The Wicca Woman

by David Pinner

  ‘Well, at first, Mrs Spark, I thought it was just like…well, crabs and sea-anemones. But now I can see that they ent crabs, or sea-anemones! No, they bloody ent!’ Tom White cried, his grey eyes bulging in their sockets.

  ‘So if they’re not crabs and sea-anemones, then what are they?’ the witch purred like a cat about to devour several mice.

  ‘They’re monsters! Yeah, ‘cause down there in your pool, Mrs Spark, well, there’s lots and lots of dragons and vampire-bats! And they’re horrible, great dragons and horrible great vampire-bats,’ blurted Alfie, with his lower lip quivering.

  ‘And are the great dragons spitting fire, and the vampire-bats baring their fangs, then, Alfie?’

  ‘No, Mrs Spark. You see, they’re all …well, they’re all kinda…well, like they’re dancing together, ent they?’

  ‘So they are performing a dragon-vampire-bat-tarantella, are they, Alfie?’ Gwynne asked, unable to suppress her smile.

  ‘I dunno wot that means, Mrs Spark. But them dragons and them vampire-bats are…well, they’re just really dancing down there like crazy things.’

  ‘Yeah, and wot’s real scary, Mrs Spark, is…well, now them dragons and vampires-bats, they’re calling to us.’

  ‘And what are they calling you to do, Bella?’

  ‘They want us to join ‘em in their dance!’

  ‘And where do they want you to join them?’

  ‘Them dragons and vampire-bats want us to join ‘em down there, at the bottom of their pool, Mrs Spark! But that ent right, is it?’

  ‘And why isn’t it “right”, Scarlet?’

  ‘’Cause if we do join ‘em down there, at the bottom of their pool, Mrs Spark, then we’ll all bloody drown, won’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, and Lulu wouldn’t want that to happen to us, would she, Mrs Spark?’

  ‘Wouldn’t she, Bella?’ queried the witch, continuing to smile.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t!’ protested Bella. ‘See, just before Halloween, me and Scarlet were down on the beach with Lulu. And when we saw Lulu staring into a rock-pool at some sea-anemones, well, we asked her why she was doing that.’

  ‘And what did Lulu say, Bella?’

  ‘She just went on staring down into the rock-pool. And then Lulu said, “The reason I’m staring is because of…hope. You see, I’m always looking for hope, Bella. And for some strange reason, sea-anemones always give me hope”. Well, that’s wot Lulu said, Mrs Spark,’ Bella said uncertainly.

  ‘But in our rock-pond, Bella; they aren’t sea-anemones, are they?’ Gwynne countered. ‘No, as you all agree, they are vampire-bats. And those at the very bottom of the pond, well, they are dragons, aren’t they?’ she hissed, pointing at the churning water. ‘What’s more, the vampire-bats and the dragons are still calling you to join them down there. So the question is…what are you going to do, my dears?’

  *

  As midnight approached, the guttering torchlight illuminated the contorted figure of Paul, who was now hanging on the cross that Biggs and his cohorts had erected and hammered into a tight cleft in the rocks on the beach.

  As more of his blood dripped off the head of the six-inch nail that Winterton had driven into his palm, Paul watched his labouring neighbours, while they continued to pile up heaps of dead branches around the base of the cross. In abject despair, the writer moaned inaudibly.

  Silently invoking Christ’s name, again Paul tried to look heavenwards, but the lolling weight of his head forced his beard down onto his chest. And although his eyes were blinded with tears because of his unrelenting pain, the writer still managed to peer down at his wire-shackled ankles. In terrified disbelief, he focused on Lulu, who was emptying the contents of the petrol-canister over the fuel that the villagers had heaped-up below the writer’s feet. When Paul tried to give voice to his inordinate suffering, all that dribbled over his cracked lips were more drops of his own blood.

  At that moment, another battleship-cloud shrouded the moon, and again the three tethered horses whinnied fearfully.

  When Lulu had emptied the petrol-canister, she tossed it onto the sand. In fervid anticipation, the villagers encircled her and the hanging writer on the cross. And as the torches in the overhanging rocks were smoking and fast fading, Lulu knew that her her silent-but-impatient audience was urging her to conclude the sacrifice.

  After she had glanced up at Paul’s agony-etched features, she looked down at his blood as it spattered onto the waiting bonfire. Finally she checked her watch. It was only seven minutes to the Millennium.

