The Wicca Woman

by David Pinner

  But under the circumstances what else could I do? Lulu pondered. Especially as I seem to have totally lost my way in this wilderness of a world. And by the time Vincent gets to Gwynne’s cottage, perhaps my orders will have blurred in his head. Besides, it is certain that Gwynne will try to reverse my commands. Then she will order him to come back here, and attack me. However, hopefully by then, Vincent will feel so mentally muddled up that he will ignore my orders, and also he will ignore hers. And instead of him heeding either of our voices, he will go straight back to the Manor, where they will give the poor soul some much-needed help.

  Still ruminating on what she had done, ruefully Lulu subsided onto the sofa by the window. She tried to re-immerse herself in the dissonance of Bartok’s Sixth Quartet as it echoed around her room. But almost immediately she felt in urgent need of harmonic lyricism, and she changed the Bartok CD to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Then she crossed over to the fireplace, and she prodded the reluctant coals in the hearth.

  Now partially soothed by Beethoven’s music, she lay down on the sofa, and she picked up one of the faded gold cushions. She hugged the cushion against her breasts.

  The truth is, I am so internally - and eternally - alone, she mused as she cuddled the cushion. But then it is of my own choosing, because even when a lover shares my bed, he can never comprehend my thoughts. And it’s the way that I have always liked things to be. Until recently. But now I no longer want to be the fateful catalyst in other people’s lives. Indeed, I seem to be waiting for an outside eruption, which will transform the course of my life. It’s why I’m so worried that my voice, and Gwynne’s voice, won’t cancel themselves out inside Vincent’s head. Dear Heavens, perhaps I have set an irreversible time-bomb ticking inside him, and now he is going to destroy Gwynne. What’s even worse, for the first time in my seemingly-inordinate life, I no longer feel that I am responsible for my own actions. And now it’s me who desperately needs help!

  As tears welled up in her sea-green eyes, she smiled ironically.

  ‘So what’s this, then? Self-pity?’ she exclaimed, laughing through her tears, while she hugged the faded-gold cushion against her chest like a life-raft. ‘In the name of the Goddess, what is happening to me?’

  *

  Panting, but still obsessed by his manic and vengeful mission, Vincent raced up the grassy slope in the direction of the witch’s cottage. At the top of the slope, he leant against Gwynne’s garden wall as the wintry night-wind gusted dead leaves around his ankles. After wiping the beads of perspiration off his brow, he looked over his shoulder because now he was certain that he had been followed while he was running. Although he still couldn’t see any sign of his pursuer.

  Anyway, I don’t give a tinker’s toss whether I’m being followed or not, he thought as he turned back to scrutinise Gwynne’s cottage.

  At that moment, the witch pressed her wizened face against her front windowpane, and she peered up into the night sky. Initially Vince couldn’t fathom what she was looking at. Then he realised that she was staring at the moon.

  And I can guess the kind of vile things you’re thinking, you vicious witch, he brooded. But you are about to discover that Lulu is still much stronger than you are. You see, now I realise that twice Lulu has saved me from your evil. So, in return, I am going to thank her for what she has done for me; by sending you back where you belong, Gwynne Spark - into the bowels of Hell itself!

  Vince turned his searing gaze away from the witch’s cottage, and he charged off down the moonlit street, while Gwynne continued to peer up at the moon.

  As Vincent ran on through the silent village, the shadowing-figure of Paul emerged from crouching under an adjacent bush. Then the writer set off in pursuit of Vince, although he maintained a discreet distance behind the postman.

  *

  Ten minutes later, Vince approached his own house cautiously. He noted the glowing electric lights behind the drawn curtains in his living room. After he had opened his gate, momentarily he considered unlocking his front door, and going inside, to try and persuade his wife to forgive him.

  If only Sue would give me another chance, he thought, after selecting his front door key. I’d give absolutely anything to hold Scarlet in my arms again. I desperately need to tell my darling daughter how much I love her.

  Then after he had re-assessed his disturbed state of being, he shook his head bitterly.

