by James Rhodes
Gary looked up at the ceiling, even with the curtains closed it was obviously the middle of the day. Gary wondered how Shelley was able to sleep so well, and then he wondered what her bottom would look like if she didn't have pyjama bottoms on.
5.
Milton was wearing an apron, it was not (no matter what Dan said) a pinafore. The house looked perfect and since he was in the kitchen anyway, he thought he had earned himself a cup of tea.
Milton hadn't told Dan about the note asking about Reverend Proctor's diary because he hadn't told Dan about the diary at all. And he hadn't told Gary or Shelley that he was making them dinner and getting them drunk. He had phoned Carrie to invite her and that hadn't really gone to plan: She was in a meeting and said she would be over later to discuss something important. Milton didn't like the word important when it was used by Carrie because it was almost universally her short hand code for asking, “Can you sit quietly and listen whilst I complain to you at length about you.”
Dan walked in from the shop. He was wearing a rugby shirt that Milton had never seen before. Milton wondered where he had got it from, it fitted Dan properly so it had to be relatively new.
“Just getting a cup of tea and some biscuits squire,” said Dan.
He pulled at his forelock for emphasis.
“Knock it off,” sighed Milton.
“Yes sir.”
Dan pulled his body into military attention snapping his right arm up in salute.
“At ease soldier.”
“I'll be at ease when I'm good and ready thank you.”
Dan continued to salute. Milton took his apron off whilst he was waiting. Much to his surprise Dan was still stood in military attention.
“I wasn't in the army Dan, is there a magic word I have to say or something?”
Dan didn't answer.
“Dan,” shouted Milton.
Dan looked confused and dropped his hand.
“Are you alright?” Milton asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good, have we had any sales?”
“Only that twatty little bollocks who came in when you were there.”
“Paul?”
“Got it in one.”
“He's alright you know,” said Milton.
“Gary's murder of his brother seems to have done him the world of good.”
Milton was not going to have that argument again. He shot Dan a disapproving glance.
“Will you let it go Dan?”
“Everybody else seems to have,” Dan pouted.
“Yes including Paul, so stop it.”
Dan folded his arms.
7.
Carrie's car wound its way down the one road that led from Bridgeford to Hettford. A sign on the wood lined road read, “Welcome to Hettford.” She passed through the wooded row and down towards the shops. As she drove, Carrie noticed a figure at the side of the road. A tall man dressed entirely in grey robes, his face covered by a cowled hood.
Carrie slowed the car, unsure that she wasn't seeing things. The man did not look up. Carrie shook her head as she drove on but she accelerated a little until he was out of sight.
8.
Gary had been dreaming of the fire, he could never remember the dream only the flickering of flames against the back of his eyelids. Red fell on black over and over on his retinas; the smell of pine filled his nostrils. The heat of the room woke him and the brightness of sun through curtains tricked his eyes.
Gary had an erection that was painfully stiff, he felt himself pressing against the fabric of the bed sheets. He was greatly relieved that Shelley was not in the bed with him but he realised it was probably a side effect of seeping next to her so many times. So long as he didn't act on it when she was around, that was a liveable problem. Gary just needed to get it out of his system, one time with no thoughts of Alison to interrupt the fantasy. He reached down and touched himself: Rubbing up and down under the covers.
It was working, he was getting there. All he could see was Shelley's face...
The door opened with a creek.
“Are you awake?”
Gary sat up in the bed and bunched the quilt over his genitals. His face reddened as Shelley entered the room.
“Yeah, I'm pretty much up.”
Gary wondered if the sense of guilt and embarrassment he felt carried over in his voice.
“Good, I've been in the study. There's something wrong with the computer in there.”
Gary laughed. Casually, he hoped.
“I know it's about a hundred years old.”
“No, it's not that. Come and see,” said Shelley.
“Yeah, just give me a minute.”
Gary had not lost his erection but, after Shelley had left the room, he pulled his jeans over it so that it would be trapped pointing inconspicuously upward. Gary walked into the study, Shelley was typing on his ageing desktop computer.
“What's the problem?”
“It's this.”
Shelley pointed at the screen. It was entirely blank except for the phrase, “lord of thy utterance.”
“I don't get what the problem is,” said Gary.
“I didn't write that.”
“So delete it.”
“You try.”
Gary highlighted the text and pressed delete. The text did not shift.
“Which file is this?”
“It's all the files. I've tried every file I have, I've tried creating new files. It's on them all.”
“Is that going to affect your work? Do you have copies?”
“I back it all up online.”
“Well done you.”
Shelley did not look like she had taken the compliment.
“What do you think it is?”
“It's from Coleridge,” said Gary, “Christabel.”
“And you didn't put it there?”
“No.”
“What do you suggest I do?” Asked Shelley.
“Use your laptop from now on, this old thing is all full of curses... Malware Bytes doesn't cover that.”
“People should know about this,” Shelly told hum.
“Nothing that is captured electronically can be seen as proof. It's too easily tampered with.”
