by James Rhodes
“She’s not an official member, she hasn’t been tested.”
“We can split up now, cover more ground.”
“I suppose so.”
“Stop being a grump, you’re getting as bad as Dan.”
“And you, you’re getting as bad as…”
“You?”
Milton chuckled.
“Yes, stop flaunting the rules like I do.”
Carrie stamped on Milton’s foot which he correctly assumed to mean both “no” and “kindly refrain from giving me instructions.” He nudged Carrie in the ribs which she correctly assumed to mean, “That’s all fine.”
Gary came down the stairs with a small back pack on and Shelley came down with an electronic voice recorder and a camera. They piled into Carrie’s car; Milton took the front seat next to Carrie, to give Gary the opportunity to make a move on Shelley. The thought did occur to Milton that as, Gary now lived with Shelley, Gary would have all the opportunities he needed to make his move but Milton knew Gary was a procrastinator and probably wouldn’t unless someone gave him a push.
5.
As the car made the two mile journey to the woods the weather turned dramatically. It was raining and foggy.
“What do you think of the weather Gary?” Milton asked.
“I don’t like it.”
“Who does?” Shelley asked, “Still it’s only a bit of wet.”
Nobody in the car responded to the comment. Carrie pulled up to the side of the road and they disembarked from the car. As they opened their doors and stepped out, each of them noticed a dark figure step out from the trees. They all paused whilst the figure approached.
“Oh bloody hell, not you lot.”
Reginald was holding his rifle under one arm. The barrel was not cocked but the metal of it shined with dark menace; from his other hand hung a clutch of dead rabbits, their paws bound together.
“Hello Reg,” called Gary, “have you seen Dan about?”
“The fat one?”
Milton and Gary nodded.
“Not a sign of him.”
“Well, nice seeing you,” said Gary.
Reginald’s eyes moved from Gary and fixed on Milton.
“How’s that hen of mine doing?”
Milton opened his mouth and then thought better of giving the reply that came to mind.
“Best alarm clock I ever had,” said Milton.
“Still a good layer?” Reginald asked.
“No, not really.”
“Well, that’s the problem with hens: early menopause.”
Reginald winked at Gary. Gary bit his lip to suppress a giggle. The secret of Milton’s eggs had kept Gary fed for a brief while and, as there was no danger to Milton, Gary didn’t have any problem with keeping it a secret. It was quite funny.
“Shall we get going?” Milton asked.
Carrie grabbed Milton’s arm and they began walking into the woods within a few steps they were on the main path.
“This path circles the perimeter of the woods. It will be the way that Dan went,” Milton said.
“It’ll be faster if we split up,” said Carrie, “Gary, you’ll make sure Shelley is safe right.”
Shelley chuckled.
“You lot really take this seriously don’t you?”
“We do,” said Carrie, “but you don’t have to. Just make sure you stay with Gary and don’t get lost.”
Shelley saluted with her left hand, her little finger tucked under her thumb in the fashion of the scouting movement.
“You got it Akela.”
Carrie smiled.
“We’ll see you in the middle.”
6.
Dan’s legs were really beginning to hurt. The pins and needles he had in his calves had briefly dissipated into a sense of numbness but, paranoid that they would stop working, Dan had been tensing the muscles to maintain blood flow and he was suffering for it. Since the shaking of the bushes had subsided there had only been one sound: A long creak and then a loud snap. There was no pattern to the noises, the creaks all took different lengths of time but the snaps consistently made Dan blink and shuddered in the manner of a dog attempting to watch fireworks.
“You won’t get me,” Dan told the still air, “I’m not going for it.”
He tensed his leg muscles again and the prickling under his skin became even worse.
“I’m standing up now but I want you to know that it’s only because my legs are falling asleep. Once I’ve stretched them, I’ll be sitting back down for another jolly rest.”
Dan gave the witches a few seconds to respond; there was a loud creak and a snap: Then, the sound of rustling. Dan put the palm of his hands down onto the damp mud; it took all of his concentration to position them where they wouldn’t spread mud onto the magic circle. He adjusted his legs to a squat and groaned his way to standing. He shook his legs out. Now that he was stood up, he didn't fancy the job of sitting back down again.
Dan looked at his watch.
“Well, it looks like I’ve already missed Countdown,” he shouted, “so time is no longer on your side Ruth.”
The only sounds to answer him were a long loud creak and an abrupt percussion of snap. Now that he was stood up, Dan began to realise just how full his bladder was.
7.
“Bloody hell,” Paul muttered to himself.”
Tajel appeared at the door behind the till.
“The old lady was calling me thick again.”
“She doesn’t like you.”
Tajel’s voice was matter of fact, part of Paul was expecting her to step closer and say, “I don’t like you either.” Instead she added.
“A lot of the locals don’t recognise you now your hair has grown back.”
“Should I cut it again?”
Tajel held up her fingers as if she were making a photo frame, like film directors do on the telly.
“Definitely not, you look almost presentable now.”
“Am I stupid?”
“No,” Tajel let the vowel ring out to highlight the preposterousness of Paul’s question.
“But you wouldn’t say I was clever though, would you?”
