by Davies, Neil
The anger grew within Katrina, anger and frustration at how easily he had resisted her glamour. But she had other powers.
“I’m not interested in joining whatever sick little game you’re all playing here Katrina,” he said. “I came here because of what people were telling me about you. I refused to believe it. I refused to accept that you could be as evil as they said. But now I see that you are exactly what they said you are.”
“And what’s that Tim?” said Katrina, smiling again, stepping closer to him slowly, reaching out with her hand.
“The Village Witch.”
Katrina laughed.
“Of course I’m the Village Witch. But that’s just a title handed down from generation to generation. I am much more than just another Village Witch. I am the one chosen by Aello. I am the first one strong enough to bring her back to life. I’m no mere witch Tim. I’m more akin to a god than a witch, and I have the power over life and death!”
She reached him, placed her hand above his heart and leant close, whispering in his ear.
“I think it’s time your heart stopped beating, don’t you Tim? I think it’s time you joined your parents.”
Tim felt a sharp pain in his chest and, for one terrifying moment, his heart seemed to flutter. But then his belief in science, his stubborn scepticism and the sheer strength of a mind trained by combat and meditation mocked his moment of self-doubt, his fleeting moment of fear. She could not stop his heart by placing her hand on his chest and telling him she would. It was simply not possible. He would not, could not accept it. His body was under his control. He could slow his heartbeat to steady the aim of a sniper rifle. He could pump adrenaline, speed his reactions at will. He owned his body. No one with anything less than a knife or a bullet was going to stop his heart, certainly not this Village Witch.
He pushed her away and stepped back, his hand resting on the gun, still in its holster at his hip.
“I’m sorry it’s turned out this way Katrina, I really am,” he said, still stepping away from her. “Next time we meet it’ll be on opposite sides.”
Katrina watched him go, shaking with anger and with a touch of fear. No one had ever resisted her command of death before, even those who did not believe. How could Tim Galton, the boy she teased as a child, simply shrug it off and walk away?
Worse, a small part of her was pleased he had not succumbed, an emotional part she was determined to suppress. The question now was just how dangerous an enemy would he turn out to be?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
1
“You must have an impressive mind Mr. Galton,” said the Professor after Tim had told his story on returning to the chapel. “I’d like an opportunity to probe it a little further some time.”
“I’m not sure I completely like the sound of that,” smiled Tim, “but I’ll presume there’s a compliment in there somewhere and say thank you.”
“He means you seemed to resist that bitch’s power without much effort,” said Susan, more than a little irritation hardening her voice. “She almost certainly tried to turn you to her side and, by the sound of it, when that didn’t happen, did her best to kill you.”
“Kill me? I think I’d have known if I’d been attacked.”
“Kill you through the power of her mind,” said the Professor. “That momentary pain in your chest. I would say she tried to stop your heart. It’s a power the witch doctors of several African tribes used to claim, before the Church forcibly converted them. Wouldn’t you agree Susan?”
“Well,” his daughter looked a little uneasy. “I’m not a great believer in anyone’s power going that far but, yes, it would seem she at least tried. I know she can throw a glamour, as my father can tell you.”
The Professor’s face reddened slightly but he said nothing.
Tim sat down and glanced towards Mr. Crosby and Ethel, hoping for a smile, some sign that they found all this as hard to believe as he did. Instead he found downcast eyes and an occasional nod of agreement.
“Look, I’m still trying to process all this stuff and not finding it easy,” he said, turning back to the Professor and Susan. “The attack earlier by... whatever... I’m coming round to seeing that was odd, to say the least, and whatever attacked us wasn’t normal.”
“No shit,” said Susan quietly under her breath, although everyone in the room heard her.
“And I agree with you now, that Katrina is this Village Witch you keep talking about, but that’s just a name. It doesn’t mean she actually has supernatural powers or anything. She’s gone completely insane, that I’ll grant you, but these powers of the mind...”
His voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere deep inside, back with the hidden memories of much of his childhood, he felt a belief growing, but the mind trained for logic and order by the army fought against it. He knew evil existed. He had faced it on the battlefield and behind too many enemy lines, but evil as a supernatural thing? And witches that had real power? It hurt to even think of it.
He reached a decision.
Why worry about it? Take things as they come.
“Whether I believe everything you say or not,” he said, his voice suddenly strong and full of the confidence he had grown into with Special Forces. “There’s no doubt that something is going to happen soon. Katrina and her friends aren’t getting together at the old house for a tea dance. I saw a lot of people heading that way, and a lot of dark houses and locked doors with frightened people inside.”
“In other words,” said Susan with a grim smile. “The shit is about to hit the fan.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Tim.
2
Katrina watched her people gather. School teachers, bank managers, accountants, shop assistants, cleaners, students, the unemployed — all kinds of people had been called by the promise of power, of influence, of control over others and, in no small measure she was sure, by the occasional intense and long-lasting orgy. There was no supernatural need for such sexual abandon, but it drew people in and fitted their outdated and prejudiced view of witchcraft. Indeed, Katrina herself had recruited several people on her own visits to the local dogging sites and swingers parties. Promiscuity was neither new nor unnatural to Katrina. She had been edging towards it since her pre-teens.
