Witch Grannies - The Case of the Lonely Banshee

by Gary J Byrnes

  ‘There’s always twelve in a coven. So that’ll leave nine.’

  The minion used his dirty fingers to confirm the Boss’s calculations, but had to give up when he reached ten.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I’ve a nice little surprise for them. There’ll be no more witches in Castleconnell before this night is out. You can chalk it down.’

  Malcolm’s mind jumped around as he tried to process all this horrible information. He fought off the natural urge to just sneak out of there and run away home. He vowed to do something, anything. He just didn’t know what.

  Then the pump started up and the shaking table started to rattle loudly. The little digger revved up and groaned as it dumped a load of dirt onto the shaking table. Malcolm held his breath as he saw the cyanide slowly working its way up the transparent plastic tubes. The ground trembled. The Boss started laughing loudly. And then the sky outside lit up, orange and red, as the thunder of the anti-aircraft gun shook the dust from the shack’s rafters.

  ‘There they are!’ shouted the man outside.

  And he fired again and again and again.

  CHAPTER 22. SCHOOL DAZE

  The day ended with a bang. The teachers trooped out as soon as the end-of-day bell chimed. They avoided the media. They didn’t look angry, just a bit sad. After all, they loved teaching (well, most of them), and they didn’t do it for the money or the long summer holidays. The long summer holidays helped, but it wasn’t why they became teachers.

  Miss Lonergan, the geography teacher who’d actually canoed up the Amazon, went to Emily’s clone.

  ‘Emily, you must put a stop to this,’ she said.

  ‘Why, miss?’

  ‘It looks bad,’ she replied, nodding her head towards the remaining journalists and the large group of parents who’d gathered, proud of their kids. ‘You’re making us look lazy when the reality is that the Government is cutting our wages and the money we have to run the school in the first place. There’s the heating and the electricity and, sure, the place is falling apart.’

  ‘So you’d extend the school day if you could?’

  ‘If they paid us a little bit extra, I think most of us wouldn’t mind doing a few extra hours.’

  ‘Is that really true?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Ok. We’ll see.’

  So the teachers went home and the kids ended the protest for the day. Emily called a quick meeting and told everyone about what Miss Lonergan had said. They agreed that a change of tactic was needed and they would have to come up with a plan, a bold plan. But after dinner, because protesting was hungry work. At least there was no homework to be done.

  The crowd cheered and applauded as the kids left the school. It seemed as if the adults were sick of the state of the country, and the world, and believed that the new generation would be the ones to fix things. To make everything better. And they needed the best education possible in order to succeed.

  Everybody went away, Emily and Malcolm’s clones off to continue their act and to continue the little revolution.

  They reached home to find a happy mum and dad and dinner about to be served. This was strange.

  ‘Here they come,’ smiled dad, ‘our little revolutionaries!’

  ‘You must be hungry,’ said mum. ‘All that protesting and all.’

  So they ate and went upstairs, where they sat on Emily’s bed and planned the next stage of the school strike and talked about their other selves, their real selves. Clones were like a reflection, but in a foggy mirror, all there but just not right. Only if you looked really closely could you see the difference.

  ‘How’s Emily?’ asked Malcolm’s clone.

  ‘Good, actually. I felt a weight lift off me in the last few minutes. I think she’s out of danger. And Malcolm?’

  ‘Not good,’ shivered his clone. ‘I think he’s in some deep doodoo. Really deep.’

  CHAPTER 23. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN...

  The gun kept firing and the cyanide was pumping. And Malcolm’s heart was pumping so fast he thought that he was having a heart attack. The adrenaline flowed through his body, his brain ordering his adrenal glands to release the chemical that helps us out in emergencies. It was used for saving early humans from bears and sabre-toothed tigers back in the old days. Tonight, it would be used for saving witches and river creatures.

  ‘One, two, three,’ counted Malcolm in his head. ‘Go!’

  Crouching low, he moved quickly to the cyanide tanks. There were levers at the top of each barrel where the pipes connected. He turned each lever from the upright to the horizontal position, shutting off the flow of poison. He expected to be grabbed at any second. When the poison supply was cut off, he turned and realised that he hadn’t been spotted yet. This was good, very good.

