Hettford Witch Hunt: Easter Special

by James Rhodes

  “No thank you,” said the man, “I’m going to eat the eggs of rationality for my Easter.”

  “Brilliant, I think I have some flour and pickled cabbage.”

  “Perhaps you should consider the lilies,” scoffed the man.

  `If Gary could have slammed the door on the man’s behalf, he would have. He decided to abandon the venture. He trudged his way back to the farm.

 

  7.

  “Here’s your eggs back.”

  Reginald the farmer looked at Gary.

  “You didn’t sell many did you?”

  “I sold eight boxes.”

  “Well then you owe me eight pounds.”

  Gary gave him the money.

  “I don’t suppose I could have a free box of eggs could I?”

  “I don’t suppose you could.”

  “But I don’t have anything left to eat.”

  “Well, eggs are a pound a box and it looks like you only have eighty pence.”

  Gary shrugged.

  “Could you sell me three eggs for fifty pence?”

  “No, but if you want to try again next week, you’re more than welcome to give it another go, if you sell another eight you should have enough for a whole box and some change.” Reginald told him.

  “Thanks, I’ll leave it.”

  8.

  Gary poked at the dinner he had made with his fork. He had managed to afford an expired tin of beans and he had mixed it with some curry powder that he had at the back of the cupboard. It tasted incredible; it was the nicest meal he had ever eaten. The television emitted comforting electrons in the shape of James Bond. James Bond himself was in the shape of Roger Moore and was telling Francisco Scaramanga that pistols at dawn was a bit old fashioned. Everything was good with the world; that is to say that everything was as good as Gary could possibly manage to make it, so he didn’t need to worry about it anymore. Then the door bell rang.

  Gary considered ignoring it but it rang two more times and by that point his moment of nirvana had passed. Gary greeted his old friend without enthusiasm.

  “Hi Gary, am I interrupting something?”

  “The Man with the Golden Gun.”

  “Classic, I once drew a superfluous nipple on myself because of that film. Can I come in?”

  Gary gestured that Milton should enter.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Gary asked:

  “I’ve got both kinds of water, hot and cold.”

  “I’ll take boiling if you have it.”

  The two of them walked into the kitchen. Gary tried not to think about his beans or the dramatic showdown with the golden gun in the funhouse. He filled the kettle with water and flipped the switch.

  “So how’s things? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Milton’s broad smile was enthusiastic and more than a little forced.

  “Well, I’m not allowed at meetings am I?”

  “Just a temporary precaution, I assure you.”

  “Yeah, you assured me that in January.”

  “How’s the job hunt?”

  “Well, let’s just say that if you want sugar in your hot water you’ll be shit out of luck. How’s the bookshop?”

  Milton shifted his feet, and glanced furtively around the room.”

  “It’s going rather well.”

  “Still selling those trade paperbacks?”

  Gary’s suggestion that Milton branch out from being a purist occult bookseller to also selling paranormal fiction had given Milton his most successful fiscal year to date.

  “Erm, yes.”

  “That’s good, I’m glad you’ve finally made something of it. I know you’re comfy with your inheritance but it must be nice to have something you made for yourself.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have done it without my friend Gary.”

  Gary poured Milton a cup of boiling water.

  “You’re welcome. Cheers.”

  Gary raised his mug and Milton sipped his hot water.

  “So,” Gary inquired, “how’s the hunt?”

  “It’s been quiet; we’re still getting eggs show up in my garden, despite having moved Roaster to Carrie’s house.”

  “Maybe they’re crow’s eggs.”

  “Yeah, Carrie suggested that but crow’s eggs are blue and speckled whereas these ones look like hen’s eggs, ranging from light brown to white. Except for this peculiar egg that we thought you might like.”

  Milton pulled the egg from his pocket and gave it to Gary.

  “Happy Easter, from all of us” Milton said.

  “Oh wow, thanks.”

  Gary took the egg and put it on his counter.

  “We thought you’d like it because it has a letter g on it. G for Gary.”

  Gary picked the egg up and looked at it.

  “I suppose it depends which way around you hold it. It could be a figure eight too, or the infinity symbol.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Do you think it’s fresh enough to eat?”

  “Probably not, plus we think the eggs might have some magical purpose.”

  “I’ve never heard of witches using eggs for anything,” said Gary.

  “Me either, but I can’t think of any other way they’d get into the garden.”

  “You should tie hag-stones around the fence and see if they keep showing up.”

  “We tried hag-stones but the eggs are still coming.”

  Milton shrugged to clarify that the whole thing was as bizarre to him as it would be to a normal person.

  “I use Feng Shui myself,” Gary told him.

  “Does that work?”

  “As far as I can tell. Then again it’s supposed to help with money problems too and it isn’t.”

  “Well, as long as no witches get in, that’s the main thing.”

  Gary didn’t bother answering.

  9.

  Milton smelled the food as soon as he opened the door. Although it was still light outside, the contrast between the dusk and the fluorescence of energy saving light bulbs was stark. Carrie kissed him.

