by David Pinner
In response, most of the other women in the room pressed towards Lulu, baying for her blood. Leading the attack were Mary and Sue, who lunged forward at her. As Lulu prepared to defend herself, instinctively she adopted a karate-stance. With a withering cry, Gwynne stopped Mary and Sue’s aggressive advances.
‘Enough!’ Gwynne cried. ‘That’s more than enough, ladies. Now you must let Lulu leave here unharmed.’
Sue was about to protest, when the witch cut her short, with the flourish of her hand. Then Gwynne turned to confront the other clamouring women.
‘Listen, my friends, listen to me,’ Gwynne ordered, now standing beside Lulu. ‘If Lulu tries to thwart our Sacred Ceremony tomorrow night, then you have my sacred promise that you can do exactly what you want with her.’
Gwynne grasped Lulu’s elbow, pushing her towards the open door, while she continued to address the glowering women over her shoulder.
‘But until such times as Lulu interferes in our affairs, you must leave her to her own devices. Otherwise you will blemish, and pervert our Ritual. Then we will never have good harvests again. So now replenish your glasses for one final time tonight. And as it is getting late; drink up, and go off to your homes with your children. The Millennium requires all your wits and your energy, so everyone needs their sleep.’
Lulu moved down the hallway, with Gwynne close behind her, giving her instructions; ‘Lulu, now get the hell out of here before they change their minds.’
After Lulu had opened the front door, she turned back to Gwynne, ‘So what made you to telepathically call me to come here tonight?’
‘I didn’t “call” you,’ Gwynne replied in a bemused tone. ‘At least I didn’t call you consciously.’
‘Then it’s just as I suspected. You did it unconsciously.’
Still perplexed by Lulu’s response, the witch gave Lulu a gentle push, to move her further along the garden path.
‘No need to push me, Gwynne, I’m going. But we are being watched.’
‘Of course you are,’ Gwynne agreed, pointing to the snarling faces in the front window.
‘It’s not just the women, who are watching us, Gwynne.’
‘Who else…?’ Gwynne asked mystified.
‘Paul Hopkins has witnessed everything from his hiding place behind that privet hedge.’
‘I don’t approve of men spying us while we are in conclave,’ the witch said, after she had registered Paul’s presence. ‘But otherwise Hopkins is quite harmless.’
‘No, he’s not. Because what you don’t know, Gwynne, is that Hopkins watched Vince setting your house on fire. What’s more, Hopkins applauded Vince’s pyromania like a veritable madman. But then it’s not surprising - when you consider that Hopkins’ religious dictum is; “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”,’ Lulu said pointedly. ‘So if I were you, Witch Gwynne – which I’m very glad I’m not – I would be very watchful where Hopkins is concerned because he is dangerous. And that’s another very important reason why you should abort your barbarous Millennium Ritual tomorrow night before it’s too late.’
‘So far we’ve only ever sacrificed animals, Lulu,’ Gwynne countered, her veined eyes glaring like two basilisks.
‘Yes, but recently, Gwynne, your annual butchery has proved to be utterly pointless, hasn’t it? Especially as your harvests have been very meagre these last few years,’
‘Quite. So as it is the Millennium tomorrow night, Lulu Crescent; in order to ensure that our harvests will improve, we may well have to sacrifice something much more substantial than the odd horse,’ the witch whispered, giving Lulu a menacing look. ‘Indeed, the one certain way that we can propitiate the Half Light, is by making a real sacrifice, because - as you will soon discover - the Darkness is forever,’ Gwynne chanted, while she gazed up the cumulus-covered night sky.
‘No, you’re so wrong, Gwynne. Yours is not the way of the Goddess,’ Lulu said, pointing at the radiant moon as it re-emerged from behind a cloud, which was shaped like a horned-mask. ‘You see, the Triple Moon Goddess is not a dark, vengeful, or destructive Deity. On the contrary, the Goddess is life-giving, and life-enhancing.’
Gwynne whirled away from Lulu.
‘So be it, Crescent!’ the witch proclaimed as she limped frenetically back towards the house. ‘If you do not heed my warnings, and if you do not leave Thorn this very night, I assure you that the Darkness will possess your mind. And then…tomorrow, at midnight, the sacrificial flames will consume your body.’