“Should we tell your friends?”
Gary chuckled.
“Those two pretty much view computers as witchcraft anyway, the combination of the two might kill them.”
Shelley looked wide eyed at Gary.
“We'll tell them when we go over to ask about the diary,” he told her.
9.
Occultivated was empty of everything except books and, of course, Milton and Dan. Milton was nursing a mug of tea. Dan was building a plastic model of a World War 2 Spitfire.
“I think the Spitfire is the only really British plane, don't you?” Dan asked.
“What about the Sopwith Camel.”
“The Sopwith Camel that Biggles used to fly?”
“Yes, that's the most British plane ever. It was a bit crap but it managed to do OK for itself. What's more British than that? The Spitfire is way too good to represent Britain.”
“Why don't we have any Biggles books?”
“Because Biggles isn't supernatural.”
“He is in the film. Anyway, I didn't mean in the shop, I just meant in general.”
“Because I've known you for nearly forty years and this is the first time you've expressed an interest in it. Where did you get that model anyway?”
“But surely you, a man of books, would have at least one Biggles novel.”
“I'm a man of books about witchcraft.”
“So?”
“So why would I own Biggles books?”
“Because you're an Englishman God damn it!”
“I've got the film on video somewhere,” Milton suggested.
“I suppose that will have to do.”
Dan slotted one of the wings into his Spitfire.
“So wh
at is it you've been trying to get in here to do today?”
“I wanted to stock check, we've sold a lot of books lately.”
“We've sold about ten,” said Dan.
“I know, great isn't it?”
“We'd sell more if you stocked Biggles.”
The shop bell rang. It was Carrie, Carrie wanted to look angry and hostile, just to set the tone of the coming conversation, but she was too bewildered by what she had just seen to get the look quite right.
“Hi honey,” offered Milton.
“Don't honey me, we need to talk about your chicken.”
“It's not a chicken, it's a rooster.”
“Sure,” said Carrie, “you can tell the difference.”
Dan snorted but didn't look up from his model.
“What about my chicken?” Milton asked.
“It's starting to stink, either get a car and start coming over to clean him. Or...”
“Here it comes,” said Dan.
“You'll have to take him back,” said Carrie.
Dan looked up from his model, to shoot Milton a glare of caution.
“That's fine,” said Milton.
“What?” said Dan.
“It's my rooster, it's not fair for Carrie to have to clean it.”
“Roosters don't lay eggs Milton, that thing is a demon.”
“It hasn't laid any eggs at my house,” said Carrie.
“See,” said Milton.
“I don't trust chickens.”
Dan's voice exploded with adamant conviction.
“I want nothing to do with this.”
“It wasn't the chicken's fault,” said Carrie.
“Yeah,” said Milton,
Dan folded his arms.
“We'll see,” he told them.
“Anyway,” Carrie said, “we might have a more serious concern.”
Carrie explained about the robed figure she had seen on her way into Hettford.
“That is more serious,” said Milton, “why didn't you tell me that straight away?”
“Because,” said Carrie, “the man in robes isn't sitting in my garden.”
10.
Shelley gripped Gary's arm tightly. He wasn't sure why she thought he could protect her from anything but he liked it. He had gotten a little too used to being with Alison, who thought he was crap at everything. Strolling along the Hettford main street with Shelley on his arm made him feel special. It also amused him to think it might add fuel to the rumour that they were married.
The reason that Shelley was concerned was because a shadowy figure had stepped out between two cars, nearly been knocked down by an oncoming car and then run away as fast as he could.
“What was that?”
Gary shrugged.
“Looked like a bloke wearing robes.”
“Isn't that kind of creepy?”
Gary shrugged.
“Well, I'm not about to ask him out if that's what you mean.”
“I mean,” said Shelley, “is it a witch thing?”
“You're the Ph.D. student, you tell me.”
Shelley thought about it.
“No, it's something else.”
“And you know what something else is right?”
Shelley shook her head.
“It's none of my business,” said Gary, “I'm not Buffy the blummin' Vampire Slayer and if I were I would limit myself to slaying vampires.”
Shelley looked irritated.
“Alison did tell me that you like to stick to the bare minimum.”
“If hunting witches is the bare minimum then that's correct.”
“So when exactly do you hunt them?”
“We hunted them together not three days ago.”
“And before that?”
“Look,” said Gary, “you only have to catch them once. History doesn't favour failed attempts. When George Stevenson created the first commercially successful locomotive people didn't ask how many times before he'd done it. It's about quality not quantity.”
“So when are you planning on catching your witch?”
“I'm not, I'm done with it. I need to get my priorities straight. I'm going to break the curse on me, get out of this shitty village and do something useful like advertising.”
“Good plan,” said Shelley, “but what if breaking the curse requires catching the witch?”
“Well that's what I'll do then.”
“That's pretty bad ass,” said Shelley, “Are you sure you're up to it?”
