death curse and leave two thousand pounds?” Dan asked, “If anything, you’d think they’d prefer to have the money.”

  “I don’t know, but now it’s gone – there’s no way I can pass it back.”

  “Bollocks,” said Dan.

  “Dan, can you do something for me?”

  Dan put a serious and reassuring hand on Milton’s shoulder.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Buy me some ginger nuts.”

  “Well, since you’re dying.”

  Dan saluted and clicked his heels striding off to complete the errand. Milton let his head sink between his legs and he tried to control his breathing.

  2.

  There was a queue at the Discount News Newsagents. Dan tapped his foot and gave an ill tempered stare to the pretty girl behind the counter. The girl, Tajel, was attempting to reason with an old lady.

  “What I’m saying,” said the old lady, “is that, if these are two for the price of one, why can’t I get one for half price?”

  Tajel smiled at the lady.

  “That’s just the way it works I’m afraid.”

  “But what difference does it make? I mean if you’re selling two and one is free that’s the same as half price.”

  “Well, you do have a point” said Tajel, “however...”

  The old lady interrupted with the swift aggression of a roused cobra:

  “So can I have it half price?”

  “Unfortunately, the deal is buy one get one free. It might not seem to make a difference to you the customer; however, we have a deal with this company.”

  Tajel held aloft a can of energy drink that looked like it had been painted in purple and green and then had gotten ill and thrown up on itself. The label on it read Industrial: Run Off This.

  “And,” Tajel continued, “The deal is that we receive the product at a reduced rate in return for selling a larger quantity of units.”

  “So can I get it for half price?”

  “No,” said Tajel, “but if you buy one at full price I’ll give you a second one for free.”

  “I don’t want two; I want one at half price.”

  “But what difference does it make?” Tajel asked, “If you buy two and one of them is free, that’s almost the same as getting it at half price.”

  The old lady put the can back and bought some Super Sour Electroshocks instead. Dan approached the counter holding some ginger nuts. He opened his mouth to negotiate the transaction.

  “You get out!”

  Tajel‘s voice was cold and stern. Dan looked behind himself to check that there was somebody else in the shop. Much to his relief he saw Paul, one of the local skinheads, standing in the doorway. Paul was wearing a knitted hat with a bobble on the top. He looked sheepish and bewildered.

  “It wasn’t me” Paul said, “I told him not to.”

  “Out!”

  Tajel raised her finger and pointed at the door. Paul let his head drop and without looking up, he scuffled away.

  “Bravo” said Dan “he is an insidious little turd, isn’t he?”

  Tajel nodded.

  “Do you mind if I ask what he’d done?”

  “Do you just want the biscuits?” Tajel asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Not at all, but it’s none of your business. Sorry.”

  Tajel smiled sweetly and gave Dan his change.

  3.

  As Dan walked into the kitchen the first thing that he noticed was that Carrie was dressed in her business attire and that she wasn’t showing off any of her legs. The second thing he noticed was that Carrie was there. The third thing he noticed was that Milton and Carrie were holding hands. Finally, he noticed Milton’s face; the man was completely transformed – smiling from ear to ear.

  “Oh good,” said Milton “the celebratory feast.”

  Dan looked baffled.

  “You’ll have to give me some time to catch up. The last time I saw you, you were a bit down about only having three weeks to live.”

  “That was then, this is now.”

  Dan’s face flushed, he looked at the biscuits in his hand and put them down on the table.

  “Would somebody care to explain to me, what exactly is going on?”

  “Milton is a free man,” said Carrie.

  “How so?”

  “Well, whoever broke into your safe took the curse and as you’ll remember, it transfers on to the last person to handle it.”

  “Which would be the thief?” Dan asked.

  “Which would indeed be the thief,” agreed Milton.

  Dan nodded.

  “So who the hell would steal a death curse when they could have stolen money?”

  Neither Carrie nor Milton answered.

  “Whoever did this knew what they were after; they focussed on the death curse and nothing else.”

  Milton nodded, as he did so he pulled Carrie’s hand to his mouth and kissed her index finger.

  “Is this the time?” Dan barked.

  “What better time to be happy.”

  “Well as much as I am happy that you’re not going to die and I am, let me assure you, in complete ecstasy.” Dan took a deep breath and continued:

  “As much as it fills me with joy that your departure from this mortal coil is no longer inevitable, has it occurred to either one of you that the only reason you would steal a death curse is to have somebody killed?”

  Milton shook his head and then turned it to look at Carrie.

  “It did occur to me,” Carrie admitted, “But, I was going to be a little more delicate about bringing the matter up.”