Wincing because of her rheumatic pains, the witch pulled open the front door, and she scurried back into the hallway, slamming the door behind her like a final coffin-nail.
Dispirited but still determined, Lulu turned away from the Sue’s house. She ignored Paul’s bearded, scowling face as he emerged from behind the privet hedge. When the writer called out to her, she opened her car door, and slid behind the wheel. Gesticulating frantically, Paul ran towards her. Shaking her head, Lulu drove off into the moon-silvered village.
Impotently Paul watched Lulu’s Citroen ZX disappearing from view. The intensity of his headache forced him to lean against the front gate for support. But it wasn’t only the tintinnabulation inside his skull that was causing the writer to feel faint and nauseous. His on-going malaise was exacerbated by the sensation that his brain was being engulfed by satanic flames. Then he gave voice to his despair.
‘Lulu, Lulu, Lulu! If I don’t possess you tomorrow, I will make you share my inordinate pain,’ he raged at the impervious moon. ‘So if you refuse my advances, I will burn you alive, you prick-teasing witch!’
*
Two hours later, in Dave Bigg’s largest field, three horses were whinnying fearfully under the moon. The animals were being watched by their obese owner and by his best friend, Bob White. Both men were hooded against the December cold. Nine other men from Thorn Village, who were also wearing hoods, stood huddled together close by them.
After their evening’s drinking in the pub, Green Fingers In My Hair, the tipsy villagers had all been making their way home, when they heard Dave’s three horses in obvious distress. This had prompted the men to peer into the field. Now everyone was staring at the horses as the distraught animals careered frenetically around the enclosure.
With his florid features still glowing because of his excessive drinking at the pub, Dave Biggs switched on his torch. He focused the beam on the largest horse, which was a piebald, with frenzied eyes, and a foam-flecked muzzle. The piebald was galloping wildly ahead of the other two.
‘Shouldn’t they be back in their stable by now, Dave?’ Bob queried quizzically, pointing at the frenetic horses. ‘Well, it is close to midnight, and all three of ‘em seem scared out of their skins.’
‘Yeah, they’re not horses for nothing,’ Dave agreed. ‘So they know what their fate is tomorrow tonight,’ he said knowingly, patting his protruding gut. ‘It’s why I’m giving ‘em their last evening of freedom.’
‘And you mean all the three of ‘em, Dave? Are we really gonna…well, are we gonna do it to all of ‘em, then?’ Bob asked, disconcertedly shaking his head.
‘Yeah, Bob’s right. We’ve only ever done it to one horse before, Dave,’ protested a thick-set farm labourer.
‘And doing it to one horse’s always been bad enough,’ yelled another.
‘I know, mates, I know,’ Dave nodded sadly. ‘But with the lack of rain we’ve had these last couple of years, plus all of our piss-poor harvests, well…even three horses might not be enough to do the trick,’ Dave observed, wearily leaning his bulk against the gate.
Then he peered up at the icy craters of the moon, hoping for a reassuring answer, although there was none forthcoming.
‘But if three horses won’t do the trick, Dave, then what are we gonna do to get good harvests again?’ interjected Freddy Winston, who was a diminutive but tenacious farmer from the far side of the village. ‘Especially as our harvest this year was even worse than last year’s. So, Dave, what I’m getting a
t is…well, what the hell else can we sacrifice?’
‘To answer that, mates, I’ll have to ask you all one important question,’ Dave replied, turning his rubicund face to his friends and neighbours. ‘And that question is – d’you all agree that things here in Thorn have got a lot worse since Midsummer?’
‘It’s true, that’s true,’ the men shouted in assent.
‘So who came here to Thorn - just before Midsummer - and who screwed up our lives with our girlfriends and our wives?’ Dave demanded, clenching his podgy fists.
‘Lulu Crescent!’ chorused the villagers, while the horses’ whinnying in the field became more persistently nerve-jangling.
‘Right. So who’s responsible for sending Jimmy to an early grave? And who dug her claws into Vince, and who made our postman end-up dead, too?’ Dave shouted, gesticulating. ‘Yeah, and, what’s worse - ‘cause of the Christmas holidays - poor old Vince can’t even be buried ‘till after New Year. So who’s to blame for all that horror?’
‘Lulu Crescent!’