Tajel considered the question; she twisted her hair in her fingers as she pontificated.
“Erm…” she said.
Gary’s face lit up, waiting for the answer.
“Hmmm,” Tajel added.
“Well?”
“You’re definitely not stupid.”
“Was Alison better than me?”
“Yes but she was a lot smarter than you.”
“I knew it.”
Paul’s head dropped, forlorn.
“But I like you anyway,” Tajel added.
`“I’m not as smart as Alison either, yet.”
“But you’re smarter than me?” Paul suggested.
“Uh, yes. But I’m not as big and strong.”
Tajel’s voice had an airy dismissive nature to it that crawled under Paul’s skin, jumped into his blood stream and then viciously strangled his heart.
“If I read more, do you think I’d get smarter?”
“Well, let’s put it this way Paul, I don’t think it will make you any stupider.”
Tajel smile raised her already high cheek bones and made her nose scrunch up. The part of Paul that was angry at the remark took an immediate back seat to the part of Paul that loved to see Tajel smile.
8.
Once they were under the cover of the trees the rain felt more like drizzle. Nonetheless, Milton’s hair had glued itself to his forehead. Carrie had fished an umbrella out of her handbag, the sort that springs open when you press a button and was keeping sensibly dry. Milton didn’t like umbrellas; he found the ordeal of keeping them over his head more trying than simply getting wet was. If you had given Milton a few parcels to carry, the two of them would not have looked unlike Lucy and Mr. Tumnus on their way for tea; except, of course, without the implied themes of child abduction and paedophilia.
“So Shelley?” said Carrie.
“Yes,” said Milton.
“She is very, very thin. You’re right about her nose too.”
“I know.”
“She’s a lot different from Alison,” noted Carrie, “she’s not as nice for a start.”
“I don’t think she’s unpleasant.”
“Then how would you describe her?”
“Erm,” Milton thought hard, "quirky. I don’t think she normally spends a lot of time around other people.”
“Well that would explain why she thinks doing a Ph.D. in History is a good idea.”
“Indeed.”
“And what’s with the get up? She looks like that boob lady from video games.”
Milton shrugged.
“Samantha Fox?” he suggested.
Carrie chuckled.
“Samantha Fox, of Sam Fox’s Strip Poker?” Carrie asked, “Are you really that stuck in the past?”
“I had it on the Commodore 64. Never did get her top off.”
“No, the other boob lady, the one that people under forty have heard of.”
Milton shrugged.
“Pamela Anderson? I think you’re straining for a comparison, Shelley’s got more of a kind of petite thing going on.”
“I’m not talking about the size of her boobs; I’m saying she dresses like the boob lady.”
“I wish there was a boob lady,” mused Milton, “flashing her boobs for everyone.”
“There are plenty of boob ladies, you pig. I meant the one from the video game. You know, that woman who had sex with her brother played her in the film version.”
“Marie Osbourne?”
“Oh, forget it.”
“Look,” said Milton, “Don’t be mad at me because you don’t know who the boob lady is.”
“You’re a man; you should know who the boob lady is. Don’t you read FHM or Nuts or anything?”
“God no, I only have eyes for one lady’s breasts and they happen to be attached to the best lady in the world.”
“Sam Fox?”
“No, you, dummy.”
Milton poked Carrie in the ribs for emphasis. Carrie ignored the gesture.
“She’s definitely interested in Gary,” said Carrie, “how much nudging do you think he’ll take?”
“He’s been living like Diogenes for last six months; I would think he’d be a push over.”
“I can’t believe you know who Diogenes is but you don't know who Lara Croft is?”
“Who the hell is Lara Croft?
“She’s the boob lady?”
“And Carrie looks like her?”
“No, she dresses like her.”
“Same difference.”
“Erm, not really. Are you saying that if Dan put my clothes on you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart?”
“I think the beard would give it away.”
“Gary then?”
“You’ve got a point, there is a bit of a height difference.”
Carrie opened her mouth to respond but seeing Milton’s smile decided not to rise to it.
“You have rain dripping from your nose,” she told him.
9.
There was a hole in Gary’s trainers but it made little difference, the soft material they were made out of had been saturated within a few minutes. Gary was treading carefully so that the vacuum of wet mulch didn’t pull his fragile footwear apart. It was, after all, his last pair of shoes that were still intact.
Shelley on the other hand was walking at a bouncy canine trot, her feet only touching the ground for a fraction of a second and then lifting up, the faster and more enthusiastically she moved the more Gary began to panic about having to spend the future walking bare foot like a hobbit. Then the solution struck him and he took off his shoes and knotted the laces in the middle.
“Slow down,” he called.
Shelley turned to see Gary with his trainers hanging around his neck like a double pendant.
“What’s with the shoes?”
“I’m a huge fan of nature, nothing like the soft feel of earth between your toes,” Gary lied.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll step on something dangerous?”
“Like what?”
“Broken glass, or a hypodermic syringe?”
“A hypodermic syringe? In Hettford? A sharp stone maybe, perhaps a pointy twig but that’s about the limit.”
“You could still cut your foot.”
