The Doll

by Elizabeth Andrews

  ‘It burns,’ she squealed, looking up at her companions in astonishment. ‘Look,’ and held out her scorched hands.

  ‘Fool!’ the woman snapped. ‘Get up!’

  The snivelling creature struggled to her feet, dragging her wet gown out of the snow and glared at Paul, her face turning an angry red as he edged towards the cross.

  ‘You and your church,’ she sniffed. ‘You be the evil ones.’

  ‘Be silent,’ ordered the woman and motioned her back. ‘Give me the doll; do not think that you can hinder me.’

  ‘Well, I stopped you last time,’ he stated and pulled the cross from the snow. Holding it out towards the three witches he backed slowly across the yard until he was next to Queenie. ‘O Divine Eternal Father, in union with your Divine Son,’ he began again, this time keeping a tight grip on the crucifix, ‘and the Holy Spirit and through the immaculate Heart of Mary.’

  The woman half closed her eyes. ‘I will not give way before your God,’ she said, gritting her teeth. Her two companions fell to their knees; the scrawny one squealing as she tried to stop her ears with lumps of frozen ice.

  ‘I beg you to destroy these evil spirits!’

  With each word she retreated a few paces until she was backed up against the far wall of the yard. Her clawing fingers scrabbled at the old bricks, twisting her face this way and that in an attempt to get away from the sight of the cross but Paul was determined and advanced towards the hysterical woman.

  ‘You cannot defeat me,’ she gasped and began to scramble up the wall like a giant black spider, while her companions terrified at the sight of their High Priestess cowed and defeated, remained rooted to the spot.

  ‘Cast them into the deepest recesses of hell and chain them there forever,’ he continued.

  She stood swaying on the top of the wall, her chest heaving, as she gazed down into the yard.

  ‘Enough of your words!’

  ‘All Holy Angels and Archangels help and defend us. Send thy angels to aid us!’ He held the crucifix high in the air and she raised a dirty hand to shield her eyes.

  ‘Damn you to hell,’ she spat and with one last defiant stare she threw her arms wide and with a momentary blurring changed back into a crow.

  Distressed cries came from the other women as she swirled up into the stormy skies, here she hovered high above the houses waiting for her companions to join her. Keeping a fearful eye on Paul they lurched away from the circle of salt, with difficulty assumed their feathered forms and launched into the air. With beating wings they struggled through the gathering storm to join their sister overhead.

  His hand dropped to his side and with one last look at the fast disappearing specks overhead, he turned to the sisters. ‘Did we win?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Queenie. She pulled at Sybil’s arm. ‘Get up!’

  She slowly and awkwardly got to her feet then looked around. ‘Have they gone for good?’

  Queenie, who was surveying the wreckage in the back yard swung around and glared at her. ‘No they haven’t! And damn Great Aunt Agatha!’

  ‘You can’t blame her,’ said Sybil, shakily brushing the snow from her slacks. ‘Can we go in now? I’m freezing.’

  ‘You’re shivering, Sybil,’ Paul looked at her in concern. ‘And you are both soaked.’

  ‘I don’t blame Agatha, I blame you!’ Queenie shouted, stepping over the salt and heading towards the door.

  ‘Just come inside,’ Paul urged, ignoring the elder sister. ‘She didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I!’ she snapped, slamming the door behind them. She rounded on her sister who had collapsed into one of the chairs. ‘What in hell were you thinking?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You should know better, you stupid old woman!’

  ‘Queenie!’ he remonstrated. ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Yes, it is Paul!’ she snarled, turning on him. ‘She could have been lost just because she was too weak.’ Her cheeks burned with fury and she glared at her sister.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but we have never come up against anybody like this before.’ She raised a shaking hand to her face and tried to wipe away the tears.

  Paul silently handed her a tissue then looked reproachfully at Queenie. ‘You’re being too hard on her.’

  ‘I let you down, I’m sorry Queenie, but I was so scared.’