  “How was it?” She asked.

  “Awkward.”

  “I got the guttering laid; I think it will definitely work once we add the siphon.”

  “And the water.”

  “Of course. We’ve got Chinese food waiting for you.”

  A voice came from the living room.

  “It won’t be waiting long,” Dan shouted.

  Milton walked into his lounge. The open gas fire was crackling, the coffee table was loaded with takeout trays and the TV was paused at the beginning of a film waiting for his return. Milton ran his eyes over it all.

  “We should do something for Gary.” He told Dan and Carrie.

  “We got him an egg,” said Dan.

  10.

  The beans had been cold by the time Milton had left, and Gary couldn’t be bothered to reheat them. Worse still, the James Bond marathon on the TV had moved on from The Man with the Golden Gun to The World is not Enough. Nonetheless Gary was determined (or rather, resigned) to watch the film. He glanced out of the window and saw the streetlights begin to glow orange; rendering the grey air into dull beige.

  He stood up to turn on the light and, as he flipped the switch, the TV blacked out. Gary didn’t even bother to check the fuse box; he had been running the electricity meter on emergency credit for four days. Had he not been out failing to sell eggs, he would have expected to lose power that morning. Out of sheer exhausted depression, Gary lay down on the couch and fell asleep.

  It was dark when Gary woke, and he was too hungry to get back to sleep. The prospect of lying awake in a dark room until the morning was too grim for Gary to consider. So he decided to eat the egg that Gary had given him in the hope that eating would make him sleepy. Mercifully his stove was gas powered and he had enough credit left on the gas to last hi
m a good fortnight. He blazed up the hob, the light casting long shadows across the room. Put a formerly non-stick frying pan on top of the flame and let a blob of margarine melt into it.

  He looked a bit mournfully at the letter g on the egg; it was his only gift that year. His stomach growled at him and he cracked it into the pan. What looked like green slime began to hang out of the bottom of the egg. In revulsion Gary, dropped the egg on to the floor. As the frail white eggshell shattered, the corpse of a small green snake unwound itself from the embryo. Gary looked down at it.

  “Well, I’m definitely not hungry anymore,” he told the still air.

  Gary turned off the hob and bent over to check that the snake was not alive, its green scales were bright even in the darkness of the kitchen. The snake was coated in mucus; it couldn’t have been left in Milton’s garden for long. It looked fresh, as though it had only missed living by a few hours.

  Gary got a piece of paper out of the recycle bin and gingerly lifted the creature off the kitchen linoleum. Holding it at arm’s length he carried it outside to the wheelie bin. However as he lifted the lid, another thought occurred to him and with the foetal snake still dangling at arm’s length he muttered, “those bastards” and strode towards Milton’s house.

  11.

  The emptiness of the roads gave Gary some perspective on how late it actually was, the only light that was on in the village was at Ron’s All Night Garage where the silhouette of Gary’s former lover Julie could be seen sitting at the boring job that had formerly been his. With that in mind, Gary had resolved not to knock on Milton’s door and scream about what he thought of their joke, calling him a snake, and instead was simply going to dump its corpse on their doorstep.

  The front of Milton’s house was entirely taken up by the shop front of Occultivated Books. Gary crept around to the small back garden and opened the gate. A dark figure turned around in surprise.

  “What the hell?” Gary asked.

  “Shh!” Said the figure.

  “Reginald?”

  The farmer walked towards Gary with his finger on his lip.

  “I gave you work, so be quiet.”

  Reginald’s speech was slightly slurred.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Step out with me and I’ll tell you.”

  Gary waited for Reginald to pass through the garden gate; the farmer was holding a basket full of eggs.

  Behind the bushes of Milton’s house and out of the line of Milton’s windows, Reginald began to explain himself.

  “Your friend made me give him a hen, or he said he’d report me for misuse of a firearm. I was a bit half cut and I didn’t have a hen, so I gave him an immature rooster (like he’d know the difference). Anyway, at first I planted the eggs so he wouldn’t know what I’d done and get the police involved.”

  “Ok, that was five months ago.”

  “Well, after that, I just began to find it funny.”

  “Wait a minute, you wouldn’t give me free eggs after selling eight boxes for you and you’re just dumping them in Milton’s garden?”

  Reginald thought about the question.

  “Why are you holding a grass snake?” He retorted.

  “Because they gave me an egg they found in the garden and this was inside it.”

  “It’s not one of mine.”

  “Well, I was going to ask them about it.”

  “Well, don’t tell them about….”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Reginald dug into his pocket; he pulled out a hip flask and then a few crumpled notes.

  “I’ll give you this, if you keep quiet about it.”

  Reginald stuffed twenty five pounds into Gary’s palm.

  “Can I have those eggs too?”

  “Yes,” hissed Reginald.

  “OK, it’s a deal but you have to stop doing this OK?”

  “Yes, just don’t tell anyone and throw that bloody grass snake away, I don’t want them asking questions.”