‘Right again, mates. So it’s Lulu Crescent, who’s gotta pay for what she’s done to Jimmy, and to Vince, and to the rest of us, right?’
‘Right, right, the filthy bitch’s gotta pay, she’s gotta pay!’
‘And what’s the best way of making her pay, mates?’
‘Burn the bitch, burn the witch! And burn her alive!’
‘Right again. And with her long yellow hair, Lulu’s going to light up the Heavens a real treat, ent she?’ cried Dave, jubilantly punching his fists at the moon-washed Milky Way.
Again the men cheered, and the petrified horses whinnied even louder.
And it was only when the men turned away from the field that the villagers’ faces were blank as they acknowledged inwardly to themselves the enormity of what they had just ordained.
*
Moments later, at the opposite end of the village, the sleeping, but restless figures of Scarlet and Bella were whimpering as the equally-terrifying dreams of the two girls converged.
Although Scarlet and Ball lived half a mile apart, and they were lying in separate beds, they still shared the same nightmare. In their turbulent sleep, they found themselves gazing into crackling flames, which were flaring around a yellow-haired woman, who was tied to a wooden stake, beside the midnight sea. The woman was crying out in infinite pain and terror. As the flames on the beach set the woman’s yellow hair on fire, Scarlet and Bella began to weep with her. Then, in their shared nightmare, the distraught children were forced to watch the screaming woman, while she was being burnt alive in the bonfire under the crescent moon…
And only the moon, and the nocturnal waves, seemed immune to the tragic plight of the immolated victim.
24
It was the middle of the evening on New Year’s Eve, December 31st 1999. In the isolated Village of Thorn, the majority of the villagers were inside their houses, and they were preparing for their long-awaited Ritual.
The villagers’ children scarcely glanced at the television coverage of all the Millennium festivities, which were happening throughout the rest of the world. The kids were too busy rushing ‘upstairs and down stairs, and in my lady’s chamber’. Excitedly they rummaged through boxes of masks, animals’ heads and bizarre costumes, and then they tried on their favourites. And unlike their worried parents, who were desperate to placate the Half Light, to guarantee good harvests in the future, the children were not concerned with the economic reasons for the forthcoming, occult rite. Instead they were beside themselves with excitement because they knew that it was going to be another wondrous carnival-procession, crowned with an enormous bonfire. And in less than three hours’ time, all the kids would be surging out of the village in their vibrant masks and costumes. Then they would sing and dance their way down to the beach where they would become an integral part of the thrilling midnight ceremony.
*
While the children were preparing for the Millennium, Gwynne Spark, who was staying with Sue Townley, stared sightlessly into the embers of her hostess’ sputtering fire. Gwynne knew that she no longer had the zest, or the compulsion, to participate in the imminent ritual. But, equally, she was aware that she was the only self-proclaimed witch in Thorn Village, so if there was to be any hope of a reasonable harvest next year, she would still have to provide the necessary incantations to assuage the forces of the Half Light. As she sat brooding by the dwindling flames, for the first time for many years, she felt that her world was about to change irrevocably.
Gwynne was so preoccupied with her bleak thoughts that she didn’t notice the eight-year-old Scarlet, who was wearing a plastic piebald-horse’s head, while the girl was cantering around the room behind the witch. Scarlet had already forgotten the nightmare that she’d shared with Bella the previous evening. As the girl tried to gain the old lady’s attention, she went on relentlessly-whinnying in Gwynne’s ear like an assertive young mare. But the witch remained in her own rheumatic and tormented world while she continued to peer into the ash-strewn grate.
And neither Gwynne nor Scarlet glanced at Sue, who was swathed in a black cloak, decorated with two burning tigers’ eyes, as she poured herself her fourth glass of white wine. With tears blurring her eyes, Sue gazed up at the framed photograph of Vince and herself, which she had reinstated on the mantelpiece only two days ago. In the photo, the young couple were radiant in their wedding gear. They were holding hands under St Peter’s Church porch, and they were lovingly laughing together, while the wedding guests were showering them with confetti.
Yes, and in those good old days, me and Vince were so deeply in love, Sue mused. But then we were young, and the world was our oyster. Yet now I can only think of that evil whore, Lulu Crescent, and how much I want to revenge myself on her – for what she did to you, Vince.
