by James Rhodes
12.
Gary, Milton and Shelley sat at the kitchen table. Shelley leaned into her cup of tea as if it were the hearth of a wood fire. Her shoulders relaxed into her bended elbows. Milton sat back, leaning his mug on his belly as if it were a shelf. Gary sat up straight, one finger moving the handle of the mug sideways and back in a constant drumming rhythm. Milton thought it would probably be best if he broke the silence:
“So Gary tells me you're into witchcraft,”
The look Shelley gave Milton was cold enough to shrivel the testicles of the sun.
“I study agrarian cults and document their persecution,” Shelley responded, “As you probably know, the last official execution of a witch in Britain is thought to have taken place in the mid 18th century, yet there is a good amount of anecdotal evidence to suggest that your Bellows sisters were killed in the 18thCentury. I'd like to prove that as part of my thesis.”
Milton thinned his lips.
“I have an excellent library on the subject if you're interested.”
Shelley brightened up.
“I'm no scholar like Gary though,” Milton added quickly, “he'd be the man to show you around it.”
Shelley turned to Gary.
“Oh, I think Gary can help me out a lot.”
Gary tried not to turn red but he could feel the blood galloping towards his face. At a loss for words he smacked his lips inaudibly. His face brightened a further shade. Too embarrassed to even hang his head Gary attempted a subject change.
“You don't believe that witchcraft is real then?”
Shelley shook her head.
“I can see the appeal of it, who doesn't want control over the environment? But the truth is that if people could really do it then everyone would.”
“Only women can do it and the eighth son of an eight son,” Milton told her.
“How convenient for you men, the only ones getting hung are women and incredibly improbable men.”
“Except that the Bellows were burned,” Gary said.
“Really?” Shelley asked, “That is interesting, if we can prove that then my Ph.D. is in the bag. Is it really true that you boys have a witch hunting club?”
Milton smiled.
“It's really more of a team than a club: there are only four of us and it's more of a calling than a hobby.”
“You Gary and..?”
“My friend Dan and my girlfriend Carrie.”
“Oooh, cool,” said Shelley, “I'd like to meet her. Can you bring her over tonight; we'd make a pretty cosy foursome.”
Gary visibly shuddered.
“That sounds nice,” said Milton, “how about we all go to the pub? I'm buying.”
Gary gave Milton the sternest glare he could without looking upset in front of Shelley.
“Lovely, but I need to eat dinner first” said Carrie, “so will you join us?”
Gary couldn't glare hard enough to dampen Milton's smile.
“Why yes, we'd be delighted.”
Milton folded his hands together in satisfaction.
13.
Dan walked cautiously to the fifth lunch box. He was no longer convinced that the whole thing was an elaborate ruse but for reasons he could no longer fathom himself he felt drawn to the fifth bottle. The very second that he had shaken the iron filings out of the fourth bottle, Dan’s curiosity had began to run rampant, over-running but not dismissing the sensation he had the whole thing was an act of witchcraft. He had brought protection, no ammunition to speak of, but enough protection to keep him safe.
Dan inventoried his findings in his head to try to prepare himself for what was coming. He had found mud, water, nothing and iron. Earth, water, nothing and metal: It was hardly the complete set. Unless the third bottle was intended to represent air; in which case Dan realised he was out of his mind going to check the fifth. Still, he wasn’t going to open it without protection, if the witches were trying to trap him he was going to turn it around on them.
In the middle of the dirt path sat the fifth bottle. Dan's lack of faith in Milton did not extend as far as believing he was the one who had left it there. Dan took out his protection, a can of blue spray paint, and drew a magic circle. It was an irregular magic circle but it was close enough: So long as all the lines were connected and didn’t have any corners. Dan painted out a number of symbols he had learned from Karzwell’s History of the Craft, to protect against any witch. It had taken Dan a full three months to master the symbols back in the early days when it was just him and Milton. He practiced them once a month to make sure he never lost his touch with them. Keeping to a strict mnemonic system: The first symbol looked like a banana and a fork, the second one was a hybrid of the number 3 and a letter k and the third symbol was a circle so that one was easy. The fourth symbol was a circle and a line (or a man with no arms and legs as Dan preferred to think of it) and the fifth symbol was the most powerful of all, it was a letter p for powerful.
Dan drew a second circle around the symbols for additional protection. Glancing around to make sure there was nobody watching, Dan took the bottle out of the lunch box and untwisted the cap...
14.
Dan had left the kitchen messy, there was a milk spill all over the sideboard. Milton picked up the note that Dan had left him in the kitchen. When his eyes reached, “Death to traitors,” Milton smiled to himself and shook his head ever so slightly. He called up the stairs:
“Hey Dan, are you in?”
When Dan didn't answer Milton opened the fridge and reached for the scotch eggs he had put inside it a day before. His hand wavered over them and he decided to save his appetite for dinner. He wasn't sure why but he had a good feeling about Shelley, it seemed important to him that he helped push Gary towards her. It felt like years since he had last seen Gary cheerful. Milton picked up his phone and dialled Carrie's number.
