‘Arraignement and Triall of Nineteene Notorious Witches at the Assizes and Gaole Deliuerie, holden at the Castle of LANCASTER… Triall of Iennet PRESTON, at the Assizes …with her Execution for the murther of Master LISTER by Witchcraft.’
Mrs Williams sighed and put the book down. Those poor women. Their mistake was that they had been too open, too free with their craft, especially Demdike, who had cured people of everything from ingrown toenails to scrofula in her time. Of course, she had also lamed those that crossed her, but that was to be expected, and Mrs Williams was the last person to cast blame for that. People turned on them, driven by revenge and the puritanical twin-prick tines of Government and Church.
But that was long ago, no point getting upset.
‘BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ’
The doorbell rang with such force she could still feel the last vibrations in the air as she ambled to the door. Such juicily youthful vigour was exhilarating. That hadn’t been enough for the bell ringer though. As though fearing the ear rattling buzz wouldn’t be enough, they’d hammered on the door as if there was an emergency.
She opened the front door into the gloom of a late evening, the streetlight opposite seen through a gauze of mist. Facing her was a host of ghouls, witches and demons. Green, black and red faces, black rimmed eyes and plastic fangs, issued a ragged chorus of ‘Trick or Treat’.
The Bowl was ready on the sideboard by the door. It should be more momentous for the occasion, but it was just a large plastic salad bowl, white, with a blue rim, more suited to an outdoor patio table, under a hot August sun. Instead, the Bowl was only ever used at the fag-end of October, in the damp.
The gaggle of monsters were in urgent need of sugar, their plastic buckets woefully low in indigestion-inducing fizz bombs and tooth-detaching chews. Which reminded her she needed more toothpaste.
She held the Bowl low down to the children and enjoyed the way their eyes were pulled by the magnetic allure of the sugary treasure of cheap sweets in bright wrappers: lollipops, toffees, gummy bears and laces.
A vampire boy took two, a lollipop and a Refresher, another took a lace and a blood-filled gummy skull and the witch at the front, a small girl, hesitantly put out her hand, circling over various options, before picking a single sweet up between dainty fingers. ‘Thank you’ she said shyly. How sweet; one of the good ones. Before Mrs Williams could respond, a large boy barged through the smaller kids, pushing the girl over, and his hand launched into the bowl scooping up a bulging fistful of sweets, before dropping them into his bucket, ‘Huh, nothing special. Let’s go’. The Bowl was now half empty. His friend, a Joker in a purple suit, grimaced in embarrassment as they turned away. The small girl had whimpered but had been cushioned in her voluminous princess skirt from real harm.
Mrs William’s nostrils widened in indignation, and she took a deep breath. The boy, already halfway down the path, tripped over his trailing rag trousers and fell flat on his face. The Joker laughed but stopped as he saw the damage, and there was a moment of silence before a howl of pain. ‘There’s blood!’ the Joker shouted. The other children scooted past in silent awe, but the blood wasn’t as shocking mixed with the paint and even the small girl didn’t do more than stare, until a parent, one of a gaggle that had been talking under the streetlight, detached herself, ‘Come on Lucy. Thank you!’ she shouted towards Mrs Williams, already moving on with the group.
There was a moments silence, then Mrs Williams shuffled down the path to find the grizzling large boy holding his nose as blood dripped down his face.
‘Oh dear! Oh, dearie me’, Mrs Williams said. ‘Come here young man, and I can fix you up. Oh, look at your poor nose! Oh, tut tut, your poor knees. What’s your name?’
‘Ro…Ro..Rodney Bellstrop.’ The boy hiccupped his sobs back, having already been taught that big boys don’t cry.
‘Well Rodney, come on in for a second and your friend can come too, we’ll get you cleaned up and you can be on your way in a trice’.
Rodney looked at his friend, Daniel. They knew they shouldn’t go into stranger’s houses, but this was only the old bat from the nearby street and besides she was ancient, and they were two of the biggest in their year. She spoke funny: What was a ‘trice’?
As Rodney passed her in the hallway to the kitchen, she placed a fleeting hand on his head, in a friendly motherly way. She shuffled into the kitchen behind him, saying over her shoulder to Rodney’s friend, ‘Now, Daniel, you must be thirsty, what would you like to drink. Cola?’
Daniel nodded realising all of a sudden how desperately thirsty he was. Weird, he hadn’t noticed before. He took the tumbler from her, relishing the delicious cool of the glass, the bubbles popping over the rim, landing on his skin, making him lick his lips in anticipation. He took a deep drink, noticing the strange taste, it wasn’t Coca Cola for sure, probably a knock off, but he was too polite to say anything.
‘Sit down in the front room, Daniel,‘ she said, showing him to a comfortable flowery armchair. She clicked on the television, and he slumped in front of it, feeling sleepy. As he tipped over the cliff into dreamland a stray thought blinked, ‘How did she know my name?’ before it disappeared forever.
Back in the kitchen, Rodney was holding the tissues she’d given him up to his nose with his head tilted back. ‘Is it slowing down?’ she asked, in a soft, kind voice.
‘I thigg so,’ he replied, voice muffled.
‘Good. Drink your cocoa. It’s got sugar in. Good for shock.’ She sat down next to him and patted his hand.
.
That little girl Lucy was such as sweet, shy thing. She wished there were more like her in the world. What a shame that at eighteen, as she works as an intern for Bellstrop Canning, she is raped by the Director after the shift ends. She’s showing him the accounts for the month, and he’s leant closer, and closer until his hot breath is on her neck. Afterwards she is in shock, and it isn’t until much later, after she’s become listless and loses weight, that her mum gets it out of her. There isn’t any physical evidence now, and Lucy proves to be an awkward witness, a tongue-tied introvert, tripping over her words. When she is found in the canal a week after the not guilty verdict, the coroner returns a judgement of suicide. Her mum knows it was a slow murder.
