A Spell in the Country

by Heide Goody

  “Boy alert,” she said quietly to Kay. “Duck face would be trying too hard in this situation. What we’re looking for here is mute superiority to their ignorant, immature ways.”

  Kay nodded in understanding. “Are we going to snog them?”

  “What? No.” Caroline was momentarily flustered. “I mean, you can if you want, but I am not interested in locking faces with a teenager, or becoming the first witch to go to prison for child sex offences.”

  “A’right?” said the first of the youths. They stopped in front of the wall. Caroline flicked her eyes up in brief appraisal and then continued to study the chips.

  “Nice chips?” asked the second.

  “Stinking,” said Kay, and popped one into her mouth.

  The boys glanced at each other in confusion. “That’s my uncle Joey’s chippie, that is,” said the first one, frowning. “They’re usually all right.”

  Caroline and Kay giggled at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “That’s what we said, they’re stinking/ It’s like you don’t know English round here,” said Caroline.

  “Where you from, then?” asked the first one. He had curly hair styled into an unlikely quiff. “I’m Brandon.”

  “You wouldn’t know it. Miles away. Where we come from, nobody says Brandon anymore.” Kay scooped up the last fragments of chips.

  “What? No, I mean it’s my name,” said Brandon, confused.

  Caroline spluttered with laughter. “Imagine that! Imagine being called Brandon!”

  Brandon glowed red and stared at his shoes.

  “What are you doing here, then?” said the third boy. He had mousy hair that fell across his face. “You on holiday?”

  “Maybe,” said Caroline.

  “Is there anything that’s actually fun around here?” asked Kay, balling up the chip wrapper and pitching it towards a bin. It missed and rolled across the tarmac.

  “We know all about fun,” said mousy hair boy.

  “Sounds a bit creepy,” said Caroline. “You say that to all your victims?”

  The two other boys laughed and slapped him.

  “I’m not creepy.”

  “Ignore Toby,” said the second boy. “I’m Connor. Do you have a problem with either of those names?”

  He met Caroline’s gaze. Ah, she thought, the quietly confident one. Underneath the rampaging acne, there was an interesting and potentially handsome face. The teenage Caroline would have definitely gone for Connor.

  “Got any booze?” asked Kay, slipping off the wall.

  The three lads eyed each other. Toby nudged Brandon. “Um, yeah!” said Brandon. “We got booze and, you know, wheels.”

  “Wheels, Kay,” said Caroline in sarcastic awe.

  “Want to come and see?” asked Connor.

  Jenny and Jizzimus had formed the deceased into queues for processing. The imp had been coerced into helping by the promise it would make the ghosts go away faster. An alphabet scratched into the dusty earth beneath a massive yew tree had proven invaluable in deciphering the needs of the more recently expired. Unfortunately a good many of the older ghosts appeared to be illiterate, and attempted to mime their requirements.

  “Right boss, quick win ’ere,” said the little imp, his hoofs fizzing gently on the churchyard’s consecrated ground. “Yer can lose six of ’em straightaway if yer tell ’em how World War Two ended up.”

  “World War Two? The Allies won. Germany doesn’t rule all of Europe. Well, not exactly. American defeated Japan – in the war at least. In terms of business, technology and, well, everything else, I guess Japan is sort of on top. And, um, Russia helped win the war in Europe and then Stalin died soon after so they don’t have a power crazy dictator in charge anymore. Although—”

  Several ghosts faded out of existence. Jenny glanced at her imp.

  “Fella there hid the last piece of a jigsaw he was doin’ wiv his sister. Feels a bit guilty.”

  “We’ve got the sister’s phone number and where the piece is?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jenny addressed the ghost. “We’ll be sure to let her know, Next?”

  “Far as I can tell, this ’un hid a load of gold in a field somewhere. Bashed up crosses, bits of posh swords an’ the like. Wants ’is brother to take care of it.”

  Jenny studied the ghost’s appearance. He looked like he had died a very long time ago. He wore a helmet with a nosepiece, a sword at his side, and a woollen cloak fastened with a brooch at his shoulder. She recognised its design.