“Hey Carrie, do you have any plans for tonight?”
Carrie told him that she didn't, adding that he knew full well that she didn't and cautioning him not to ask stupid questions.
“Good, would you mind having dinner with me Gary and his new house mate?”
Milton paused to listen to Carrie's response.
“No, her name is Shelley.”
He paused again.
“Not as pretty as you.”
Carrie accepted the compliment with commensurate sincerity and then asked a second question.
“No, I think Dan might like some time to himself tonight. I'll see you at 5?”
In a gleeful haze at the prospect of a night out without Dan, Milton wandered upstairs to shower. He was going to have to dig out one of his ironed shirts from the back of the wardrobe.
15.
Secure in his circle, Dan pulled the fifth bottle out of the lunch box. The bottle was cold to the touch, a quick shake showed it to be filled with liquid. The liquid smelled like rusted iron.
Holding out his hand, Dan tipped the liquid into the palm of his hand. The liquid steamed as it fell out of the bottle, it had not absorbed any of the bottle’s chill. The blood was warm to the touch, body temperature. Dan stared at it in disbelief. The wind blew a cloud in front of the sun and the woods dropped in temperature. Dan felt eyes behind him.
“Proctor, in silvam non somni.”
It was only the husk of whisper but Dan knew the Latin phrase well enough. On hearing his surname, Dan turned a second time, this time he caught a movement in the bushes, the black shape of a crow descended from a tree. Another whisper sounded from behind Dan:
“Proctor, the hunter: lost in the woods. Run Proctor, run.”
Dan sat down and crossed his legs. There was just about enough room in the circle for him to sit comfortably. He reached into his pocket and took out a chocolate biscuit bar, the type with four fingers. It was not the official brand but a less expensive equivalent made by a company with a decent human rights record.
“I’ve brought six of these,” said Dan
, “so you two better be ready for the long haul.”
With that, Dan reached for the milk bottle he had brought; intending to dunk his biscuit finger into. As he unscrewed it he was immediately struck with the repulsive stench of soured milk. Dan laughed.
“It works,” he shouted, “I bloody knew it!”
Satisfied that he had proven his point, Dan took a deep breath and wondered how long it would be until Milton came looking for him.
Episode Three: A Conspiracy of Ravens
1.
It began to rain; Dan looked up at the sky as if to tell it that it had let him down for the last time. He was already cold and now he would be wet. He fixed a grin on his face to cover up the stark sense of abandonment he was feeling. Dan had snapped his last biscuit finger an hour before, it was coming up on four o’clock which meant that he had been stuck there for three hours. The shapes in the woods continued to shift and fade. Whenever the movement died down for more than ten minutes, Dan would shift his crossed legs to move. Then, a sudden twig crack, a rustle of bushes or the movement of a shadow would quickly convince him to put his legs back down and stare straight ahead. He was convinced they were only doing it to torture him.
“Are you frightened, Proctor?”
The words were a chuckling rasp, a crow song of malice.
“No,” he told the voice, “but if you could get me another couple of biscuits that would be great.”
“Proctor, Proctor, son of a corpse.”
Dan’s cheeks flared with anger, he bit back his response.
“Bellows, Bellows, Satan's bedfellows.””
Dan reddened further, it was not the bright flush of cheeks that he got when he argued with Milton; what Dan would call “a healthy glow.” It was the aggressive crimson of an infected spot. The blood rushed up his spine and then fell down over his face leaving two patches of clear skin beneath each of his eyes.
“My line did for you,” Dan spoke quietly, “Don’t ever forget it.”
All the trees around him began to shake, the syncopated avian chatter of laughter accompanying the cacophony of colliding branches and air shifting leaves. Dan began to sing to cover up the noise.
“Whoah, here she comes,” his lungs ached with the volume that he sang at. His voice breaking as he hit the higher notes.
“Watch out boy she’ll chew you up….”
After three busts of the classic Hall and Oates chorus the leaves fell silent, there was no audible birdsong, not shifting of branches in the wind, just the gentle metronome of rainfall. A low layer of mist began to form: hanging over the softening mud. Dan looked at his magic circle; it was only going to keep him safe until the mud was damp enough to begin shifting.
2.
Carrie was sat at the end of Milton’s bed, her back turned to him, applying make-up in the mirror. Carrie was not wearing a shirt, she hadn't decided which one to put on. She had been talking to Milton but she had the feeling that Milton wasn’t properly listening to her because he was staring at her breasts in the mirror. She continued to question him about the night out he'd planned:
“Well what kind of place is it?”
Milton took about two seconds to register the question. Carrie gave him a look that suggested she was losing her patience.
“I told you, it’s at Gary’s house.”
“So I don’t need to dress up?”
“No, Gary’s house, then the pub. Nothing Fancy.”
“What’s Gary’s new girlfriend like?”
“Skinny, and she’s not his girlfriend.”
Carrie applied some lipstick.
“Skinny like Shakira or skinny like Skeletor?”