  No, but it won’t work, he mused. ‘Cause there’s no way Sue will believe that I’m cured. For a start, she will see in my eyes how much I hate the witch. And it’s true, until I’ve dealt with Gwynne Spark, the witch will forever keep trying to turn me into a sadistic rapist, with Lulu as my constant victim. So I have no choice; I must destroy the witch.

  Moving as quietly as he could, Vince crossed his gravelled garden-path as he chose the appropriate key on his key-ring. After three attempts, he forced his rusting garage-lock open. Before closing the asbestos door behind him, he switched on the solitary light bulb. He slid around his parked Toyota, and made his way to the rear of the garage. He wrenched open the drawer below his workbench, and pulled out a plastic carrier bag. After he had selected what he needed from the drawer, he shoved everything into the plastic bag.

  When Vince returned to the street, the moon seemed to have transformed the grey tiles on his neighbours’ rooftops into silver lozenges. He took this as a sign that he would triumph over his tormentor. Clutching his carrier bag, he ran off into the night.

  *

  In her ice-blue nightgown, Lulu stood by her open bedroom window, with the chill wind blowing the lace curtains against the right side of her wan face. She felt heart-sick and weary, and although it was only the middle of the evening, she was already dressed for bed. The whiteness of the moon emphasised her tear-stained eyelashes.

  Lulu extended her bare arms and her imploring hands through the open window. As the wind continued to flap the curtain against her cheek, ardently she wished to embrace the spectral light, which was streaming from the Moon Goddess. Then she called out into the seemingly-implaccable moonlight.

  ‘I have lost my way. Utterly. Yes, and the truth is, I would give anything just to lie down and die. You see, I no longer have the same desire – or the energy – to save people from themselves as I did in the past. Indeed, if I could, I would emulate Hamlet’s wish, and I would end it all now with ‘a bare bodkin’. But there is no point in me trying to kill myself because I know that You would make me return here again and again and again – as You have always done. So what is the use of my wishing for eternal peace and silence?’

  With a lachrymose cry, she pointed a beseeching finger at the moon as it illuminated the hanged farmer’s infamous oak-grove, in the wood.

  ‘A sign! Great Goddess, I beg you; please give me a sign that will bring me back to life, and revitalise my lost sense of purpose. Yes, the very least You can do is to give me a Sign!’

  As if in answer to her soul-felt plea, a cloud, which was shaped like a vulpine paw, raked its inexorable way across the moon’s silver. Instantly the December darkness re-possessed her garden, while the night swathed itself like a vast, funereal mantle around Lulu’s shivering shoulders.

  *

  Once Vince was certain that most of the curtains were drawn in the witch’s front parlour, he crept through her garden gate. Stealthily he manoeuvred his way around to the right side of her cottage. When he had placed the bulging carrier-bag at his feet, he crouched down in the dank rose-bed, which was below the parlour windowsill. As he pulled a painful thorn from the heel of his hand, he emitted an involuntary yelp. Cursing, he repositioned himself. Then cautiously he raised his head above the window ledge, and he peered through a slight chink in the drawn curtains.

  In the small gap, he could see that the parlour was only illuminated by the orange glow of burning logs in the grate. Although he scrutinised as much of the room as he could, he could still see no sign of the witch, so he glanced back at the fire.

  In fron
t of the ash-strewn grate, there was a large, black bundle of heaving rags. Disbelieving his eyes, Vince pressed his face more firmly against the cold windowpane. Then he realised that ‘the large, black bundle of heaving rags’ was the witch herself.

  Gwynne was kneeling on her dilapidated hearth-mat. In front of her, there was a coffin-shaped box, made out of plywood. In her left hand, the witch was clutching a long, cylindrical, wooden object, with a chamfered point, and she was grasping something in her right hand. But despite flattening his nose and his chin against the glass, Vince couldn’t make out what she had in her right hand as her hand was hidden under the folds of her voluminous, black dress. Also he was unable to see if there was anything inside the coffin-like box, which was directly in front of her.

  As Gwynne began to move her lips, Vince realised that she was intoning some kind of incantation over the coffin.