  “Was this in, um, Mercia, I think it was?”

  The ghost nodded.

  “It’s called the Staffordshire Hoard,” said Jenny. “I don’t know about your brother, but everyone can go and see the gold. It’s in a museum. Everyone’s very impressed with it. It’s worth millions.”

  The ghost gave a small shrug and faded away.

  “Nice work, boss. He was a bit scary wiv ’is mask and ’is sword,” said Jizzimus.

  “You are a wimp.”

  “In a world of giants, guv. I’m brave for my size. I think we’ve done ’em all now.”

  “We’ve got six letters to send, and four phone calls.” Jenny counted them off on her fingers. “A tree to blast with witchfire and a greenhouse to throw a stone at – you can do that one, Jizz. We need to lobby the BBC to bring back Terry Wogan, in spite of him being dead. Have I missed anything?”

  “No, boss, we can defini’ly go now.”

  Jenny trudged away from the church. “It’s nice to help others.”

  “I think yer confusin’ ‘help’ wiv ‘chew the flesh off’.”

  “Although I’m finding the whole experience quite trippy. It’s like being on Class A drugs.”

  “’Ow would you know if you haven’t done any?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean, boss. Jus’ suggestin’ you should try some to compare, like— Bloody ’ell!” he swore, pointing ahead.

  There was the ghost of a young girl on the path up ahead. She beckoned to Jenny.

  “You don’t ’ave to ’elp ’em all, you know.”

  “It’s only one.”

  It’s fine to jus’ walk away.”

  “She looks really unhappy.”

  “She’s dead. What you expect, eh?”

  It was a fair point but the young lady looked very unhappy indeed. While the other ghosts had worn miserable expressions and born the wounds which accompanied their deaths, this one looked pale and colourless, despite the power of the Potion of Seeing.

  “Let me see what she needs,” said Jenny and walked towards her.

  Seeing they were following, Jizzimus grumbling all the way, the girl turned off the path and headed for a huge drainage dyke. It looked like one of the Fens’ superhighways: fed by other dykes criss-crossing the flat landscape. Straight and featureless, the water resonating with still depths.

  “Jesus H Shitfister!” exclaimed Jizzimus.

  Ranged along the far side of the dyke was a whole line of ghostly maidens, all dressed in insubstantial smock-like dresses; all pale and bloodless, like finalists in a Miss Doomed Gothic Heroine of the Year competition.

  “Okay, that is freaky,” admitted Jenny.

  “Not as freaky as that,” said Jizzimus. The imp and the entire line of girls pointed at the water.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Jenny. Then she saw it.

  Below the surface was a malevolent face, grinning up at her. It struck her dumb with fear. It wasn’t just the distorted humanoid form and features: a blend of melted snowman and “look, mummy, look what I made.” It wasn’t just the expression of pure malice. It wasn’t just the rotting, misaligned teeth it exposed as it leered at her. No: it was the scale of the creature. It was crouched on the dyke bed but was easily the size of a transit van. It was close enough to grab her if it wanted to.

  “We need to get out of ‘ere right now,” Jizzimus murmured.

  The monster stood up in the dyke, thigh de
ep, water cascading off its grey, wrinkled hide. It twisted its body to face the ghosts and released a deep laugh.

  “What the fudge is it?” whimpered Jizzimus. “Oh, cunk!”

  The creature turned and reached out for Jenny with a paw like a back hoe. Automatically, Jenny’s hand became a ball of green witchfire. The beast hesitated before grunting in amusement and backing off. It waded down the channel, pushing a foot-high bow wave before it.

  “Nuff of this boss, we don’t ’ave to mess wiv the likes of ’im.”

  “What is it?” asked Jenny.

  “Buggered if I know. Let’s talk about it later, back at base, eh?”

  “Come on,” she said. “We need to follow it.”

  “No, we funkin’ don’t!”

  Jenny looked at the line of anguished ghosts. “We have to find out what it is and where it’s going. That thing’s trouble.”

  Caroline looked into the farm shed. “Those are your wheels?”

  “It’s my uncle’s, actually,” said Brandon.

  Kay put a hand on the rusted engine hood. “Massey Ferguson 135.”