  She surveyed the night sky, which was no longer filled with screaming lights and resonant bangs.

  Yes, Lulu thought, It is almost the Millennium, and that’s why there’s a brief lull in the firework-display. Now all the near-by-villages are waiting for the stroke of midnight, and then the Heavens will explode again.

  As Lulu took a box of matches out of Paul’s toolkit, she nodded to the restive villagers.

  Menacingly she rattled the matchbox close to the writer’s groin.

  ‘When I strike one of these matches, then the petrol that you were going to soak me in, it will instantly ignite under you, with a venomous-whoosh, Witchfinder General. Yes, and I call you ‘Witchfinder General’ because – despite all your so-called-Christian protestations to the contrary – you still secretly and perversely believe that you are the reincarnation of Matthew Hopkins. And it’s the reason that you continue to regard every woman as a witch, and it’s why you lust for us all to have excruciating deaths – like you are about to have.

  ‘You see, Matthew Hopkins, once the ravenous fire has devoured the branches at the base of your cross, and its heat has seared your toes, then the flames will sink their hot fangs deeper and deeper into your glowing ankles. Then from your vantage-point, Matthew, you will have the privilege of watching the rest of your body ignite – and so you will observe your flesh and your bones as they burn slowly but progressively.

  ‘Yes, Witchfinder General,’ Lulu continued, ‘And in much the same way as you would have watched Gwynne and me being burnt alive, along with the rest of your female neighbours; very, very soon, you will be able to play the helpless voyeur to…your own, seemingly-interminable agony.’

  As Lulu described the writer’s imminent fate, the villagers began to stamp their feet into the pebbly sand in rhythmic applause.

  Then Lulu struck a match, and she threw it onto the petrol-doused bonfire. Within seconds, the heaped-up dead branches around the base of the cross were wreathed in flames.

  As Paul whimpered silently, Lulu shouted up at him; ‘Yes, and it won’t be long, Matthew Hopkins, before your ankles are engulfed in those flames, and your calves are bubbling and erupting. And all the while, your internal screaming will go on unheeded. You see, we will ignore you in your vortex of pain – like you would have ignored all our suffering, if you had succeeded in sacrificing us to your Christian God. And as these flames rise higher and higher, eventually your thighs, your hands, your torso, and your forearms will boil like cauldrons of molten blood. Your chest, your beard and your nose will incinerate, and finally your eyes will explode. And by then, rely on it, Witchfinder General, you will be only too grateful when Death devours your cross, and He reduces the very little that is left of your oozing flesh into…Millennium ashes.’

  As the flames began to obey Lulu’s prophetic injunction, and their sulphurous tongues licked up towards Paul’s wire-tied feet; in bellicose unison, Thorn’s villagers slapped their thighs like war drums. With one accord, they began to dance orgiastically around the silently-screaming writer. From beneath their black hoods and their animal masks, the men and the women ululated bestial sounds like covens of warlocks and witches.

  To the villager’s obvious delight, Lulu pushed her way in front of them. With a flaring swirl of her dress, instantly she reversed the direction in which they were dancing. While the flames began to climb towards Paul’s feet, instead of the villagers dancing clockwise around the bonfire, Lulu induced her
neighbours to gyrate anti-clockwise around the burning cross. Then resonantly she sang out the clarion word; ‘Widdershins! Widdershins!’ As the whirling villagers followed her lead, they also chanted her ‘Widdershins’ war-cry. And their dancing increased in feverish intensity because now they knew in their hearts, and in their loins, that Lulu was their votive-priestess, whom they had all been waiting and praying for.

  Then, commandingly, Lulu clapped her hands high above her head, and she stopped the dance.

  When all her panting followers had juddered to a reluctant halt, Lulu proclaimed in her stentorian voice; ‘And the reason, my friends, that you must dance “Widdershins! Widdershins”, is because you must always take the Left-Hand-Path. If you dance to the Right, you will only follow the erroneous passage taken by the sun. Whereas the Left-Hand-Path is the True Path because it is the Path taken by the Moon Goddess, and She is the only unblemished Deity. You see, my friends, it was the Moon Goddess, who created this world of ours, and all the precious life upon it. Whereas, in contrast, the opposite is true of all the male Gods of the Christians, the Moslems and the Jews – because their gods have brought very little to our world – save their constant reigns of mayhem, death and unrelenting pain.’