  “And why?” Dan asked, “Should this matter require such delicacy, pray tell?”

  Carrie’s demeanour made an abrupt change to seriousness.

  “Did the thief steal the diary that the runes came with?” She asked Dan.

  “The charming one giving a date for my death?”

  “Yes.”

  “They did not.”

  “Well then,” said Carrie, “the
curse will go into effect at midnight tonight, so whoever has it will either have to pass it on by then or is in for the chop.”

  “So why be delicate about the matter?” Dan demanded.

  “Because,” said Carrie, “There is only one person I can think of who knows about the curse and could get the safe open without breaking it.”

  Milton and Dan looked at each other.

  “It couldn’t be.”

  Carrie squeezed Milton’s hand.

  “I’m sorry, but it has to be.”

  Milton’s face turned ashen for the second time that day.

  4.

  Dan banged on the door to Gary’s house. He waited for a good two seconds for somebody to answer it and then banged on it again.

  “There’s nobody in,” Dan told Milton and Carrie.

  With that, he banged on it again even harder. The door opened, just two inches until the safety chain restrained it from opening further. A sliver of Alison’s face could be seen through the gap.

  “What do you want?” Alison whispered.

  “Erm, is Gary in?”

  “No.”

  Alison closed the door. Dan turned to look at his two friends, they were kissing.

  “Will you two knock it off?”

  “Sorry Dan,” said Carrie, “I’m still made up that he’s not going to die.”

  “And I’m so happy that if I did die, I wouldn’t be that bothered.”

  “Well Milton, I’m glad you two have finally stopped flirting and got down to business. However, there is the serious matter of Alison’s inevitable death.”

  “Alison? What makes you think he’d give the curse to her?” Milton asked.

  “He’s always complaining about her, and she’s constantly telling him what to do – that’s who I’d give it to if I were Gary.”

  “It would explain why she’s so moody today,” said Milton.

  “Pah,” said Carrie, “don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “But, you did by thinking Gary stole the curse,” Dan protested.

  “That’s different,” said Carrie.

  Dan fixed Milton with his gaze; he pointed his thumb towards Gary and Alison’s house and then mimed a hanging.

  “Get out the way,” said Carrie.

  Carrie gently knocked on the door.

  “Hello, Alison” she cooed, “It’s Carrie, can I come in for a minute?”

  The door clicked and then opened, Carrie gently stepped over the threshold.

  “I say,” said Dan, “Do you imagine that they’re going to lez it up in there?”

  Milton punched him firmly on the arm.

  5.

  Gary’s fists clenched until his finger nails dug into the skin of his palms. He was stood outside of a shabby terraced house. In the front window of the house was a picture of the founder of the Scouting movement across which someone had written, in red crayon, “rivers of blood.”

  Gary pressed open the letter box to the house.

  “I know you’re in there,” he shouted, “open the door or I’ll...”

  Gary weighed his options, arson, gas, faeces.

  “Kick it down,” he decided on.

  There was no answer. Gary took a step back and kicked the door as hard as he possibly could. The shock rattled the door on its hinges and painfully jolted against his knee but the door did not fall down, not even a little bit. Gary took another step backwards and kicked the door even harder, it really hurt that time.

  As he stepped back to take a third attempt the door swung open and outlined in the frame stood Saul. Saul’s shaved head had a thick set of fingernail marks down one side. In his hand he was holding a large kitchen knife.

  “Don’t you come any closer, I’ll stab you.”

  Gary stared at him.

  “I’ve not come here to fight you; I just came to give you this.”

  Gary held up a piece of paper, and then extended his arm forward. Saul snatched it from him; he glanced down at the strange lettering.

  “What is it?”

  “In plain English, it says you won’t ever lay a finger on Alison ever again.”

  Saul squeezed the paper into a ball in his hand, and then he raised his arm and threw it at Gary’s face. To Saul’s surprise the ball changed trajectory before it hit Gary, arcing up towards the sky. He watched its vertical ascent until it became almost too tiny to follow. Then he watched as it reddened with flames and fell back to the ground as charred ash.

  “What the fuck?” Saul asked.

  “Enjoy your day,” said Gary.

  He turned his back on Saul and strode back towards his house were Alison was lying, still in shock.

  6.

  Carrie stepped down from the porch of Alison and Gary’s house.

  “We’re too late,” Carrie told Milton.

  “You could tell me as well,” said Dan, “I’m standing right here.”

  “What happened?” Milton asked.

  “That boy Saul from the pub, him and his brother started harassing Alison whilst she walked home from work. Apparently she called Saul a bed wetter and he punched her full in the face.”