Memories of her sometimes wild childhood also brought with it memories of Tim Galton, and she felt an ache in her chest that she refused to believe could be caused by any remnant of feelings towards the foolish man. She had taken up with Steve on the rebound from Tim leaving for the army, and the marriage that followed soon after had been convenient at the time. The divorce, too, had been convenient, once she had grown tired of explaining her movements and actions to a would-be controlling husband. She smiled at that. As though anyone, particularly Steve Ives, could have controlled her.
Convenience. So many of her choices had been made for convenience. Even her current relationship with Mark Bullough was one of convenience to her. What he thought about it was irrelevant. The only inconvenience she could think of was Tim leaving for the army, and now coming back just at this crucial time. That, and the arrival of Professor Hall and his bitch daughter.
She became aware that the general buzz of conversation in the hallway was dwindling away. Faces were turning towards her, waiting for the start of the ceremony. She smiled at them, reflecting that now, whatever their original reasons for joining her band of followers, they all desired just one thing — the rebirth and the power of Aello!
Janie, Candida and Jimmy came in quietly through the front door and, slipping on their own robes, joined the congregation at the back. Katrina did not need to ask them how it had gone, she already knew. She nodded slightly to them, showing them she was pleased.
She raised her arms before the sea of robes, waves of shifting cloth rippling as others followed her example, or clasped their hands together in a mockery of prayer, or just smiled.
“This is our night,” said Katrina,
her voice filling the old hallway.
A murmur of agreement and satisfaction rolled through the people.
“All our years of preparation have finally brought Aello to the very cusp of reality. Tonight she will be made flesh through me, and we will go forth into this village, into the world, to bring others to our fold and destroy those who refuse to join.”
There were shouts of agreement and vigorous nodding of heads. She saw Mark, to one side, grinning as though he could barely contain his joyous laughter. They had all waited so long for this.
“Already I can feel her power entering my body, her being taking its place alongside my own.”
She closed her eyes, knowing the truth of her words, feeling the flow of energy seeping in through her pores. It was as Aello had told her. They would combine, becoming the greatest witch the world had ever seen. The human witch and the harpy as one. Unstoppable.
She felt other presences now. The long dead spirits of the cellar, rising up to the hallway, still grieving the loss of Christina, eager for revenge. The supernatural entities, the Keres, called up by Aello herself, rushing like bursts of polar wind towards the house from the graveyard.
Katrina looked out over her followers and smiled once more. Only she knew the truth of what was about to happen.
The spirits and the Keres arrived together, swarming over the robed people, violating them with sudden and forced entry into their bodies, taking immediate control with ease and undisguised pleasure.
It happened so fast no one even screamed.
Katrina studied the faces before her. They looked like the same people, but any sign of humanity, of compassion had gone. All that remained was hate and evil.
Mark Bullough, spared the indignity of possession, looked on, open-mouthed.
“What’s happened to them all?”
“They have been truly converted to our cause,” said Katrina. “And now they will go and spread the word.”
As one, the people turned and began to file out of the hallway, out of the house and towards the village.
As they went, Katrina felt a mild surge of energy entering her own body, and then a voice spoke to her, not in her head but through her whole being.
I am here my witch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
1
Dennis Verne was, if anyone asked him, a househusband. In private he would admit to being unemployed. Made redundant at the age of forty-two, three years ago, there had been no other job offers and little chance of anything on the employment horizon. He spent his days doing a minimum of housework and a maximum of eating, drinking and playing his son’s copy of Call of Duty while his son was at University. It was because of this sedentary lifestyle that he remained awake, watching late night TV, while his wife, tired from a day’s work, slept on the settee and his two children did whatever they did in their own bedrooms. As long as they were quiet and stayed in there he didn’t really care.
Living on the edge of the village, facing the fields and, behind the trees, the looming edifice of the old Galton house, he was among the first to hear the mumbling, the incoherent murmuring and guttural cries of the approaching mob of believers. It rose behind the inane small talk of the smiling presenter on the screen in front of him, grew louder with each moment until he could no longer hear what the still smiling woman was saying.
Curious rather than afraid, he stood and walked to the window, pulling aside the curtains to peer outside. Behind him he heard his wife shuffling, coughing. He hoped this noise didn’t wake her. He liked his time in front of the TV in the evening.
It was dark outside, the nearest streetlamp broken for more than a week. He had phoned the Council and they had promised a replacement but... that was local government for you. The nearby lamp on the low coffee table made seeing even more difficult, its bright bulb reflecting in the glass. He reached over and switched it off. That was better. Now he could see.
He wished he couldn’t.
The mob of red-robed figures, some of whom he thought he recognised, swarmed onto the street, breaking into houses, wielding clubs, knives, axes.
He saw old Mrs. Pinney from further down the street dragged out of her house, still in her long nightdress, thrown to the ground and mercilessly hacked at with axes until she stopped moving.