  Caroline gave her a look.

  “First tractor in my village,” said Kay.

  “Come on,” said Brandon. He climbed up into the driver’s seat.

  “And where do we sit?” asked Caroline.

  Toby pointed to the low trailer hitched to the rear.

  “But it’s filthy!” said Caroline.

  Connor slipped off his jacket. “You can sit on this.”

  Caroline’s lips quirked. “Smooth.”

  “Better than donkeys,” said Kay.

  “Stick some iron in the bitch!” howled Norma, as Dee lunged at Lesley-Ann Faulkner, the animated, wicked witch creation. Dee was waving her branch, although it was now more of a stump as she’d snapped off most of it. “Use what you can! Anything you can find.”

  Dee hid behind a tree for a moment to check inside her handbag. A pen? She fetched it out, only to see a pair of walkers approaching: a man and a woman One wearing a beard, the other a crocheted bobble hat; both showing more bare leg than Dee cared to see.

  “Er, Norma, we’ve got company.”

  “Focus Dee, focus! Don’t let your surroundings distract you.”

  “But…!” Dee thrust at Lesley-Ann Faulkner with her pen. She struck the creature’s arm. There was a piercing shriek of pain and Lesley-Ann Faulkner retaliated in a frenzy. Dee looked around for a fresh stick. Her search took her past the halted ramblers, who were staring at her in alarm. Dee saw their rucksacks.

  “You’ve got camping gear,” she yelled. “Gimme a tent peg. Now!”

  “Are you mugging us?” asked the woman, more interested than alarmed.

  Dee bared her teeth and roared. “Nooooow!”

  The man shucked his rucksack and unzipped a small side compartment. He took out a metal tent peg and held it out to Dee, like one offering a titbit to a dangerous animal. She snatched it from his hand.

  “Thank you. Now hurry up and get out of here. It’s not safe!” She sprinted after Lesley-Ann Faulkner with her new weapon, a bloodthirsty cry yodelling from somewhere deep inside her.

  She barely heard the interchange between Norma and the dumbstruck walkers, but “Sorry about my friend” and “Been taking mushrooms” filtered through the redness that clouded her vision.

  “Your wheels are, you know, all right,” shouted Kay over the roar of the diesel engine. Somehow Toby had performed the minor miracle of getting served in Peek-a-booze and they all had cans of Liquid Lightning to drink. Caroline was pleased to see Kay was smiling.

  Kay stood on the plate behind Brandon and Caroline and the two other boys sat in the trailer, having their spines rearranged by the total lack of suspension.

  “Where are we going?” yelled Caroline.

  “We got a special place,” Toby replied. “It’s quiet, like.” They were driving up a track of compacted mud that ran between trees and a bank which looked like a drainage dyke.

  “I can see why you’d need to get away from the hustle and bustle.” Caroline realised she was slipping out of character: back to her normal, sarcastic self. The cider was pretty strong.

  “Nobody goes down to Lizzie’s Bath because it’s supposed to be haunted,” shouted Connor.

  “They say that to keep kids away from the water, duh,” Toby yelled back.

  “Lizzie’s Bath?” asked Caroline.

  “It’s cool,” Toby laughed. “We, er, go there all the time with girls.”

  A look passed between Connor and Toby; Caroline almost laughed out loud. She was willing to bet that the three of them had never so much as kissed a girl. The closest they’d probably got was practising with a pillow.

  “This is it,” called Brandon. The track curved slightly as they approached a large drainage pond.

  The tractor’s tortured roar changed tone as they bounced across rougher ground to the far side of the pond.

  “This is it?” Caroline had to shout even louder.

  Brandon nodded. “Our little watery paradise,”

  “Our foetid pond,” added Connor.

  Kay looked around. “Great place! So what do you do here? You know: with girls?”

  “Skinny dipping!” Toby yelled into the silence as Brandon turned the tractor engine off without warning. The other two stared at him, open mouthed. Mortified, Toby hiccupped and took another swig from his can. “Done it a few times, like.”

  Kay climbed down and went to the edge of the pool. She stared at the water. “It looks a bit murky. I don’t think I fancy doing anything except paddling.”