  “Jesus!”

  “It gets worse; after she fell down he climbed on top of her and held her down.”

  Carrie took a deep breath.

  “So what happened?” Dan demanded.

  “She scratched him and then his brother Paul pulled him away.”

  “So Gary has gone to kill him?” Milton asked.

  “Better him than you.”

  The three friends turned in surprise at the sound of a fourth voice. Gary stood behind them; he looked more exhausted than murderous.

  “You used magic, it’s against the witch hunter’s code,” Rebuked Dan.

  Gary looked each member of the hunt sternly in the eyes.

  “I have to check on Alison.”

  “This isn’t you Gary,” said Milton “you’re not a killer.”

  “There are some people you just can’t reason with,” said Gary “So you get what we had here last night, which is the way he wants it... well, he gets it. I don't like it any more than you lot."

  “Guns and Roses?” Carrie asked.

  Milton sighed heavily:

  “It’s from Cool Hand Luke, well almost.”

  “Good God,” said Gary, “Carrie was right, I just paraphrased the intro to Civil War. I hate that song. I fucking hate it. That’s it, I’m done!”

  Gary walked to his front door. He turned to the Hettford Witch Hunt:

  “I’m going to check on Alison,” he told them, “then I’m going to sleep. When I wake up, hopefully the world will be a tiny bit less awful.”

  Gary stepped into his house and waved as he closed the door. Milton took hold of Carrie’s hand and Dan rubbed his moustache with his left forefinger. It was only seconds before any of them spoke but those few seconds were a good practical demonstration of Einstein’s relativistic theory of awkward silences.

  “We have to stop the death curse,” said Milton.

  “That Saul does rather have it coming,” Dan said, “and that’s without factoring in his trying to rape Alison.”

  “I think it’s more about Gary,” Carrie suggested.

  “She’s right,” Milton agreed, “He’s not in his right frame of mind. When he calms down this will destroy him.”

  “Saul does have it coming,” Dan persisted.

  “Have you ever listened to that song with Gary?” Asked Milton “Have you seen how enraged he becomes when Axl Rose asks ‘aint that fresh?’ We have to sort this out.”

  “OK, how?”

  “I have some ideas,” said Carrie.

  7.

  Carrie’s car had a greater degree of comfort than Milton was accustomed to; leather seats and a radio. It had been nearly a decade since Milton had travelled in a car that wasn’t Gary’s dilapidated Rover. It had probably been a good deal longer since he had been in a car wit
hout his best friend Dan. Everything was so new, so shiny. A sudden thought occurred to him.

  “Erm, Carrie.”

  “Yes.”

  Milton played with his fingers awkwardly.”

  Are you rich?”

  “Not really.”

  “But this is a very nice car.”

  “It’s my company’s, it’s not really mine.”

  “OK.”

  Milton thought about what he had just said.

  “Not that I care if you’re rich, I just think it’s a really nice car.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you know... I’m not terribly rich.”

  The car continued along the road they passed the fields where he had acquired Roaster, his pet chicken.

  “You know this morning?” Milton asked.

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, you know the...”

  “The kiss?”

  “Yes, was that because I was going to die soon or because you like me?”

  “It was because I like you and you were no longer going to die soon.”

  Milton nodded.

  “That makes sense.”

  Milton gazed at Carrie from the passenger seat, in profile she looked like the young Ingram Bergman. He wanted to hold her hand, but he realised that she needed to keep it mobile in order to change gears. Carrie was making short work of the winding rural road that lead out of Hettford, hugging the hairpin corners without dropping pace. Without warning a large black pig ran in front of the car. Carrie braked hard, swerving to avoid the porcine landmine. The swerve forced the car in the direction of a large willow tree. Carrie twisted the steering wheel a second time, this time she pulled up the handbrake as she did so. The car spun a 780 turn and came to a rest facing sideways on the road.

  Milton and Carrie looked at one another and when they were both satisfied that the other was alright, they looked at the pig. The pig looked back at them and sat on its hind quarters, it regarded Milton and Carrie with a cold indifference that seemed to defy them to drive closer to it.

  “Well, that was scary,” Carrie said.

  A cloud obscured the sunlight on the road and cast a dark shadow over the street. The wind followed in the path of the shadow, blowing oak leaves across the scene. Carrie reversed the car so that it was heading in the right direction again.

  “Where the hell has it come from? There are no farms near,” said Milton.

  “Buggered if I know,” said Carrie.

  Carrie put the car into first gear and slowly lifted the clutch. The pig did not shift its position in response to the advancing car. Carrie put her finger on the horn and let the car creep forward. The pig did not respond at all, it just sat staring.