  As the flames flickered upwards towards the soles of Paul’s trainers, Lulu pointed to the bonfire.

  ‘It’s true what I say,’ Lulu proclaimed. ‘Throughout history, it has always been men, with their punitive, patriarchal gods, who have burnt their fellow-women, and their fellow-men. Indeed, so far, no woman has ever lit a fire, with the dire intention of burning alive one of her fellow-creatures. Well, not until now,’ she asserted as the first flames licked at the toes of Paul’s trainers. ‘And, believe me, I am only burning Matthew Hopkins because if he had had his way, he would have burnt every woman in this village to death.’

  With an accusatory gesture, Lulu turned and addressed the male villagers, who were now glowering at her; ‘So it is you men, who must reform your sadistic ways.’

  Biggs, White and the other men were furious that Lulu had dared to make such an indictment of their masculinity, and together they shook their heads at her vehemently. Then, en masse, they surged towards Lulu, shouting at her.

  Pointing both her forefingers at their snarling faces, Lulu transfixed the men with her mesmeric, aquamarine eyes, and instantly she brought their protesting advance to a halt.

  Within seconds, the men realised their anger had dissipated. And after each of them had nodded submissively at Lulu, they shuffled back to join the women. Then, to ensure that the men remained in awe of her powers, Lulu’s eyes flickered down, and she surveyed the unconscious, six-foot-five-body of Don Winterton, who was still lying motionless to the left of the bonfire.

  ‘So, you see,’ Lulu said, addressing the cowed, male villagers; ‘Now you have no choice but to return to the Ways of the Triple-Moon-Goddess because She created everything.’

  As she advanced on the men, Lulu had her back to the flames, which were licking the rubber toes of Paul’s trainers. In response, the writer could only jibber dumbly.

  ‘And that’s why the men’s Bible has got it totally wrong,’ Lulu insisted. ‘You see, it was the Goddess who created Adam. But before She created Adam, She created Lilith – as I know to my eternal cost,’ she added, now turning and absently glancing at the flames, which were beginning to singe Paul’s trainers. ‘As a result, poor old Eve was merely a male-serving-afterthought.’

  At the moment, myriads of rockets and fireworks lit up the sky like detonating dwarf-meteors. Jubilantly Lulu waved her arms at the flaring bangs above her head.

  ‘At last the Millennium has dawned!’ Lulu shouted out above the now-continuous explosions in the fire-fretted sky. ‘And as you can see in the Heavens, my friends, it is certain that that the Triple-Moon-Goddess approves of our human sacrifice,’ she cried, gesturing at the smoke-enwreathed figure of Paul on his cross.’ Which is why – out there in the universe – the Goddess is singing a paean of praise because She supports our fiery actions. And in return for our sacrifice; she will guarantee you all a plethora of magnificent harvests in this new Millennium. From now on – as long as you only worship the Triple-Moon-Goddess - fecundity and a bountiful future will be yours for the taking. So let’s dance and dance and dance around the cross – against the pathway of the sun. Yes, and we must always dance the Left-Hand-Path, and the Way of the Moon. Widdershins! Widdershins!’

  As Lulu whirled back into the ritual dance, again she led the whooping villagers in an anti-clockwise circle around Paul on the burning cross. Cheering with relief at the prospect of plentiful harvests, the jubilant villagers pounded behind their priestess like demented lemmings. As they swirled past the crucified writer, they bellowed their praise at the corona of man-made fire, which was lighting up the night firmament. The villagers were so obsessed by their frenzied dancing, and with repeating Lulu’s invocation; ‘Widdershins. Widdershins’ that they were oblivious that the ravenous flames were now beginning to envelope Paul’s feet.

  Then Paul, who felt he was in Hell’s Inferno, let out his first, prolonged scream of agony. Briefly his scream pierced the night’s pandemonium. But as the dancers gyrated, whooped and whirled, and the heavens blazed with hundreds of exploding fireworks, no one heeded the writer’s harrowing cry.

  30

  On and on and on, under the detonating Millennium sky, the demented villagers continued to pound their dancing feet in an anticlockwise direction, while Lulu led them faster and faster around the burning base of the cross. Then the crucified figure of the writer screamed again. But this time, his pain-stricken wail was greeted by the unmistakable sound of a dozen, high-pitched voices, who were shouting in Paul’s defence.