  Caroline looked down. The edge of the pool was a gently sloping, gritty bank which could almost be beach-like if you squinted. And held your nose. It did seem to invite paddling. Was it the cheap cider or the company of teenagers making it seem such a good idea?

  “A quick splash around couldn’t hurt,” she said, and slipped off her shoes. She rolled up her jeans up as far as they would go. Kay was wearing a skirt and flip flops: she was in the water in moments. The boys hesitated on the bank; then there was a blur of trainers being thrown aside. The chill of the water took a few minutes to subside.

  “You think there are leeches in here?” asked Kay.

  “No,” said Caroline.

  “Henry Mitchell said he saw a dead sheep in here once,” said Brandon.

  “Hey Brandon,” called Toby. “What’s pond weed?”

  “Huh?” said Brandon.

  “You are!” laughed Toby and splashed water up the front of Brandon’s jeans.

  “Aargh! Die you bitch, die!” Dee had pinned Lesley-Ann Faulkner to an oak tree with the tent peg through her arm. The ramblers had been disinclined to hang around and reclaim it. The twiggy creation lashed and screeched, twisting to get to Dee.

  “You need to finish her off,” advised Norma, watching from nearby.

  Dee thought that Norma really could have helped a little, rather than stating the obvious. “Yep, trying.” She needed some magic suited to the occasion. The trouble was, she wasn’t equipped with magic for this type of situation. Which, she realised, was rather Norma’s point. She needed to be creative. What spell might subdue Lesley-Ann Faulkner? Dee mostly specialised in mending and fixing spells.

  “Can I mend you?” she said to Lesley-Ann Faulkner. The thrashing thing wasn’t much help.

  Maybe turn it back into a tree and subdue its murderous rage. That would show Norma the power of love to combat hate.

  Dee concentrated and ran through a couple of fixing spells, murmuring and signing rapidly. Lesley-Ann Faulkner began a rapid transformation. The arm pinned to the tree fused to the wood, her head snapped back, absorbed into the trunk. The rest of her body followed. Suddenly there was quiet, apart from the popping of a number of acorns which, charged with positive magic, had attempted, quite badly, to spontaneously turn into oak saplings..

  “What have you done?” cried Norma.

  Dee dared to a little victory jig. “T
hink I’ve nailed it, sweetness. I think I’ve nailed it.”

  She turned to bask in the glow of Norma’s praise, but all she could see on Norma’s face was unconcealed horror.

  “We might want to run,” suggested Norma.

  “Why?”

  The tree behind Dee began to creak and groan.

  Jenny paused in her pursuit of the shambling water troll thing and sniffed. “Children,” she groaned.

  “Good idea,” said Jizzimus. “Let’s knock this malarkey on the ’ead and go grab a snack.”

  There was laughter up ahead. The channel cut through some hedges and a veritable forest of nettles. She couldn’t see where the creature was heading but she could smell it. The delicious wafts of child scent filled her nostrils. “It’s going for the kids.”

  “S’not right, boss,” said Jizzimus. “There’ll be none left for you. T’ain’t right, when they smell so tasty.”

  Jenny ignored him. She hurried on, not daring to let the creature out of her sight. The sounds got louder. Boys, by the sound of it. Unwashed teenagers by the ripe, intoxicating stink of it.

  Dee backed away from the tree. “No, it should be fine. Lesley-Ann Faulkner’s anchored to that tree now.”

  “Or,” suggested Norma, backing away even faster, “the tree has now become part of Lesley-Ann Faulkner.”

  “What’s the difference—?” Dee heard the cracking detonation of a tree wrenching itself from the ground, and an impossibly deep roar that turned her stomach to jelly. A quick glance confirmed that Lesley-Ann Faulkner had indeed been mended and was supplemented by a mature oak tree. Lesley-Ann Faulkner, from her root-toes to her leaf-fringed head was such a size that she could kill them both with a whack from a lower branch.

  “And you had to make her an oak tree!” said Norma. “Couldn’t have found something smaller or weaker! Couldn’t have nailed her to a balsa tree!”