The Mosses, a quiet, young couple in their first house, were also dragged into the street. Dave Mosse tried to fight back but was quickly subdued and equally as quickly stabbed to death. Lucy Mosse was beaten with clubs until she fell, then kicked by a circle of jeering figures until she, too, was dead.
He turned away, unable to watch any more, thinking now about his wife and his children. He had to get them out.
He woke Sam, his wife, roughly and ignored her swearing response.
“They’re killing people out there!” His voice broke with the sense of unreality that made his head swirl. A knot of fear gripped his stomach and made it ache. “Go and look if you don’t believe me. I’m going to get the kids.”
Sam Verne, unnerved by her husband’s panicked look and confused by the absurdity he was suggesting, staggered blearily to the window and peered out.
It took a moment for the nightmarish scene outside to register, but once it did she almost fell backwards and pulled the curtains tight across the window. Not only were they actually killing people out there, they were heading towards her house, her family.
She turned towards the staircase.
Dennis was already herding the kids down the stairs. They complained, they didn’t understand, but the unusual urgency and seriousness of their normally lackadaisical, easy going dad was enough to convince them to do as they were told for once. Dennis had his son’s cricket bat in his hand.
Sam met them at the foot of the stairs and immediately took command. It was her natural place in the family.
“Andrew, Julie, grab coats and get to the back door, not the front.”
Her children obeyed without question, holding their resentment and complaints for a later time.
Sam gave Dennis a quick kiss and looked into his eyes, knowing he was as terrified as she was.
“They’re almost here,” she said. “We have to go.”
“What’s going on Sam?” He always asked Sam to explain things. She usually knew the answer.
“I’ve no idea, but I’m not waiting to ask. Let’s go.”
They had turned to join their children at the back door when the front splintered open and three robed figures burst in.
Dennis did not hesitate. He swung the cricket bat, catching the first intruder across the top of the head. As the robed figure stumbled, Dennis was already swinging again, this time connecting with the shoulder of a second intruder. He could hear Sam screaming behind him, telling him to run, to join his family and escape, but anger and fear and a violence he had not realised was within him had control and he kept swinging and swinging the cricket bat as blood flicked off the wood, spattering the walls, the ceiling and himself.
Two of the intruders were down, barely moving as blood stained the carpet around them, and the third was dodging, ducking, so far avoiding the wildly swung weapon.
More robed figures pushed into the house through the broken front door, and behind him he heard his daughter scream and the back door smash open.
He glanced back for a moment, wondering whether to go face those intruders now entering cautiously through the back door or continue with those at the front.
As soon as he turned his head, two of the intruders were on him, wrestling him to the ground, tearing the cricket bat from his hands. He felt the pain of a blade stabbing repeatedly into his side. Through a rapidly descending darkness he saw his son fighting back bravely but being easily overpowered. He saw his wife and daughter grabbed and beaten. He thought of what had happened to Lucy Mosse and tried one last time to gather the energy to fight back. One last effort to save his family.
He managed to push off the man who had stabbed him and prepared to lunge upwards. Another
man stood above him, the hood of his rope slipping back. Looking up through unfocussed, tear-filled eyes, Dennis recognised Mr. Ryan who ran the post office by the bus stop in the centre of the village.
Mr. Ryan held Dennis’s son’s cricket bat, still dripping with blood. He raised it, swung it downwards.
Dennis felt the momentary pain of contact, but then nothing more as his skull cracked and his brain bled.
2
Tim, standing at the converted chapel window, could hear distant shouts and screams, breaking glass, house and car alarms crying, unheeded, into the night. He had witnessed riots, seen mob mentality take hold. He had no doubt about what he was hearing.
“It’s started,” he said without turning. “Whatever Katrina and her friends were planning has started.”
The Professor joined him at the window as the low conversation fell quiet in the room.
“Sounds like a war zone out there,” said the Professor, sucking on his unlit pipe.
Tim smiled grimly but said nothing. He had no need. Ethel put his thoughts into words for him.
“Not quite Professor,” said the old lady from her seat. “A true war zone is a horror all of its own. But this is closer than I ever wanted to come to one again.”
“What are we going to do?” said Susan, pushing to her feet and joining her father and Tim at the window. She looked from one man to the other, waiting for an answer. “Do we stay here? Run? Go and help? What?”
“That’s my village out there,” said Ethel. “They’re attacking my neighbours, my friends. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Our village,” said Mr. Crosby. “And Ethel’s right. We have to do something.”
Tim stared across the dark fields towards the village. A flickering orange glow bled into the sky behind the trees, growing brighter as he watched.
“Something’s on fire,” said the Professor.
Tim’s mind raced through the probabilities. Besides himself there was Ethel, who had already proved she could handle a weapon, Mr. Crosby, with a navy background, Susan Hall who had admitted to owning a pistol and having used it in the past, and the Professor who seem to shy away from the idea of violence but had proved capable when faced with real danger. Three old people and a young woman. And himself. He felt surprisingly comfortable with his unusual fighting force.