*
As the moon induced his stable roofs to glint like burnished silver, Dave Biggs, with his best friend, Bob White, watched the three chosen horses as they chomped their final meal. With a troubled look, Bob turned to Dave, who was drinking Scotch from a bottle.
‘Are the others getting ready now, Dave?’
‘Of course, they are, Bob. Well, they all agreed, remember. So now there’s no way out. It’s gotta be done,’ David said, after taking another slug from his vodka bottle.
‘What about her?’
‘Don’t worry about Lulu. She’ll join us at midnight.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘She won’t be able to resist it,’ Dave asserted, screwing the cap back on the whisky bottle.
‘Really?’
‘Well, Lulu came to our Midsummer Ritual, didn’t she?’ Dave said knowingly, shoving the vodka bottle into his coat pocket.
‘Yeah, Dave, but if you remember, she watched our Ritual from a very safe distance, on the top of the opposite cliff.’
‘But tonight she’ll make her way right down to the beach,’ Dave insisted, moving away from the stable.
Then he unzipped his fly, and he began to urinate behind a tree.
‘Dave, you still haven’t said why you’re so sure Lulu will come.’
‘I feel it in my water,’ Dave quipped, grinning while he finished cascading over the tree’s roots.
As the farmer was zipping up his flies, Paul Hopkins materialised from behind the stables.
‘What the hell are you doing on my farm, Hopkins?’ demanded Dave, adjusting his trousers, and moving his bulk to confront Paul.
‘Some of your friends have very loose mouths, Biggs, so I got wind of what you’re planning to do tonight.’
‘Who’s got a loose mouth?’
‘It’s unimportant. All that matters, Biggs, is I can’t let you do the terrible things that you’re planning for those poor animals,’ Paul said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the munching horses in the stable.
‘They’re my fucking horses, Hopkins. So I can do whatever I fucking like with ‘em,’ countered Dave, rubbing his bulbous gut with his podgy h
and, while pulling the Scotch bottle out of his coat pocket with the other.
‘No wonder you’re boozing yourself up, Biggs, considering what you’re about to inflict on your horses,’ the writer cried as he clutched his habitually-throbbing forehead. ‘Can’t you see that burning those beautiful animals is totally barbaric?’
‘And our ritual is also very unChristian-like, ent it, Hopkins?’ chimed in Bob White, with a smirk as he stroked his moustache.
‘That’s right, White. It’s against everything that the Lord Jesus Christ stands for,’ grimaced Paul as his fingers continued to massage his pain-furrowed temples. ‘Sacrificing animals to a pagan-deity is not only perversely-sick, but it’s also sacrilegious.’
‘Well, one thing’s certain, Hopkins; your bloody God’s gonna do nothing to stop us, ‘cause your “gentle” Jesus is now deader than the fucking dodo,’ Dave riposted, after taking another swig of alcohol.
‘Jesus wasn’t always gentle, Biggs,’ Paul exclaimed. ‘Christ also said; “I bring the sword”. So you and your friends had better be prepared because I am going to bring my sword down to the beach tonight. Then I will smite you heathens to smithereens.’
‘Yes, and from the way you keeping rubbing your head, Hopkins,’ Dave smirked, pointing his bulbous finger at Paul’s contorted brow, ‘It looks as if your fucked-up brains are about to explode right out of your fucking skull.’
‘So I’ve got a terrible-sodding-headache. So-sodding-what?’ Paul retorted, feverishly massaging his pulsating cranium. ‘But I’ll still be there at midnight, towhen I’ll stop you lot from burning those poor animals.’
‘There’s no way you’re gonna stop us,’ laughed Bob, leaning nonchalantly on the stable door, and picking out a shred of meat that was lodged in his back teeth.
‘Bob’s right, Hopkins. We can do exactly what we like tonight,’ agreed Dave, derisively waving the whisky bottle at Paul. ‘Fact we can sacrifice anything – or anyone! – we fancy. See, the rest of the world will be so busy setting off their stupid fireworks, and lighting their own frigging fires, that no fucker will notice what we’re doing here in Thorn. And after we’ve finished all our sacrificing,’ Dave went on, stuffing the whisky bottle back into his coat pocket, ‘If there is anything left of the burnt corpses – and it doesn’t matter whether it’s the remains of animals, or a man – or even a woman – then we’ll just throw all their charred bones and ashes into the fucking sea.’