Hettford Witch Hunt: Series One

by James Rhodes

Bonus Episode: The Spirit of the Holly.

  One Christmas in Hettford...

  1.

  Alison looked at the phone, she simply couldn’t fathom that it was ringing. She poked Gary in the ribs. Alison’s touch sent Gary’s body into a spasm but it did not wake him. After what seemed like an eternity, the ringing stopped. A minute passed and the phone began to ring again. Alison punched Gary hard in the back. Gary sat bolt upright and looked at the cordless phone: it was on his side of the bed. He looked at the curtains ascertaining that it was dark outside. He looked at the clock ascertaining it was ten past five in the morning. He pressed the button to answer the phone. He considered being very rude with whomever was on the other end of the line but he was worried that it might be a medical emergency so he just said:

  “Hello.”

  Milton’s voice, rattled excitedly at the other end of the phone.

  “Can you get over here right now?”

  “It’s five o’clock on Christmas day,” moaned Gary.

  “This is the biggest thing we’ve ever had,” Milton’s voice was filled with wonder, “you have to see this before it goes.”

  Gary looked at Alison, she had gone back to sleep.

  “Alright,” he whispered, “where are you?”

  “The shop, hurry up and bring your camera.”

  Gary got out of bed, he was not sure if he was shivering from the cold of his room or from the excessive alcohol consumption that he had marked Christmas Eve with. Either way, he was shivering hard.

  He pulled on fresh clothes, brushed his teeth and tongue and headed out the front door. Even with three layers, a hat and gloves on, he was still shivering. His digital camera was still in his pocket from the night before. As he stepped out of the front door, the whiteness of the thick snow that had fallen as he slept looked as beautiful as it did unpleasantly cold.

  2.

  “Happy Christmas.”

  Milton and Dan cheered as Gary approached, they were stood next to a snow woman (they had given her breasts) wearing a witches hat. Dan was holding a wrapped gift.

  “Tell me this isn’t what I’ve come out to see.”

  Milton smiled.

  “Of course not Gary, but it’s a white Christmas just like the ones we’ve never had. You can at least try to enjoy it.”

  “I think I’d enjoy it more on another hours sleep.”

  “We were worried that the snow would melt.”

  Gary was too hung-over to be furious.

  “Well, I guess this is probably the best proof of witches we’ve ever had,” he grinned.

  He took a picture of his two friends with their snow-witch.

  “We did get you a present,” said Dan.

  He handed the wrapped gift to Gary. Gary pulled the wrapping apart to reveal a silver hip flask, on the front was carved a pentagram and some runes.

  “That’s a very special gift,” Milton told him, “because the outside wards off evil spirits.”

  “And the inside contains some,” Dan finished.

  Gary twisted the top open.

  “Hair of the dog,” he told them.

  The brandy inside the flask warmed Gary almost instantly, dramatically reducing his shivering.

  “Thanks, I didn’t bring your gifts because I haven’t wrapped them yet.”

  “No worries, it’s very early.”

  Gary took another swig from the flask.

  “I suppose you are wondering what we’ve brought you out here for?” Milton asked Gary.

  “I thought this was it.”

  “No, no dear boy,” Dan declared, “come and see.”

  3.

  Gary stared at the side of Occultivated, Milton pointed up at the shop’s roof.

  “You see, the tracks run all the way across the roof, and then start again at the other side.”

  Gary shook his head.

  “This is unbelievable, devil’s footprints...”

  A row of cloven hoof prints ran along the ground up to the side of the shop, and then continued vertically up the wall and over the roof.

  “I know; the last recorded incident of this happening was in Devon in the mid nineteenth century. We can actually document the phenomena,” Milton bristled with excitement.

  “Even better,” added Dan, “we can get to the bottom of it.”

  “The tracks in Devon were supposed to have spread over a hundred miles, crossing rivers and obstacles all along the way.”

  “That’s right Gary,” Milton agreed.

  “Well balls to that, it’s Christmas.”

  “That’s hardly the attitude to take.”

  Gary took a swig of brandy from his flask.