  Reginald grabbed the tail of the snake and threw it over his shoulder. There was a rustle as it fell into the rhododendrons.

  “Right, I’ll be off then.”

  Reginald took a swig of whiskey and staggered away down the street.

  12.

  Wanting to make the most of his new luck, Gary rushed home to collect his electricity card. The garage did top ups and he could buy a week’s worth of electricity, pay off the emergency credit and still have a fiver left for food.

  Gary put the cornflakes, milk and bread on the counter.

  “And twenty pounds on the electric please,” he requested.

  “I haven’t seen you for a while,” said Julie.

  Julie’s eyes were wide and heavily lined with mascara; they made Gary weak at the knees. He stared at her black lipstick instead and it had a similar effect.

  “I’ve been around.”

  “My mum said you sold her some eggs.”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Are you working at the farm now?”

  “No, I’m still unemployed but I don’t sign on so I have to get money anyway I can.”

  “You should just get to the job centre, no point starving to death.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re looking a bit skinny, you should grab yourself a pasty.”

  “I don’t have the money for it.”

  “Just take it, everyone else does,” Julie smiled.

  “Nah, when I worked here that seemed like a perk but it would feel like theft now.”

  “How about I steal one and give it to you?”

  “I’m honestly fine. I best be going.”

  “How’s Alison?”

  “She’s still in Leeds.”

  “Are you still together?”

  “Yes, sort of… I’d rather not talk about it,” Gary looked at his feet as he talked.

  “Well, if you do want to talk, or anything, you know where I am.”

  Gary thanked her and walked home.

  Once he had electricity again, Gary went to the kitchen to clean up the eggshell he had left on the floor. After he had picked up the shell, he wiped up the mucus that the snake had left behind, like a chalk outline at a murder scene. As the mucus wiped away it left a very dim reddish stain on the linoleum. When Gary had finally given up on getting the stain up, he stepped back and looked down at it. By an odd coincidence, the snake seemed to have fallen in the shape of a somewhat shaky capital letter G: a faint burgundy brand on the black linoleum.

  “G for grass snake,” Gary mused to himself.

  Gary made sure that every electrical appliance in the house was turned off and headed up to bed. He turned on his bedside light and tried to decide whether he should read the most recent letter Alison had sent him for a second time. There was no point, it was out of his hands, his phone had been cut off so he couldn’t call her and the broadband had gone off when the phone did so he couldn’t email. He could send her a letter, of course, but what would it say? I still love you but I have no job, no prospect of a job and am magically bound to this small village that you hate? That was hardly the right retort to her telling him she had met somebody else and would only keep paying the rent until the lease was up at the start of June. He knew he should take Julie up on her offer, but it wasn’t Julie that he wanted: Especially, considering that she had been the final nail in the coffin on Alison’s love for him.

  Without bothering to undress, Gary turned the light off and lay in the dark until the sunlight began to pierce through the thin curtains. He finally made it to sleep with the assurance that he could have breakfast when he woke: it was an Easter miracle.

  14.

  The church bells woke him three hours later; they were ringing at a very precise pitch and tempo that made it almost impossible for Gary to ignore. If they had just been a beat slower or an octave lower he could potentially have kept sleeping u
ntil Bank Holiday Monday.

  The house was lonely and empty and Gary felt spent and desolate. He hobbled down the stairs and wished he had tea bags to make a cup of tea.

  “Fuck it,” he thought, “it’s Easter Sunday and all the shops are shut. I can ask a neighbour for tea bags without looking like a beggar.”

  Besides, he thought, asking people to give him free teabags was bound to be an easier sale than asking people to buy eggs for one pound and ten pence.

  Gary pulled on his shoes and opened his front door; he blinked as his eyes met the bright sunlight. Looking down to reduce the glare, Gary saw the three packages:

  The first package was a plain plastic bag, Gary recognised it as the type that Ron’s All Night Garages used; it contained two packs of four Cornish pasties, some mild cheddar cheese and a variety of chocolate bars. A scrap of paper inside it was signed, “From the Easter Playboy Bunny.”

  The second package was a Tesco’s bag that contained a Tupperware box. Inside the Tupperware was an assortment of sandwiches. The note on top of them said, “If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain.” Gary correctly guessed that they were from Mrs. Fuller.

  Finally, there was a large cardboard box that had been wrapped in Easter paper. It was almost too heavy for Gary to lift; he put in on his kitchen table and pulled it open. Inside was about a month’s worth of canned goods from stewing steak to fruit cocktail, UHT milk and tea bags. There were two bottles of wine and a small bottle of whiskey. Best of all, there was some vacuum packed bacon. There was no note with that pack so Gary didn’t know for sure who had given it to him. However, he really hoped that it was from Milton.

  Gary fried up a close approximation of a full English breakfast and put some of the whiskey into his tea.

  He sat down in front of the television and turned it on.

  “And now on ITV3,” an announcer told him, “the James Bond Easter Weekend continues with The Man with The Golden Gun.”

  Gary raised his tea cup in salutation and smiled.