  With a violent motion, the witch raised her right arm. A heavy, metallic object glittered briefly in the candlelight. Whooping triumphantly, she swished the metal object downwards. Then Vince gasped when he realised that Gwynne was wielding a mallet, and she was hammering a wooden stake into the straw-woman’s effigy, inside the coffin.

  *

  Although Lulu was fast asleep in bed, she still heard herself screeching like a lacerated banshee. When she flailed awake, she found she was convulsing and frothing at the mouth. With trembling fingers, she clutched her pain-stricken breasts. She felt as if her failing heart was being impaled over and over, again and again. As Lulu’s primeval scream reverberated through her bedroom, her agony utterly possessed her.

  And all the while, the leprous-white moon looked down on Lulu’s unrelenting torment, with its impartial gaze.

  *

  The witch hammered the stake into the straw-woman’s chest with such ferocity that the upper half of the effigy split in two. Then the wooden stake sheered downwards, gouging and impaling the straw-effigy’s groin. With a vituperative cackle, Gwynne slammed the mallet between the ravaged thighs.

  Still cackling, the witch limped across the parlour. She switched off the lights, and headed for the stairs.

  When she reached her bedroom, Gwynne gazed into her full-length mirror, where she could see the tortured and screaming image of Lulu, who was now in such excruciating pain that she was close to expiring.

  With a self-satisfied, malevolent smile, the witch pulled on her nightgown. Then she lugged her arthritic limbs into her rumpled bed. She propped her head up against a mound of pillows, and again she peered into the full-length mirror, so she could savour Lulu’s final, harrowing moments.

  In the mirror, Lulu’s lacerated limbs twitched frenetically. After emitting a withering scream, her whole body went into a violent spasm. Then Lulu slumped back under her duvet. A moment later, she was motionless.

  As the witch continued to gaze into the depths of the mirror at her vanquished victim, she chuckled contentedly, murmuring; ‘On Midsummer Day, Crescent, I remember watching you through my bedroom window, while you weaved your seductive succubus’ spells around all the men at the sea’s edge. Yes…and I promised you then that a time would come when my occult powers would prove to be infinitely greater than yours. And now the proof of your pudding has certainly been in my devouring.’

  After the baleful witch had licked her yellowing incisors, she switched off her bedside lamp, and lay back on her pillows. Within moments, she had submerged herself into the realm of sleep. Although Gwynne’s breathing became slower and more regular, she knew that she wouldn’t escape her habitual nightmares…when, once again, she would find herself staring into the sightless eyes of her two dead daughters. And as their habitually-grieving mother, she would try to dab away Diane and Anna’s blood, which was forever seeping between their ashen lips. Yes, and Gwynne was certain that she would go on doing this in her sleep…until she, too, joined her dead daughters, and her dead husband, in their family grave.

  20

  During all this time, Vince had remained in Gwynne’s garden, crouching below her window. With an increasing sense of horror, he had monitored the witch’s viciously-macabre assault on the straw-effigy in the parlour.

  When he was certain that Gwynne had turned off all her lights – and so she was either fast asleep upstairs, or on the verge of it – Vince took another peek through the parlour window at the impaled straw-woman in the ‘coffin’. Then he delved into his carrier bag, which was lodged between his feet, and he pulled out a yellow-handled kitchen-plunger.

  What the hell is Vince going to do with a plunger? Paul asked himself as he squatted in his hiding place, behind a beech thicket, some twenty yards away.

  A moment later, Vince thrust the bell-shaped, rubber-end of his plunger against one of the parlour’s side windows. As the plunger affixed itself to the glass, there was a squelching noise. Then he left the plunger quivering on the windowpane, and he thrust his fingers back into the carrier-bag. When his hand re-emerged, Vince was brandishing a knife-like object, which glittered in the moonlight.

  With his left hand, the postman seized the handle of the plunger, and after he had ensured that its rubber suction-pad was firmly gripping the expanse of glass, he tightened his grip on the ‘knife’ in his right hand. Then slowly, and precisely, he sliced the blade down the left side of the windowpane.