.
Rajesh is used to slurs on both his race and his intelligence. He is good at maths. In fact -and he’s not being big headed, because other people have said it- he is excellent at maths and he is in line not just for a scholarship to Cambridge, but able to go there in a few years, although his mum and dad are worried he’ll be too young. He’s already doing the syllabus for A levels and he’s only ten! He gets called the usual names: swot, nerd, Einstein (although he doesn’t think that is an insult, he loves Einstein), Professor, brain etc. So, he sometimes deliberately answers a question or two wrong. Or even if he knows the answer, he won’t put his hand up. Standing out is dangerous. But it’s not enough to save him, and the class bully pushes him at break time, ‘Think you’re better than me, don’t you? You fucking egg head. My dad owns a factory, he didn’t need a poxy university.’ He punches Rajesh, but this time its not just a quick face jab. This time, the bully wants to practice a punch he’s seen in MMA. He’s a big MMA fan, and his idol has been using the Haymaker, with devastating results. He does a big wind up, twisting his body and shoulders, then launches. The bully’s fist connects with Rajesh’s temple and Rajesh drops, a limp rag. Although unconscious, he appears undamaged, except for a bruise flowering at the impact site, but inside his head, blood vessels have burst, and he has suffered a closed brain injury that will leave him hospitalised for months. It will require relearning much of his maths and even then his brain won’t work at the same speed it used to. Cambridge is no longer an option.
.
Lucas is five and the apple of his mum’s eye. She works hard and is lucky her dad lives close enough that she can drop Lucas off for the day. Lucas and his grandad are walking to the park, as they do most days when the weather is good enough and today the sun is shining, unseasonably warm for October. Lucas knows the way and is happy enough to skip ahead and then run back to Grandad. He is hoping today he will see Sophie, Mrs Manville’s white fluffy ‘bee-shun freeze’. He loves Sophie, and Sophie always wags her tail vigorously when she sees Lucas and he knows that means Sophie likes him a lot. He really wants a puppy, but mummy says she is too busy, but he still wishes for one and he is going to ask Santa at Christmas. Today he spies Sophie and Mrs Manville coming out of the Spar and Sophie has seen him and her fluffy tail wags in delight. Sophie! He runs towards her. There are some shouts and later, screams, but he is lost in the tunnel vision of Sophie, and so he has no chance against the car speeding down the road, and when he is hit, the only saving grace that his mum and grandad can later cling to is that it was quick.
The driver was in a bad mood that morning, his bitch of a girlfriend had kicked off about his late nights out, he thinks she suspects him of seeing someone and he hates the fact she is right, but he is not stupid enough to admit it. He is still angry this morning and is running late for the factory, and his dad is another one on his back about everything all the time, bleating ‘responsibility’ and ‘immaturity’ at him five times a day until he wishes the old man would take a long dive off a tall building. He takes another swig from his hip flask; he’ll definitely stop drinking so much this week.
That will happen, although he doesn’t realise it until the kid comes out of nowhere and he blearily applies the brakes. He still sees the body flying up in the air in his sleep. The drinking stops until the court case is over, but then starts again with a vengeance. He starts driving again despite the ban, how else can he get to work? Bloody public transport is a joke, and he’s fed up being driven around like a child.
.
Tina from his factory is a laugh and not bad looking, especially if you concentrate below the neck. That’s the bit he’s interested in. She’s a talker though, and he’s not here for that. She keeps mentioning engagement rings, but she’s not wife material. Not for the future Managing Director, now his dad is getting on, and talking retirement, thank fuck. She’s always banging on about her old man and how he can’t manage now he’s been let go from the factory. He knows Tina is using him a bit, hoping for a hand up for her and her dad, but he doesn’t care, cos he’s using her. If she’d only Shut… The… Fuck… Up. They’re out at the lake again, it’s their spot. He likes the fact it has the whiff of the illicit, even though they’re both single. Tina thinks they’re an item and he goes along with it, cos she’s a good fuck, but as he climbs on top of her, she is still talking about her dad, how dad’s drinking too much. He could help if he really tried being as he’s the boss’s son. But he doesn’t want to try. That’s why he made them redundant. Feckless losers. He’s a businessman, not a charity. Blah, blah, wah, wah.
He kisses her again, with more force, to shut her up, but she won’t. She won’t be quiet, why can’t she just have a good time, like him? He’s on top of her, panting hard, she’s soft and pliant but she still won’t be quiet, and he shushes her with a hand over her mouth. She’s breathing harder and her eyes look panicked, and he laughs, she’s pathetic, he’s not going to hurt her.
He only realises what he’s done when she lies still, eyes staring blankly at the roof of the car, quiet for once. He releases one hand from her throat.
His eyes look out at the lake, dark and still, a pool of ink.
.
Mrs Williams took her hand from Rodney’s. It was as she thought, she could always tell, even from that one act. Grasping for a fistful of sweets, pushing aside everyone else in a declaration of entitlement, wrapped around a heedless avaricious core. It was as clear as a lifeline on a palm reading; the DNA of a soul. His essence was a large rock that would smash its way through other peoples lives, like a comet on a collision course. Her job was difficult, and she took it very seriously. Every year the same question. One life or many?
She patted Rodney’s hand again and went to prepare the basement.
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