“In these woods, that’s the least of my worries.”
“What? You scared the scary witches will get you?”
Shelley waved her hands in what could best be described as a 'witchy fingers' motion, wriggling each finger and hunching over like a cartoon crone.
“Yes.”
Gary’s response was measured and flat. He intended to kill all humour in the situation. Shelley threw back her head and did what could best be described as a witchy laugh. She started to walk towards Gary with her fingers still wriggling.
“Come on we’ve got to look for Dan.”
Shelley ignored him and continued walking forwards. Gary fixed his gaze, front facing and stern. When Shelley got close enough she tickled Gary’s stomach with her witchy fingers. Gary’s entire body went into spasm. He didn’t have enough subcutaneous fat to ward off the sensation of being tickled and it was a long time since a woman had touched him by surprise. Gary made his face even sterner.
“Quit it,” he said.
“You’re no fun,” said Shelley, “Alison said you were fun.”
“Alison can’t stand me.”
“Maybe not but she does say you’re good fun when you’re not all sulky.”
“Great,” said Gary.
“Can you climb trees?” Alison asked.
Without waiting for an answer, Alison ran up to a nearby oak, jumped up and caught the limb of one of its branches in both hands. With gymnastic grace Alison snaked her way to the top of the tree. Gary stood at the bottom looking up at her.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for Dan.”
Shelley raised her hand to form a makeshift microphone.
“Dan, Dan, Daaaaaan,” she called.
Both Gary and Shelley strained their ears to listen for a response.
10.
The creaking was no longer intermittent; it had become one long constant creak. Dan was still standing; the paint of his magic circle was beginning to fade, the rain water splashing it with mud. Dan was gearing himself up to make a dash for it but then he heard the voice calling, “Dan.” He didn’t recognise the voice but it was far away so it might just have been distorted. Also, it was a woman so there was a chance it was Carrie. If it wasn’t then it was a witch so the best plan was to stay put until someone showed up. He had called back, “I’m here.” Then every few seconds he had been shouted, “Hello.” But whoever was shouting him seemed to be taking their time.
Dan was about to bite back his pride. There is a popular misconception that 'sorry is the hardest word' but for Dan the hardest word was help. With Dan it wasn’t just a call for assistance or an acknowledgement that some situations are too much for one person to handle. For Dan, the word “help” was an admission of inferiority, a public declaration that he was not up to the job and he wasn’t about to shout it at his best friend’s girlfriend.
The creaking reached crescendo, the sound that followed was not the quick snap of wood fracturing but rather the long drawn out cacophony of multiple simultaneous snaps. Dan craned his neck to look for the source of the sound. In the far point of his periphery he saw the tree moving, a vast heavy oak. Dan turned and as he did so his feet churned the mud and broke the magic circle. Throwing his body to one side, he rolled. The main bulk of the tree fell exactly on the spot he had circled in paint. The branches of the tree fell on top Dan, winding him and trapping in him in a web of hard slaps.
Dan managed to roll onto his back. The sharp point of a branch
felt like an overzealous bee with an unlimited supply of sting. The branches held pressure against him but not so much that he couldn’t work his way out in a few minutes.
Two dark figures stepped out of the shadows. Long black robes obscured their figure but their round shoulders were hunched. On the top of each of the figure’s robes was the night black head of a raven. Beaks as long as a human arm reached to a point as narrow and sharp as a carving knife. Dan pushed the weight of his body and felt fabric and skin snag and rip on the branches beneath him. Finally, with the choking panic of imminent death, Dan screamed for help.
The witches continued forwards in prolonged and relished steps.
11.
“This way.”
Shelley was still well in the lead. Shelley and Gary had heard the crash of a tree falling and were following the noise. Shelley cornered a small path; her eyes fell on the two raven heads glowering with dismissive cruelty. They perched over the writhing figure of a rotund man, whose face was an aggravated crimson. Shelley felt her breath leave her body. She took a step forward but the effort winded her with an acuteness that running alone could not have accomplished. Shelly gaped in disbelief at the shapes of the two witches.
One of the figures reached into the sleeve of her long black robe and pulled out a thin bladed sickle. The other figure held both her hands over Dan. Dan stopped struggling against the branches, stopped moving altogether. The sickle moved towards Dan’s throat.
“No,” muttered Shelley.
Shelley could not find the breath to protest, she barely had enough air to stay standing. Her vision began to blue around the edges.
“Stop.”
The new voice was final and definite. Gary did not stop running; his plan was to throw himself at the witch. He knew it wouldn’t have much affect but it was better than doing nothing. In his periphery Shelley’s face was a sickly green, ahead of him Dan was seconds from death.
Gary took two bounding paces; long beaks glistened in the damp air. Black eyes like drops of oil fixed on him. Their beaks hissed a primeval rasp of hatred. Gary did not stop moving forward. He clenched his fists and readied himself for a useless strike.
The witches turned all their attention on Gary raising their arms so that their black robes hung like wings. Dan turned his head to face Gary. Gary raced onwards ready for his strike. The tangle of branches on the fallen tree did nothing to slow his charge.