  The gun outside was still firing crazily, the tracer bullets flying into the black sky like fireflies with jet-packs. Malcolm hoped that none of the witches had been hit yet. They wouldn’t stand a chance, even with their magic. So he went outside, still unseen, pressed against the wall of the shack. The guy with the gun looked wild. He’d fire a burst, then stop and shout something and punch the air. Malcolm tried to work out how to stop him. There was a long belt of bullets coming from the gun on the back of the truck. It snaked into a big steel box on the ground. If I stop the bullet supply, that’s it.

  He got onto the dirt and crept towards the bullet box. The shooting started again. He grabbed the belt of bullets and jammed it into a jagged gap in the corner of the box. He pushed in with all his might. The tension in the belt reached the jammed part and the gun stopped firing. The crazy man started cursing then. He fiddled with the gun and tried pulling parts of it, thinking a bullet had jammed inside. Nothing. He turned around, following the bullet belt with his wild eyes. And then he saw Malcolm.

  He jumped off the truck, angry, screaming. Malcolm turned to run. The other men came out of the shack then. They didn’t look happy either.

  Malcolm swallowed hard. He was afraid of what might happen next.

  He needn’t have worried. Four shadows swooped out of the sky, moving faster than the human eye could register. Three of the witches, Tara, Gemma and Jackie, landed in a triangle around Malcolm. Each witch took a man, pointed her right hand at him and muttered three mysterious words. There were three bright flashes, a funny smell and then there were three large frogs bouncing towards Malcolm.

  Grannie Annie landed on the back of the jeep with the machine gun. She wrinkled her nose and the gun turned into a million moths, who flew away, up to the moon. Then she jumped, with one fantastic leap, straight into the shed, where she turned the cyanide barrels into bags of manure. Luckily, the cyanide that had started pumping - before Malcolm turned off the supply - was still in the revolving drum. None of it had reached the river.

  Malcolm was in a daze, a happy daze. The frogs began to hop the short distance to the river.

  ‘Will they stay like that?’ he asked. ‘Like frogs?’

  ‘No,’ said Tara, her long blond hair blowing in the soft night wind. ‘Spell effects on people are temporary. Only inanimate objects will never change back. Those three’ll be alright in an hour.’

  ‘Unless a pike gets them first,’ laughed Jackie. ‘If not, they’ll wake up wet and very confused.’

  Granny Annie emerged from the shack.

  ‘What on earth were they up to in there?’ she asked.

  ‘Gold,’ said Malcolm.’They were after gold. It seems you can use cyanide to get gold out of the right dirt.’

  ‘The right dirt? Sure, there’s never been gold around here. If it’s gold you’re after, I know where there’s plenty,’ she winked. ‘Who were they anyway? All I saw was frogs.’

  ‘I recognised one of them,’ said Gemma. ‘He owns the big estate outside the village.’

  ‘The O’Brien Estate,’ said Granny Annie. ‘Interesting. Very curious. Come on, we need to talk to the All-Seeing Eye and the rest of the coven about this. And Malcolm, there’s
somebody waiting to see you.’

  ‘Emily?’

  ‘Yes. Your sister was rescued.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great news,’ he cried, this was the best news.’

  ‘She should be dried off by now. You can ride on my broomstick.’

  ‘I don’t need to, thanks.’

  He whistled and his own broomstick came flying down from the treetops. I hoped that would happen, he thought.

  ‘My, my,’ said Granny Annie. ‘You’ve come along. Listen Malcolm, I don’t normally like men, or even boy-men but you, you’re a special case. What you did here was great. You saved us from being shot out of the sky.’

  ‘And you saved the river creatures from extinction,’ added Tara. ‘You’re our hero.’

  ‘So come on,’ winked Annie. ‘Let’s go and get you a rasher sandwich.’

  Malcolm suddenly realised that there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

  CHAPTER 24. NIGHT RIVER

  They hopped and hopped. It felt amazing. You just sit back on your long hind legs and then you think Forward. Your legs do the work and you’re suddenly so far ahead. The Boss liked being a frog. He didn’t realise that he had been human until five minutes before, but that didn’t matter.