  Paul nodded when he realised that Vince’s ‘knife’ was a glass-cutter. As he watched the postman cutting his way around the window, Paul’s horrendous headache returned. It was like a blast-furnace, roaring inside his skull.

  Then while Vince continued to hold the pane in place with the plunger, the blade scored down, and around the final side of the window, When he had completed his task, he thrust the glass-cutter into his coat pocket. And after some adroit manoeuvring with the plunger and his free hand, Vince managed to slide the now-fully-cut windowpane out of its frame. Pleased with his accomplishment, he lowered the rectangular expanse of glass over the windowsill, and he propped the windowpane cautiously against the cottage wall.

  Still smiling at his achievement, Vince reached through the now-windowless-opening. Once he had pulled back the drawn curtains, he fastened his fingers around the window-latch. Then he levered the latch upwards, and he swung the windowless-frame back against the parlour wall, so that he could climb into the room. After a second attempt, he was able to thrust his leg over the windowsill.

  When he had lugged himself through the opening into the parlour, he discovered that he was kneeling on the top of a sofa, which was directly below the windowsill. Controlling his hectic breathing, he lowered himself down onto the carpet.

  Moving as quietly as he could, he crossed the room. He paused by the plywood coffin. As he peered down into the coffin, Vince shook his head in disbelief. The witch had ripped holes in the straw-woman’s chest, and she had rammed the wooden-stake up into the effigy’s groin.

  Yes, but the more I think about it, Vince mused, Lulu Crescent is every bit as evil as Gwynne.

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Like the witch, Lulu is also trying to control me, and manipulate me – because she, too, wants me to do her vile bidding.’

  He looked up from the ravaged straw-effigy in the coffin, and he focused on the flickering embers in the grate.

  ‘So there’s only one certain way that I’ll ever be free of the two of them,’ he whispered, turning back to the coffin. ‘And the only way is this!’ he hissed as he wrenched the wooden stake out of the straw-woman’s groin.

  Then he shoved the stake into the heart of the ebbing fire, stirring it amongst the embers until the wooden point had re-ignited the nascent flames. With a grim smile, he returned to the straw-woman, and he lugged her out of the coffin. After ripping handfuls of straw from the effigy’s body, he shoved the straw into the welcoming flames in the grate. And once the fire had burnt all the available straw, the flames leapt up the wooden stake in their ravening lust for more fuel.

  Smiling voraciously, Vince thrust the burning stak
e into the straw-head of the effigy. Instantly the straw-head started to frizzle and crackle. Within seconds, the flames leapt up, and right across the whole of the effigy like molten waves. Then as their yellow fury engulfed the effigy, it seemed to Vince that he could hear the straw-woman crying out in agony.

  ‘May you both burn in hell,’ Vince rasped as he lugged the flame-enveloped effigy across the now-smouldering carpet. ‘And I do mean you as well, Lulu, ‘cause you’re every bit as much of a witch as Gwynne Spark is!’

  Viciously he hurled the burning effigy and the flaming wooden stake onto the cushion-filled sofa.

  *

  As the piles of cushions on the witch’s sofa began to smoke and smoulder…in Lulu’s bedroom, her inert figure coughed briefly under her crumpled duvet. Then she was silent.

  *

  A moment later, the flammable cushions in the Gwynne Spark’s parlour were fully-ignited. Soon the flames were devouring the straw-woman’s torso, while the blaze erupted and spread over the rest of the witch’s sofa like burning oil on a lake.

  *

  In her bedroom, Lulu emitted an ululating cry of pain, followed by a final, rasping cough. As her tortured body slumped back under the duvet, her face was corpse-like, and then she was motionless.

  *

  In the witch’s parlour, the fire was engulfing Gwynne’s brocaded sofa. Soon the flames were crackling across the carpet.

  Gleefully, Vince snatched the smouldering hearthrug up from the floor, and he thrust the bottom half of the mat into the sofa’s conflagration. When he was certain that three-quarters of the rug were fully on fire, he threw the flaming carpet against the bookshelves. Then he snatched dozens of paperbacks from the opposite bookcase, and he hurled the books into the fiery tentacles, in order to feed the ever-expanding blaze.