  “It’s Christmas and I’m hung-over and I’m still not sure if I did anything stupid last night. So double-balls to it. I’m not walking a hundred miles; I have to be home before Alison wakes up.”

  “It might not be a hundred miles; can you just come with us for a bit and take some pictures?”

  Milton’s eyes met Gary’s in earnest. Gary nodded.

  “Do we know where they start?”

  “Yes, right in front of Ron’s All Night Garage.”

  “What just in the middle of the road.”

  “Yes, they sort of fade into the snow as if it had just begun snowing when the footprints were made.”

  “There’s no sleigh tracks is there?” Asked Gary, “Because I have one hypothesis.”

  “Dan made that joke two hours ago.”

  Gary rolled his eyes.

  “Do you think whatever made these tracks, also brought the snow.”

  Milton nodded.

  “I think they’re both part of the same spell.”

  Gary began to take photographs of the scene. When he had captured a few he asked Milton.

  “Do you have a ladder? I’d like to get some shots of the roof.”

  Milton shook his head.

  “We’ll have to just follow them,” Milton suggested, “see if they go over any lower buildings.”

  Gary looked at his watch, it was only twenty past five, and he had a good three hours before Alison would wake up.

  4.

  The tracks continued over the row of houses adjacent to Milton’s shop. After that, they crossed the road and walked over somebody’s fence. It was a seven foot wooden panel fence, with pointed tips. None the hunt members fancied the job of scaling it. Gary took some photographs and stared at it seriously, but he had no intention of trying to follow it over the top.

  “Come on Gary,” said Dan, “I’ll give you a leg up.”

  Gary looked at him.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to check the next garden down? They have a lower fence.”

  “You just don’t want to climb?” Dan asked.

  “Do you?”

  Dan thought about it.

  “How about you get on my shoulders and then we can see if the footprints carry on straight.”

  Gary agreed, and Dan kneeled down. Gary climbed on his shoulders like a topless 50 year old woman at a Bon Jovi concert. With Milton’s help Dan made it to his feet and walked up to the fence. Gary peered into the garden. He took some photographs.

  “It went straight through;” he told them, “let me down.”

  “I can’t,” said Dan “I think my knees have locked.”

  “Well let go of my legs and I’ll swing myself down.”

  “I’m worried you’ll kick me in the face. Can’t I just fall backwards?”

  “Dan,” Gary said sternly, “I need the toilet.”

  Dan let Gary down.

  5.

  The tracks continued without regard for the fact that Gary’s feet were incredibly cold. They continued up and over hedges, they continued over fragile garden sheds and greenhouses. Gary had taken a lot of photographs and he was beginning to think he might at least be able to sell some of them. The tracks continued over an a
rticulated lorry and out towards the woods.

  When it crossed the pivot hedges that marked a particular farm, Milton, Dan and Gary all had reason to pause.

  “Do you really think we should?” Milton asked.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve heard the farmer here gets a bit uppity about folks stomping over his fields.”

  “I know, but I’m sure he’s still asleep – it’s not even light yet.”

  The three friends walked to the nearest gate and scrambled over it.

  Gary snagged his left ball as he swung his leg over the metal gate.

  “This is technically trespassing,” he snapped.

  “It’s investigation Gary,” Dan told him.

  They followed the hoof prints out into the middle of one of the larger fields, and then they stood and scratched their heads. At the very centre of the field the hoof prints formed a figure-eight pattern. Whatever had made them had reached the middle of the field and simply kept on running in the same pattern. There were no foot prints leading away from the figure-eight, only those that lead up to it.

  Gary took a picture.

  “Well, I guess that’s it.”

  “There has to be some other clue,” said Dan.

  “If there is, I certainly can’t see it.”

  “Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. You can’t see air can you? But you know that’s there. What does that indicate to you?”

  “I can see my breath clearly enough,” Gary snapped “that indicates to me that it’s freezing and it’s time to go home.”

  “Don’t you want to get to the bottom of this?”

  “Sure I do Dan, but let’s face it we’re not going to. The snow will melt and all that will be left will be the photographs.”