  He could smell the stream ahead, the wetness and greenness of it. His cronies could smell it too. They licked their lips with long, sticky tongues, their eyes rolling around, watching out for owls.

  Hop!

  The Boss saw a flutter nearby and flicked out his tongue. He caught the moth and whipped it into his mouth. It was crunchy and juicy and, only a few minutes before, it had been part of a machine gun.

  They hopped into the stream and let the gentle current carry them down towards the river. The water felt cool and wet and lovely on their skin. They could swim! Those long legs stroked and beat and propelled them forward. The moonlight streamed down, making everything silver and glossy. The weeds, the pebbles, the - what’s that?

  The salmon had been waiting to see what happened with the bad men. Like all salmon that had come back to their river from the Great Salty Ocean, she didn’t feed, she just waited for the right time to lay her eggs. But sometimes the reflex was too strong. So, when she saw the little frogs swim by her face, she couldn’t help but open her mouth and gulp one in.

  So The Boss lost one of his minions.

  The minion didn’t feel a thing. The other two frogs darted into a clump of reeds and hid until the giant silver thing was gone. Their little frog brains were both confused and excited. They emerged from their shelter, driven to find little water bugs to eat. But a pike was laying in ambush in the next clump of reeds along and pike are always hungry. His sides were like a tiger’s, stripes in gold and black and green, the perfect camouflage, especially at night. The only giveaway was the glint of the watery moon off his eyes.

  In a flash, the pike’s powerful tail propelled him forward, clear of the reeds, his gigantic sharp teeth cutting through the water. This was a whopper, he’d lived in the river for sixty years. When his mighty jaws closed around minion number two, the frog was swallowed in an instant, really just a tasty morsel. Boss frog swam for his life, the pike turning and powering through the water in pursuit. The jaws opened in anticipation. The frog sensed the river bank, a long, strong, dark hardness, so he used all his strength to jump straight out of the water, the pike leaping clear of the surface, snapping, snapping, missing.

  Safe on the dewy grass of the riverbank, the frog began to glow. A flash. An odd smell. And the Boss was lying there, his clothes soaking, his heart trying to break through his chest, wondering Where are the lads? Why am I soaking? What on earth is going on?

  Then some hazy memories came back to him, along with a thumping headache. His plan to get the gold and save his estate was gone, all up in smoke. He became so angry that you could almost see the steam coming out his ears. He needed money and he needed it fast. There was an old Irish belief that witches were like magpies: they liked to gather shiny things, gold and silver and diamonds.

  ‘Revenge,’ he muttered, ‘is a dish best served cold. Time to wipe out these witches once and for all. And then I’ll find their stash of gold. Two birds with one stone. And I know exactly how I’ll do it.’

  A mean smile crossed his dripping face. Then he rolled up his wet sleeves and went off up a boreen, getting madder with every step he took.

  CHAPTER 25. RASHER SANDWICHES

  When they all got back to the All-Seeing Eye’s mountain-top house, Malcolm gave Emily a long hug. She’d been warmed up and given a fresh outfit, all black and was sitting on the roof platform wrapped in a black blanket and sipping a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallows floating on top. Granny Annie did a head count.

  ‘All here. Except for Edna, of course.’

  The witches who’d rescued Malcolm examined the bullet holes through their capes and hats and hugged Emily while Malcolm examined the All-Seeing Eye’s gadgets.

  Granny Smith handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate with double marshmallows. The witches had tea, always hot from their never-ending teapot. The smell of frying bacon wafted up from the kitchen. Malcolm’s tummy called Yum!

  ‘What’s this thing here?’ asked Malcolm.

  ‘That’s the banshee detector,’ said Granny Smith, nodding towards the All-Seeing Eye, ‘but you’ll have to ask the expert about how it works.’

  ‘Only it’s glowing...’

  ‘Girls!’ cried Granny Smith. ‘We have movement!’