  The next moment, all the children, led by Bella and Scarlet, came running out of the furthest cave, screaming at the tops of their treble voices; ‘No, no, no, no, no, NO!’

  Behind the children was the hobbling but vociferous figure of Gwynne, who also was shouting as loud as she could; ‘The children are right, Lulu. Stop this horror! Stop it! Stop it at once, Lulu!’

  The children charged across the beach like Zulu warriors. Then Bella and Scarlet raced past Alfie and Tom, who had taken the lead. Seconds later, all the children were rushing, pushing, bumping and wriggling over, and through, their parents’ dancing-legs.

  Using his bouncing gut like a weapon, Alfie thumped his way between the villagers’ twirling bodies. Panting frenetically, Alfie caught up with Lulu, who was still leading the dancers in a clamouring, anti-clockwise circle around Paul as he hung on the cross in the middle of the bonfire.

  Yelling; ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!’, Alfie rugger-tackled Lulu around her knees. Taking her completely by surprise, the boy hurled Lulu to the ground, and he landed on top of her. Soon the dancing villagers were cursing as more and more children charged into their wildly-cavorting midst. The children tripped up many of their parents, and they sent them sprawling headlong onto the pebble-strewn sand.

  On the cross, Paul screeched out a third, and final time. As his scream turned to a howl of demented despair, Bella and Scarlet pulled Alfie off Lulu. Then together the girls shouted in Lulu’s ear; ‘Lulu, remember the sea-anemones!’

  ‘Yes, and remember the hope that the sea-anemones brought you, Lulu,’ commanded Gwynne as she pulled up the bemused and reluctant Lulu by her wrists until the younger woman was standing unsteadily beside her.

  Moments later, the rest of the bewildered villagers, who had been tripped up by the children’s anarchic charge, clambered to their feet. In the wake of their manic dancing, the villagers were stunned and disorientated. Blearily they gazed at Lulu, demanding an answer for the anarchic mayhem created by the children.

  But Lulu remained silent, so the villagers focused on Paul, who was yowling in pain while he continued to peer at his crucified hand, which was impaled on the six-inch-nail like a gobbet of dripping meat. Then as the last of the Millennium rockets whooshed through the hea
vens, Paul screamed down at the flames, which were burning his trainers and the bottoms of his trousers.

  ‘Lulu, for pity’s sake, put out the fire now,’ Gwynne shrieked, with her fingers still manacled around Lulu’s wrists. ‘And get that poor bastard off the cross!’

  ‘No, no, no, no! He must pay in full for all his crimes,’ Lulu shouted back, pulling herself free from Gwynne’s grip.

  Accusatorily waving her arms at Paul, Lulu ran towards the cross. In her precipitate haste, she tripped over a jutting rock. As she sprawled forwards, she tried to prevent her face from ploughing into the pebbly sand by thrusting out her splayed hands straight out in front of her. But as the moon was now fully obscured by a cloud, and the firework display in the sky was almost over, Lulu couldn’t see where she was hurtling.

  A second later, she discovered that she was up to her elbows in the icy waters of an adjacent rock-pool. Momentarily she hadn’t the strength to pull her arms out of the pool. And no one moved to help her.

  Then as the moon re-emerged from behind the cloud, Bella and Scarlet ran across to Lulu, and they knelt beside her in the sand.

  ‘Look at them, Lulu, look at them!’ Bella ordered, pointing between Lulu’s submerged arms at what appeared to be six spectral, wavering creatures, which were dancing in the recesses of the moonlit pool.

  While Lulu was pulling her arms out of the cold water, she refocused on the spectral creatures in the pool, and she realised that they were her beloved sea-anemones.

  ‘Now you can see them, can’t you, Lulu?’ Scarlet chimed in. ‘The sea-anemones are just like you told us, when we met you on the beach that afternoon. And they are your hope, Lulu.’

  ‘Yeah, and they’re telling you, Lulu, that your only hope is to save Mr Hopkins from burning to death!’ urged Bella, tugging at Lulu’s wet sleeve.

  ‘The Goddess help me, but what you say is true,’ Lulu nodded vigorously, still staring at the dancing sea-anemones as she clambered to her feet. ‘You’re both right,’ she cried. ‘You’re so right. And I am so very, very wrong!’