  “That’s the problem with magic,” said Milton, “it’s incorporeal.”

  “Well, I’m cold and I’m obviously still drunk and I want at least an hour more in bed, so I’m going home.”

  Milton patted him on the back.

  “Thanks for coming; the pictures will be very helpful. We’re going to stay and look for clues.”

  Gary patted him back and started walking home.

  “Merry Christmas, I’ll see you later.”

  6.

  Gary was much more careful climbing back over the fence; he managed not to snag anything. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets but his fingers still felt cold. His bladder had shrunk and was beginning to get painful.

  As there was no traffic and nobody was around he took great pleasure in trying to write his name in the snow. His fingers felt like ice on his penis and the whole event was far less gratifying than he had imagined it would be when he had conceived it. Once he was a few paces past his pee, he began to kick at the snow with his feet.

  Gary hunched his shoulders and realised he was shivering again, he took a swig of brandy but it failed to warm him. He glanced over his shoulder to see if there were any witnesses to his childish behaviour and as he did so he noticed that the air had become quite misty. Probably just the melting snow, he thought to himself, releasing water vapour into the air.

  Within three paces his visibility was so impaired that he could not see his hand until it was four inches from his face. He made the best of the situation by successfully drinking some more brandy.

  7.

  Milton examined the snow. The only thing Milton could discern about the snow was that it was snow.

  “There’s nothing.”

  “There has to be something.”

  “Not a footprint, not a whisper, not a hint.”

  Dan rubbed his tummy, he was thinking about Cadbury’s Wispa, especially the Gold ones with caramel inside them.

  “I guess we should keep looking.”

  “We’ve seen everything; we should go before that batty farmer starts taking pot-shots at us.”

  “We’ve only been looking for twenty minutes, there has to be something we’ve missed.”

  “Dan, I know we are seasoned witch hunters and that this is one of the only pieces of solid evidence we’re ever found.”

  “But...”

  “But, I’m tired and my nose is cold. I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to be useful.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “We go home, have some breakfast and come back in the light.”

  Dan nodded.

  “Did you by any chance get me a selection box for Christmas?”

  “No.”

  “No worries, I did get myself one.”

  The two of them trudged back towards the gate.

  8.

  Gary was surprised at how much more tiring it was to walk in the snow. He could feel his legs burning, He had moved to the side of the country road to lessen the chance of a car hitting him in the lowered visibility. As a result of this he kept stumbling over rocks, tree stumps and road killed meat. The fog was too thick and the sky to dusky for him to be able to identify what sort of animals he was treading in and after the second time he had crouched down to see what he was stumbling over, he had resolved to simply pretend it wasn’t happening.

  He caught his foot on a think tree root and even in the murky light he was able to see that it belonged to a stump rather than a tree. He took the opportunity to sit down. The cold and wet of the snow soaked into the backside of his jeans but he was in no hurry to stand up again.

  He leaned forward and put his hands on his head. The cold snow against his bottom began to feel warm, his eyelids to feel heavy. He didn’t sleep but he didn’t move or open his eyes for what seemed like a terribly long time.

  Gary was aroused by the sound of a warm crackling like that of an open fire. Gary raised his head to look for the source of the noise. Through the mist he could make out the orange glow of flames as slowly she approached him.

  The woman’s steps were controlled, she walked slowly but tenderly. Her bare feet were as graceful as if Tchaikovsky had composed them. Every step was measured; her body moved liked slender ocean waves, the twist of her hips flowing through a loose green dress that shifted in synchrony with her. The movement swelled into a crest that began at her breasts and ended with the gentlest flick of her hair. Her skin was a pale with just a hint of rose; her lips were holly-berry red. Around her hair was a wreath of evergreen. Her hair was tongues of flame, cascading down over her shoulders, and it did not burn her skin or the wreath. She was the single most beautiful thing Gary had ever seen.

  He rubbed his eyes hard. When he let his hands fall again, she was still stood in front of him. She beckoned to him with one long slender finger.