“More like Skeletor because he was quite muscular. She looks a bit like Karen Carpenter might have if she’d done a lot of press ups.”
“So she’s attractive then.”
Milton shook his head vigorously.
“No, no, not at all. She is pretty, but she’s not my cup of tea. She’s got one of those noses.”
“And you prefer a woman with a missing proboscis?”
“No, you know the type. Really narrow but with a round bit at the tip, like a gear stick.”
Carrie laughed.
“Thanks, I won’t be able to get that image out of my head.”
Carrie stood up and turned to Milton. Her jeans hung low and one of her hip bones was showing.
“How do I look?”
“Are you going to put a top on?”
“Yes.”
“Shame.”
Carrie raised her eyebrows and talked slowly.
“Does my make up look OK?”
Milton nodded emphatically.
Carrie opened the bedroom cupboard and pulled out a Chinese silk top that was an explosion of red and green birds rendered in silk. Milton internally chastised himself for how hard he stared at her whilst she put it on. He forced his track of thought to something besides Carrie.
“You didn’t see Dan on your drive here did you?”
“No.”
“I wonder where he is.”
“I told you, you should have waited for him. He’ll just be sulking, what time did he leave?”
“I left with you and then went to Gary’s at Eleven-ish. I got back at Two-ish.”
“So if he set off at half one, he’d be there and back by when?”
“Half three.”
“So he’s only half an hour late?”
“Yes.”
“Relax then, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“OK, but I think we need a new Hunt rule that you’re not allowed to go to the woods on your own.”
“You broke that one yourself, only a few hours ago.”
“Exactly and I think we should put a stop to me. I’m setting a bad example.”
Carrie stood up and picked a silk blouse out of the wardrobe.
“No, you're just a bad friend,” she quipped.
Milton's face dropped, the worry was beginning to well up inside him.
“I'm only joking,” said Carrie.
Milton nodded. There was nothing else he could think to say.
3.
At the Discount News Newsagents Paul was having something of a dilemma. An irate elderly lady was waving an empty plastic lemonade bottle at him.
“I’ve brought this back,” she said, “What can I get for it?”
“What?” Paul asked her.
“This,” said the old lady.
“No, I mean, what do you mean?”
“I mean, what can I get for it?”
“Nowt,” said Paul.
“Nowt? What about my bottle deposit?”
“What?”
“I said,” the old woman raised her voice "the deposit money.”
“But what deposit money?”
“When you buy a bottle of lemonade, “what about my bottle deposit?”
“I don’t know,” said Paul, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I bring back the bottle and you give me some of the money is put aside as a deposit for you to return so the lemonade company can reuse the bottle.”
Paul glanced quickly around the room; Tajel was nowhere to be seen.
“We don’t do that here, sorry.”
The old lady put the bottle up on the counter.
“Where’s that Maori girl that used to work here?”
The old lady’s voice was filled with disdain. She leaned forward on the counter, some of her lipstick was on her teeth; greasy red stains.
“Who?” Paul asked her.
“The Maori, the Aborigine, the, you know, the Kiwi?”
Paul did know, the old lady was talking about Carrie.
“She hasn’t worked here for months,” he told her.
“Well, I liked her better than you, she might be a darky but at least she isn’t thick.”
“Alison is white,” Paul told the old lady.
“Shows what you know,” said the old lady, “you
big stupid oaf.”
“Is there anything else you’d like besides the bottle?”
“I’ll be putting in a complaint,” said the old lady.
Paul watched her in amazement as she turned without waiting for a reply and marched out of the Newsagents with the pomp of a majorette.
4.
Shelley opened the door, Milton and his girlfriend stood there both smiling. Shelley was pleased to notice that they were both wearing walking boots. She greeted her guests with a guarded smile.
“Hi, come in,” said Shelley, “I’m afraid dinner’s nowhere near ready. I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.”
Milton introduced Carrie and there was the obligatory exchange of pleasantries.
“That’s OK,” said Milton, “We were wondering if we could grab Gary for half an hour before dinner anyway.”
Shelley turned and called over her shoulder.
“Gary, it’s for you.”
Within seconds Gary’s face appeared behind Shelley between the two of them, there was not enough meat to make a sandwich.
“Sorry for the short notice but Dan’s missing in the woods. We’re just going to do a quick sweep so that we can relax before dinner.”
Gary’s face darkened.
“I’ll get my stuff.”
Gary quickly ran up the stairs leaving Shelley stood in the open doorway.
“Is this one of your witch hunting things?” Shelly asked.
Milton nodded.
“Yes, we promise we won’t take long. Carrie’s going to drive to the woods so it should only take about forty minutes.”
“No worries, it’ll be about ninety minutes for the food.”
Milton exaggerated the relief in his face.
“Good job, loads of time then.”
“I’m doing a casserole, it’s in the oven.”
“Best place for it,” said Milton.
“I don’t have much else to do.”
“Would you like to come?” Carrie asked.
Shelley’s face lit up.
“I’ll just get my stuff.”
Shelley ran up the stairs leaving the doorway open. Milton looked reproachfully at Carrie.