  ‘This is terrifying,’ said Paul and put a hand on Sybil’s shoulder. ‘And it’s alright to be scared, I am myself.’

  ‘She doesn’t understand,’ sniffed Sybil. ‘Nothing frightens her.’

  ‘Really?’ said Queenie. ‘Well let me tell you something, Sybil, I get frightened all the time. I’m frightened I’ll have a heart attack, or a stroke, and I’m frightened I will fall and nobody will find me for days. I’m frightened I will get dementia or I will lose my powers, and I’m frightened I will not have enough money for my old age,’ she paused to get her breath and glared at her sister. ‘But most of all the one thing that terrifies the hell out of me, you aggravating old bat, is that you will die before I do and I will be left all alone. So I am certainly not going to be scared of three old hags!’

  ‘Oh Queenie!’ Sybil struggled to her feet and gave her a clumsy hug. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Will you stop saying that!’ Queenie said gruffly. ‘And blow your nose!’

  She smiled weakly through her tears and offered Queenie a tissue. ‘Your eyes seem to be watering as well, dear.’

  ‘It’s the cold,’ she replied testily and snatched a tissue from the pack. ‘And not a word from you either, young man!’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ he protested.

  ‘And what are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be burying somebody?’

  ‘It was cancelled due to the bad weather. The hearse was due to come over from Bridport and the coast road is closed, so...’ Paul said smiling ironically, ‘here I am. And if I am not mistaken, I think I saved the day. Again.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ replied Queenie, she glared at him while she stripped off her damp fleece and threw it over the back of a chair. ‘I had it all under control.’

  ‘Yes, I could tell,’ he replied dryly, as he helped Sybil peel off her wet cardigan.

  ‘Tea, that’s what we need,’ she said, ignoring him.

  ‘Tea? At time like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. There is always time for tea. It will warm Sybil up.’

  Sybil perched on the edge of her chair and blew on her frozen fingers. ‘They nearly had us, Queenie.’

  ‘Huh, they nearly had you!’ She rubbed a hand over her wet hair and stared thoughtfully at the Vicar. ‘Interesting, though, how she reacted to Paul. I wonder if we have been approaching this the wrong way?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sybil responded wearily. ‘I’m so cold I can’t think.’ She stood up and tottered towards the kettle. ‘I’ll make some tea.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Paul said firmly, taking it from her hand. ‘Go and sit in front of the fire and I’ll do it.’ He glanced at the back door. ‘They won’t come back now, will they?’ he asked quickly as the sisters moved towards the hall.

  ‘Nothing is certain in this life, Paul.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ he persisted.

  ‘I think as long as you are here she won’t come back. And it’s milk and three sugars for me,’ Queenie added as she left the room.

  One small lamp glowed in the corner of the room as the sisters huddled near the fire while they waited for Paul. Small puffs of steam was rising from the two pairs of shoes on the hearth as they slowly dried.

  ‘Are you feeling warmer now?’ he enquired as he entered the room.

  ‘Some,’ Queenie grunted, taking a cup from his hand.

  He carefully handed an overfull cup to Sybil and said diffidently, ‘I have been thinking, as your spells aren’t having any effect...’

  ‘Yes, they are!’ she snapped, eying him belligerently, ‘It
’s just that she is powerful enough to deflect them.’

  ‘Isn’t that what Paul is saying? That they are not working?’ Sybil said. ‘Just listen to him, dear.’

  Queenie pursed her lips and began vigorously stirring her tea. ‘Go on then,’ she ordered. ‘Tell us what you think! I’m sure you know more than I do!’

  In spite of himself his lips twitched and it was all he could do to stop laughing at the look of outrage on the old woman’s face.

  ‘Perhaps we should consider utilising the traditional methods of the church, there are certain prayers and of course exorcism,’ he faltered as he caught Queenie’s cold gaze. ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘And it’s a good one,’ sniffed Sybil, still shivering. ‘It’s no good Queenie; we have to consider other methods.’

  The clock ticked on the mantelpiece as Queenie pensively stared into the flickering fire.