Gary didn't reply but he could feel his body strutting involuntarily.
11.
Milton had gone all out with the buffet, his living room table had a table cloth on it. Instead of a pile of books there was a mountain of sausage rolls, scotch eggs, crisps, some cooked meats and coleslaw. Dan's plate was already full to the point of him having to play a delicate game of food Jenga in order to eat. Carrie was sipping a glass of wine and Milton, in an apron, was fussing over everyone. Just one of the food items was enough for Gary, he wasn't convinced his stomach would ever expand again.
“Are you sure you won't have a drink?” Milton asked him.
“I've got work again tonight.”
“How about you Shelley?”
Milton waved a bottle of wine at Shelley.
“I've got work every night,” said Shelley, “which is why we're here actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions about the diary.”
“Are you sure you won't have just one, Gary?”
“Yes, I struggle to keep awake at work as it is. It's a long, boring and depressing shift to face with a depressant coursing through your veins.”
“Hey, Carrie why don't you tell them about Roaster?”
Carrie shrugged.
“Milton's chicken stinks, it's like having a, an, I don't know what, in your garden.”
“A faecal bum parade,” suggested Dan.
“A diarrhoea swimming pool,” suggested Gary.
“Yes,” agreed Carrie, “it's like living inside of one of Little Richard's home videos.”
“Nice,” Shelley was the only one who seemed to get the reference.
“All the scat's gone a dancing...” Shelley sang.
“Sweet Little Sixteen was Chuck Berry,” Dan corrected.
“What did Chuck Berry do?” Shelley asked.
“He sang Sweet Little Sixteen.”
Satisfied that everything was going well, Milton took off his apron.
“So, I'm glad I've got you two over,” said Milton, “I wanted to talk about the hunt.”
“Can we talk about the diary first?” Shelley asked.
“Good,” said Gary, “here's the deal: I'd done with this stupid village and I'm done with witch hunting. The bastard of it is, until this curse gets lifted I can't stop being here or worrying about bloody witches.”
“What I was going to say was,” Milton continued.
“So,” said Gary, “I'm going to get them, soon. Dan's stupid milk thing seemed to work. What's the one day of the year when negative forces are at their weakest?”
Everyone in the room looked at Gary, bewildered by his sudden change in personality.
“Mid Summer's Day,” he continued, “that's when we're getting them.”
“That's only a month away,” Milton protested, “we can't possibly be ready in time.”
“Why not?” Barked Dan.
“It's about time for some decisive bloody action, we kill the witches and we can all get on with our lives. You can sell your Narnia books and play house, Carrie can move in because I know that's inevitable, Gary can do whatever the hell it is he's planning to do.”
“Teaching,” interjected Gary.
“And I can kill myself with food.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Gary.
“Likewise.”
Dan's face was the reddest it had ever been; not blood red, coal red or crimson red, it was heart attack red.
“Well let's not be too hasty.”
Milton's voice was as soft as melted butter, he looked to Carrie for support.
“I'm with them,” she told him.
“And you?”
Milton's eyes fell on his last potential ally, Shelley.
“I'd like to ask you a few questions about this diary,” said Shelley.
Milton felt the walls closing in around him.
“Hang on, I think the pizzas are burning,” he said.
12.
Gary stared out at the road through the rain dusted glass window of Ron's All Night Garage. There was no one outside. Gary wondered why Ron bothered to keep it open. The hours ticked by, on his way back from Milton's unexpected buffet Gary had promised Shelley he would have a quiet word with his friend about the diary. He was lonely on his own at the garage, what had changed there? He used to enjoy the peace and quiet.
The headlights of a car bumped into the forecourt. Gary's spirit dropped even further as he saw his former English teacher get out of the car. She didn't get petrol, just dropped her car in the forecourt and walked into the shop.
Gary arranged his features into a semblance of sheepish contrition.
“Hi,” he said.
“Oh Gary, good,” said Mrs Fuller.
She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Do you have any tampons left here?”
Gary glanced across to the empty hygiene rack. He checked the back of the shop.
“None sorry, we usually have loads.”
“There seems to be a rush on this week.”
“Sorry,” said Gary.
“It's not your fault,” said Joan.
“I mean about Easter, I was out of order. I've been thinking a lot since I got back to work and I've come to realise that the bad things that happen to me only happen because I give up to easily.”
“It's really not a problem Gary.”
“Do you think I could do some volunteer work at your school?”
“What do you mean?”
“I've been looking into teaching courses and you need school experience to do most of them and, even more unrealistically, a credit rating. I thought I'd fix the one I can do something about.”
“I'll see what I can do,” said Joan, “definitely. How's Alison?”
“Gone,” said Gary.
“I heard something about you getting married?”
Gary guffawed.
“No, I'm living with Alison's cousin but we're not like...”
“You and Julie?”
“Yes, though neither are me and Julie for the record.”
Mrs Fuller took a deep breath.
“I there's one thing I've learned in life Gary, it's gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”