  The witches gathered round the detector while the All-Seeing Eye gently twiddled the control knobs, explaining what she was doing to Malcolm, who nodded like he was actually interested.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said the All-Seeing Eye. ‘She’s on the move for sure and there are two fainter echoes with her. What could that mean, I wonder?’

  ‘It’s Edna,’ said Emily. ‘And the banshee has a man there too. He drowned in the river and she brought him back to life, but only as long as he’s in her house. I mean, lair.’

  ‘It’s okay, child,’ said Granny Smith, her arms around Emily. ‘We know she doesn’t mean ill. So, you know her. Do you think she’s moving home?’

  Emily thought for a long minute. ‘I’m not sure. The house was really cosy. It felt like she’d lived there for a hundred years or more. I think she knows Edna will want to leave, even though she likes it there. She doesn’t want to lose Bill, the fisherman she saved. Well, kind of saved. They make a sweet couple.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We need to rescue Edna and let the banshee know that we won’t harm her or tell anyone where she lives.’

  ‘As long as she doesn’t go tricking any more youngsters, the way she took you,’ said Granny Smith, her face all serious. ‘I won’t stand for that at all at all. My heart was in my mouth, worried about you, child.’

  ‘Thanks Granny. Should we go now?’

  ‘Let’s wait until morning, Emily. I think you need some rest.’ She yawned. ‘We all might need a bit of a rest. The All-Seeing Eye can keep an eye on the banshee and Edna...’

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Good lad,’ continued Granny Smith. ‘Does anyone want to stay on air patrol?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, not with all this excitement,’ said Tara.

  ‘I’ll stay up as well, added Jackie.

  ‘That’s sorted so. We’ll have our bacon sandwiches and get some rest. Come morning, we’ll rescue Edna and let the banshee know what’s what. Then this whole sorry episode will be behind us.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ said Malcolm, his lips brown from the drinking chocolate. ‘Your man O’Brien who escaped. He should be back to being human by now. And I don’t think he’ll be too happy.’

  CHAPTER 26. MONEY, MONEY, MONEY

  Emily and Malcolm’s clones were up all night researching and planning. They discovered research, at www.oecd.org, that showed that Irish kids spend more time in school, on average, than kids in other countries.

  ‘That’s
not good,’ said Emily’s clone. ‘You’d think the teachers would’ve known about that!’

  ‘Keep digging, there must be something we can use.’

  ‘Aha, here we are. This report shows that Irish spending on education is about the lowest in the developed world.’

  ‘How low?’ asked Malcolm.

  ‘4.7% of the State’s spending. The average is 5.7%. America spends 7.6%!’

  ‘Wow! No wonder half the schools are falling down and the parents are sick of getting begging letters to pay for their kids’ ‘free education’. That’s ridiculous in this day and age. We can really get the Government with this, unite pupils and teachers and parents alike.’

  ‘It’s a no-brainer,’ said Malcolm. ‘How can they expect the country to get better if they don’t spend the money on education?’

  ‘Exactly. And the Government wants to make class sizes bigger again, just so they don’t have to pay so many teachers,’ said Emily. ‘There’s already 35 in Emily’s class.’

  ‘These humans aren’t so smart when you think about it. Let’s shake them up.’

  ‘Wake them up!’

  So they got their statistics together and wrote up a press release for the newspapers and the tv stations and the radio stations and the internet sites. Then they worked out a three point plan:

  1. Create awareness among students and get them to take action.

  2. Create awareness in the media all over the world.

  3. Shame the Government into doing something.

  They sent out emails and texts to all their friends at school and at other schools, asking them to pass on the details so that every kid in the country would know the plan by breakfast time. Then they set up the press release so that it would be emailed automatically at exactly 8am, so the media would turn up just as every schoolkid in the country was starting to strike.

  They stayed up all night, making signs, chatting nervously.

  ‘I think Malcolm is okay now,’ said his clone. ‘I sense that he’s relaxed. And I can taste hot chocolate.’

  ‘That’s good. I think we can leave Emily and Malcolm to do their job and we’ll do ours, give them a better future, give all the kids a better chance. I just hope the weather’s good in the morning.’