  Paul held his breath expecting any minute a tirade to start against his suggestion, but the minutes ticked by in silence as she slowly sipped her tea, her enigmatic gaze fixed on the flames.

  She cleared her throat and quietly said, ‘You’re right, a different tack is needed. She swivelled around in her chair to look at the young man. ‘Don’t look so worried, I’m not going to bite your head off.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘For now anyway,’ she smiled, an ironic twist to her lips and held out her cup. ‘Any more tea in the pot?’

  He silently refilled her cup then with an enquiring look waved the pot in Sybil’s direction.

  But she was too distracted to notice and just blurted out, ‘Didn’t you think it was strange, the way she reacted to Paul and his prayers? After all how many of the witches we know give a fig for religion?’

  ‘I was thinking that myself,’ he said. ‘And she also speaks Latin. Wouldn’t that be unusual for a female in that era to receive schooling in the classics? The popular understanding is that ‘witches’ were poor and ignorant and came from the peasantry,’ he paused, suddenly mortified. ‘No insult to you of course.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Queenie said mildly, watching him over the rim of her cup. ‘Everybody knows that witches live in gingerbread houses in the middle of woods.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, feeling embarrassed, ‘it’s a bit strange that’s all.’ A strange rumbling came from Queenie and he looked at her in surprise. ‘What was that?’

  ‘That, young man, was my stomach rumbling, I’m hungry!’ She looked hopefully across at her sister. ‘I don’t suppose you have another chicken pie in your bag?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘There is nothing left to eat in that ramshackle kitchen of yours. The cupboards are bare.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’ said Queenie looking surprised. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Well, that settles it,’ said Paul briskly and stood up. ‘You’re coming back to the Vicarage with me. We have plenty of food, it’s warm and I will be much happier if you are both where I can keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Sit down Paul!’ ordered Queenie. ‘I have no intention of going anywhere!’

  ‘But you have no food and in this weather you can’t just pop out to the shops!’ he pointed out.

  She nodded. ‘You’re right but I am not going to leave that poppet here unguarded and I am certainly not going to take it anywhere near your daughters!’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Isn’t there somewhere safe we could put it for now?’

  ‘Such as?’ she asked dryly.

  ‘How about the church?’ suggested Sybil. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t step on sanctified ground.’

  They turned to look at Paul who was looking doubtful.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Queenie. ‘How about it?’

  He thought for a minute then slowly nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s the only logical place.’

  ‘As long as nobody finds it,’ warned Queenie.

  ‘They won’t, I’ll lock it in a cupboard in the vestry. I have the only key for it so it should be safe.’

  ‘Then that’s what we shall do,’ she said with decision. She leant forward and picked up her still damp shoes. ‘Come along Sybil, get your shoes on.’

  ‘And this time make sure you wear warm coats,’ suggested Paul. ‘It’s still snowing.’ He stared out the window at the falling flakes. ‘Shall I go and get my car or will you be able to manage in the snow?’

  ‘We are not that decrepit,’ muttered Queenie, lacing up her thick brogues. She stood and stamped, pushing her feet farther into the wet leather. ‘Hurry up dear.’

  ‘We’ll have something to eat and then we will have time to discuss what we are going to do,’ he said thankfully.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said noncommittally. ‘Come along Sybil! Get the coats.’

  He hesitated. ‘Can I also suggest you bring an overnight bag as well?’

  ‘We’re not staying that long,’ said Queenie firmly and scowled at her sister who was nodding at Paul’s suggestion.

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ she put in quickly. ‘Just in case.’

  The snow lay inches deep, no tyre tracks or footprints disturbed the crisp white covering and overhead the skies were still grey and heavy although the snow had momentarily eased allowing them to walk slowly and carefully up the hill towards the green.

  Sybil tightened her coat up around her neck and shivered. ‘Did they forecast this?’

  ‘Probably not,’ replied Queenie, grasping Paul’s steadying arm. He carried a small holdall in one hand while trying to help the two elderly women as they tottered along the icy pavements.