  “Ruth?” He gasped.

  The woman shook her head, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. The heavy mist veiled the world into irrelevance, Gary stood up. His feet took slow steps towards the woman, his unblinking eyes fixed on her as he paced. The woman reached thin slender fingers toward him and clasped his face with hands that felt as warm as hypothermia. The woman leant forward and placed her lips against his. The second that he remained conscious for had in it enough joy to fill a life time.

  9.

  The bottom of Milton’s jeans were soaked in icy water, his fingers were damp and cold from clue seeking in the snow and he had to keep squeezing the muscles of his abdomen to stop himself shivering. On top of that, the rain had begun falling heavily and the snow was disappearing with each drop.

  “Well there goes that then,” said Dan.”

  I bet Gary’s home by now,” grumbled Milton.

  “Well, maybe if he’d stayed we’d have found something and the rain wouldn’t wash it all away.”

  “Well, at least Gary got a few good shots of the whole thing.”

  “They’ll probably all come out as orbs; you know how shit cameras are at collecting spiritual phenomena.”

  “Spiritual phenomena!” Milton demanded, “What ab
out that barge trip we took? Was that spiritual phenomena?”

  “There must have been some, or all the photos wouldn’t have come out as orbs,” Dan said between breaths.

  Milton’s voice shifted up an octave.

  “Hello, what’s this? That wasn’t there when we walked past.”

  In the middle of the road was a pile of holly leaves, large enough to obstruct traffic.

  “Let’s see,” said Dan.

  The two of them launched a half hearted jog over to the pile of leaves. It was stretched out over about six and a half feet in length and it sat four feet off the ground. At the far end of the pile there was a small hole, through which could clearly be seen the face of their good friend Gary Turlough. His eyes were closed with all the serenity of Snow White in her glass coffin.

  Dan laughed and Milton punched him in the arm. The two of them leant over him.

  “Gary, Gary, are you alright Gary?”

  Gary’s eyes opened and he looked up at them.

  “Never felt better,” he said “why?”

  “Oh, this is priceless” Dan told Gary, “if only we had your camera.”

  Gary sat up, holly leaves dropped around him as he moved.

  “Are you not cold?” Milton asked.

  “No, why would I be?”

  “You’re not wearing any clothes.”

  Gary looked down at himself then, with a sense of panic, he scrambled out of the holly pile scratching his naked skin on the leaves.

  “Where are my clothes?” He stammered, “What happened?”

  “You tell us Gary.”

  “I don’t know, I was walking back and then.”

  A hint of memory came back to Gary but he could not quite reach it.

  “I don’t know.”

  Milton took his coat off and gave it to Gary.

  “I guess your camera was in your pocket,” said Dan.

  “Well, it’s certainly not up my arse,” replied Gary, “I’ve lost my Christmas present too.”

  Milton smiled.

  “I think that’s it by the tree trunk.”

  Milton pointed to the glint of silver that Gary had dropped by the side of the road. Dan shook his head in disdain.

  “We could have got another one of those. Those pictures are irreplaceable,”

  The three of them walked home in the rain.

  “Is you bottom sore,” Dan asked Gary, “because I know this bloke who blacked out and the army and when he woke up he found out that...”

  10.

  As he opened his front door with the spare key he kept under one of his flag stones Gary was relieved to hear the gentle sound of Alison snoring upstairs. It was still only eight o’clock in the morning. Gary took off Milton’s coat and hung it up to dry.

  Lighting the gas fire in the living room, Gary sat naked in front of it; for some reason he didn’t feel tired or cold. He sprawled out on the floor, his genitals hanging flaccid with a satisfaction he could not remember them earning.

  Gary leaned back onto his hands and let the fire warm his belly, thinking about how good the breakfast he was going to make would be. He glanced at the gifts under his tree and was less excited about them that he thought he should have been. He stared back at the gas fire and its flames seemed to smile at him. When his skin was warm enough, he tiptoed back to his bed and slept to the rhythm of flickering retinal scars.

 

  The Hettford Witch Hunt will return. Thanks for reading.