  “Can you get out and chase it away?” Carrie asked Milton.

  Milton glanced up at the dark sky, just to be sure.

  “Of course I can.”

  Milton’s door swung open with just the gentlest push, a sure sign of quality engineering he thought. He clapped his hands and stamped his feet. The pig did not shift. Milton wondered if Carrie would want him to kick the pig to move it along or if that would give her the wrong impression about him and she would think he was some crazed abuser of animals. He walked a little closer to the pig and stamped his foot again. Again, the pig did not shift. Surprised at the bulk of the animal, Milton settled on a halfway measure and rather than kicking it he decided to push it with his foot.

  Milton put the tip of his toe on the animal’s flank and pushed slowly but firmly against it. The pig toppled and fell over sideways. Milton stared down at the creature and the stink of decay met his nostrils. The underside of the pig had been slit across the belly, a small amount of intestine seeped out of the incision. Maggots spilled out of the hole like dried beans falling from the seams of a homemade cushion.

  Milton got back into the car.

  “Let’s go, now!”

  Neither of them spoke again until they reached Carrie’s home in Bridgeford.

  8.

  Dan sat in front of a large pile of books in search of a way to cancel out the spell, in desperation he had found himself looking in the appendices of Karswell’s A History of The Craft. The section that had piqued his interest was Appendix CCXILLVI – which Karswell had ambiguously titled Seeking Company. The appendix described how to send a spirit message to a specific witch in order to request a favour from them. The appendix contained a simple spell that was only seven lines long. There then followed twenty pages that cautioned the reader against ever using it. Asking a witch for a favour required three favours in return, one for calling her, one for asking the question and a third for granting the favour. Karswell strongly cautioned that witches were under no obligation to respond to requests or to even be cordial. He suggested that calling a witch for a favour was the quickest method of having yourself transformed into a mute, having your ears sheared off and eaten and your genitals cast into the fireplace. It seemed like a heavy price to pay to save Saul who, after all, was a little wanker. Dan resolved not to mention the appendix to anybody.

  Dan’s reading was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

  “Use your key,” he shouted.

  The knock was repeated. Dan stood up and walked over to the door. Dan winced as he opened it and saw who it was.

  “Is that Gary in?”

  “Mr. Turlough is not currently here.”

  Dan moved to slam the door in Paul’s face.

  “Please, I need to see him. To say sorry.”

  “I would think it was Alison you needed to apologise to.”

  “She’s not answering, nobody is at their house.” Dan thought about it.

  “Do you know what I think you should do?”

  “What?”

  A look of sincere hope crossed Paul’s face, as if the chance for redemption might well be wrapped up in the very words that left Dan’s lips.

  “Go away,” said Dan.

  Dan slammed the door with a sense of self satisfaction, and then he peered through the glass spy hole so that he could watch Paul hang his head in defeat and trudge away. Grinning, Dan put the kettle on and sat back down. He reached into his pile of books and found an old Dandy annual; he opened it to a section entitled Minnie the Minx.

  9.

  Carrie led Milton up the stairs of her house. It was a listed Victorian terrace that had maintained the majority of its original fixings.

  “This is lovely,” Milton observed.

  “I’ll give you a tour sometime when we’re not so pressed.”

  Carrie unlocked a door on the landing and the two of them stepped into a room that was filled amulets, battered leather bound manuscripts and arcane fetishes. Carrie began running her finger over the bookshelf reading each of the titles one by one.

  “Impressive collection. What is it you’ve come for?”

  “I’ve got an article on how to summon a witch’s familiar; I thought if we could get our hands on Ruth’s spirit creature we might be able to trade it back to her in return for dropping the curse.”

  “Or she might kill us and take it back on her own.”

  “There is that possibility.”

  “Given the state of that pig, I’d say it was a pretty distinct one.”

  “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “We can summon her onto sacred ground; witches are very superstitious she probably wouldn’t kill us there.”

  “Probably?”

  “As opposed to definitely killing that idiot Saul.”

  “OK but let’s focus on doing this to save Gary from the impending guilt, rather than saving Saul.”

  “Agreed.”

  Carrie finally got to the book she was after. She placed it under her arm. With her other hand she picked up a mummified cat off the shelf.

  “This’ll make sure we don’t have any incidents on the way back.”

  “That pig thing was pretty powerful necromancy. Any th
oughts on why the witches have suddenly gone all nuclear?”

  “No, but I suspect it has something to do with the death curse being passed on. They must have been banking on killing you. Now, let’s duct tape this dead cat to my windscreen and get back to Hettford.”