  ‘It’s supposed to thaw tomorrow,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Nonsense, this will be with us for days,’ Queenie answered crossly. She stood to one side as a group of children slithered past pulling a sledge. ‘At least they are enjoying it.’

  Just inside the gates of the churchyard a small snowman stood on guard and Paul chuckled when he spotted it. ‘Somebody has been busy.’

  ‘I wish they had made a bigger one,’ said Queenie ‘then they would have cleared the church door as well as the path.’

  The snow was banked high against the porch and Paul had to kick the snow out of the way before they could push the door open.

  He stamped his feet to dislodge the snow from his shoes before leading the way quickly to the rear of the church and unlocked the small door to the vestry.

  ‘I have a cupboard in here where I store my surplice and a few books so it will be perfect.’ He pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and selecting one opened the small wooden cupboard at the back of the room. Inside a white gown hung from a hook and a stack of bibles were piled on one of the shelves. He quickly cleared enough space and turned to Queenie who had just pulled the doll, wrapped in an old towel out of the holdall.

  ‘Are you sure about this Paul?’

  ‘Don’t you think this will work?’ he asked, suddenly looking anxious.

  ‘Yes. I’m sure it will,’ she smiled grimly. ‘I have never come across such an evil power as hers but I am sure she will not be able to enter this building.’

  ‘Then why are you worried?’

  ‘I was just concerned about you, allowing an object associated with witchcraft inside your church.’

  He silently took the doll and placed it on the shelf then closed and locked the door. Placing his hand on the door he quietly said a brief prayer then turned to face the sisters. ‘What better place?’ he said simply. ‘The Christian church should be a beacon against the wickedness of this world and the next.’

  ‘True,’ said Sybil then started at the sound of faint footsteps out in the main body of the church.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Who is that?’ muttered Queenie. ‘Go and look Paul,’ she ordered, pushing him towards the door.

  ‘Hello? Anybody here?’

  Paul cautiously peeked around the half open door, then relaxed.

  ‘Archie!’

  ‘Paul? I wondered who was in here.’ Fi
rm footsteps strode nearer and over Paul’s shoulder they could see an elderly white haired man coming down the aisle.

  He paused, startled to see the sisters standing behind the vicar. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely, a look of recognition crossed his face as he spotted Queenie. ‘Mrs Beresford!’ A slight smile flickered across his face.

  ‘Yes?’ she said frostily. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not for want of trying on my part. I have seen you many times around Fordington but up till now I haven’t managed to speak to you.’

  ‘Speak to me about what?’ she asked suspiciously.

  His glance flickered to Sybil and then back to Queenie. ‘This must be your sister, Sybil isn’t it?’

  Sybil nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  Queenie’s eyes narrowed and she gave him a dubious look. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ he said jovially. ‘But I saw the footprints in the snow and the door was open so I thought I had better check everything was okay.’

  ‘I was just showing my friends around the church,’ Paul said quickly. ‘Queenie has never been in here and she was keen to have a look.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you in here at last, Mrs Beresford. I was beginning to think you were avoiding the place.’

  ‘I try my best,’ she replied coolly.

  ‘That’s a shame, but I am sure you have your reasons,’ he continued, looking at her closely.

  She frowned, looking at his impassive expression. ‘It’s time we were going, Paul.’

  He nodded and stepped aside to usher them out of the door, he then firmly closed it ignoring Archie’s curious gaze and locked it.

  ‘You look worried Paul,’ he said quietly. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

  ‘Help?’ Paul said quickly. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shuffled his feet and looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Mrs Sheppard...’

  ‘Oh,’ said Paul, closing his eyes in exasperation. ‘I should have known she wouldn’t keep it quiet.’

  ‘I’m sure she was just trying to help.’

  Queenie snorted. ‘I doubt it, the old busybody.’ She looked at him coldly. ‘Thank you for the offer but there is nothing you can do to help.’