  She held the mummified cat up victoriously, Milton chastised himself for finding the image erotic.

  10.

  The front door had not only been locked but Saul appeared to have put a chest of drawers up against it just in case. Paul walked calmly around to the end of the road, and hedge hopped his way to the back garden. As he had expected the back door had not been locked or barricaded. He walked into the small kitchen and almost tripped over a canvas bag that someone, almost certainly Saul, had left on the floor. The kitchen was in complete disarray, cupboards had been left open, packages of food had been pulled down onto the counter and the dishwasher had been left open, with the drawer pulled out, even though it had finished its cycle. Paul heard a loud pinging sound followed by a clunk, he followed the sound.

  Paul walked into the living room to discover his brother holding a rifle and pointing it at the mantelpiece. He had placed a milk bottle on the top of it and was using it for firing practice.

  “Mum’s going to kill you when she sees that kitchen.”

  Saul lowered his rifle and yelled at the top of his voice:

  “I’ve got bigger things to think about!”

  “Well, you went too far.”

  “Yeah, thanks for helping me out with that by the way,” sneered Saul.

  “I wasn’t going to let you rape her.”

  Saul pointed his air-rifle at his brother.

  “I told you, I just wanted to scare her – get her back to New Zealand. I don’t mind when people come to England to make a better life for themselves but when they already live somewhere great they need to just fucking stay there.”

  “You were still out of order; it wasn’t like throwing kiwis at her or putting them on the doorstep. That was properly creepy.”

  “That other stuff wouldn’t scare anybody.”

  “So why did we do it all?”

  “Somebody had to. OK Kid?”

  Saul pointed his rifle back at the milk bottle; squinting one eye he squeezed the trigger. The bullet bounced off the milk bottle with a loud ping, ricocheting around the room and finally coming to a stop when it bounced into the back of Paul’s neck.

  “That hurt, you dick.”

  “I considered running away,” said Saul “but if anybody else comes for me, I’ll be ready to fight.”

  Saul cocked the rifle and placed a new pellet into the chamber.

  “This time, I’m really going to twat it.”

  He took a step closer to the milk bottle and kneeled down into a combat position, he steadied the milk bottle in his sights. He breathed out slowly and squeezed the trigger. Ping, the pellet shot directly back into his face managing to strike him directly in the centre of his one open eye. He put his hand up to it.

  “Bollocks!!!” Saul screamed.

  “Quick, get some water on it,” Paul told him.

  Saul rushed to the kitchen with Paul in tow. With his attention focused firmly on getting to the sink and with one hand covering his left eye, Saul had failed to notice the large canvas bag he had left in the middle of the floor. His right leg caught on the handle of the bag and the momentum pulled him around to face Paul. Saul tried to step backwards to regain his balance but his foot was snagged and the effort caused him to crash arsewards into the open dishwasher.

  There was a colossal sound of shattering, then a brief pause before the door of the dishwasher gave way and the sound was repeated. Paul bit back his instinct to laugh.

  “Are you alright Saul?”

  Saul’s face was blank with horror.”

  “No, I’m not. Help me up.”

  Paul held out his hand for Saul to grab.

  “Bloody hell,” said Saul as he pulled himself up, “I think I’ve been bummed by a kitchen knife.”

  Saul could not stand up all the way, he leaned forward on all fours and sure enough the handle of a ten inch chopping knife protruded from his rear end like a solid tail.

  “Fuck,” was all Paul could manage.

  “Get it out, get it out,” screamed Saul.

  “No way, I’m calling 999.” Paul ran back to the living room and reached for the cordless phone. He pressed the button to dial but there was no dialing tone. As he lifted it up to see what was wrong, he noticed that an air-rifle pellet had embedded itself into the LCD screen.

  “Shit.”

  Paul ran upstairs to their mother’s room where there was another phone. As he did so, he heard the most terrible scream coming from the kitchen.

  “Bollocks,” he muttered to himself.

  The spare phone was on the floor of his mother’s room; Paul picked it up and quickly dialed for an ambulance.

  “They’re coming Saul, they’re coming.”

  Paul ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Saul lay on the floor, facedown. In one had he held the chopping knife – it was red with gore. Blood was pouring out of the wound. Paul pulled down Saul’s pants and shoved a tea towel up his bum but the blood soaked through it instantly. As he realised his brother was going to die, Paul let out a loud howl. The sound seemed to stir his brother back to consciousness.

  “Hey Paul.”

  “Saul!”

  “Make sure nobody thinks I put stuff up my arse on purpose.”

  And, with that, he was gone.