Hettford Witch Hunt: Series One, Page 2

4.

  As Gary pulled up to the roadside, he was unsurprised to find Milton and Dan sat in exactly the same spot that they had been stood in when he left. As he approached they both managed to make it to their feet again. He climbed out of his car to greet them.

  “Been busy have you?” asked Dan.

  “Sorry, got caught up with Alison.”

  “Yeah, well next time keep it in your pants. Bloody Hell, it’ll be dark by the time we finish this thing.”

  “I wasn’t shagging her,” Gary said in gloomy defensiveness.

  “It’s alright: we know how it is,” said Milton, “still clearing the air?”

  “I wish.”

  Gary looked down at the ground as he tried to think of a way to explain his situation to two single, middle-aged men. He settled on:

  “I'm working up to it.”

  “Well, don’t do the crime they say,” Milton soothed, “if you cannot abide the sentencing. You’re not getting sick of her are you?”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  Milton had a look of pensive sympathy as he spoke:

  “Women are funny like that, you can be closer to them than anyone and they can be your best friend. But, they can never be your best mate because they’re such a clutch of complete bitches.”

  Gary shrugged.

  “Shall we get on with it?” Gary suggested.

  “A fine idea,” Dan enthused, “the best thing anyone has said since I last spoke.”

  5.

  The Discount News Newsagent was immaculately kept. Rows of bread and crisps had been laid out with a fascistic authority. However, despite the frantic attention to cleanliness and order, the whole place looked fatigued. The shelves needed new fittings and the flooring had been mopped to a dismal lackluster grey. The walls were in need of repainting, an acne of blue adhesive marked the spots where posters announcing long since sold ‘for sale’ items had been torn down. Alison stood behind the counter; watching the brothers Paul and Saul enter the shop.

  Paul and Saul were Hettford's answer to the British National Party: although, they didn’t go as far as calling themselves the Hettford Village Party. Avid supporters of both the BNP and the UK Independence Party, Saul was two years the senior of the pair. He was nineteen years of age. He boasted a shaved head and had a tattoo on his hand. The tattoo was of a flying swallow; Saul had got the tattoo to suggest that he had been in prison, when in actual fact he was merely an unemployed middle class boy who was undergoing somewhat of an identity crisis. They were both a little shy of six foot tall and had skinny shoulders with prominent bony scapulas. Saul did not keep a great deal of intelligence beneath his shaved scalp and although he was a charmless dullard, his younger brother Paul could see no flaws in his personality whatsoever. Paul almost universally wore a woolly hat with the word “Gangsta” sewn into the brim. His granny had knitted it for him.

  Saul was browsing through the top shelf pornography magazines that the internet had rendered pointless yet there still seemed to be a market for. He chose a copy entitled Bouncy Wives and took it to the counter.

  “Just this,” said Saul.

  “That will be six pounds and seventy pence please.”

  “Does it come with a DVD?”

  Alison held up the magazine and scrutinised the cover.

  “Yes, it says free DVD, right there under the caption that reads, ‘these mothers are ready to fuck.’”

  Alison fixed her eyes on the boy; Saul slammed his money defiantly on the counter and counted out the pennies. Then he picked up his magazine with all the contempt he could muster and walked out without looking back. Once he had walked away Paul timidly approached the counter holding a packet of Sherbert Dip Dabs.

  “Is Tajel in today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “If you see her will you tell her I said hi?”

  Paul took a deep breath. Trying to sound assertive, he slammed his hand on the counter.

  “OK?”

  “If I see her I’ll tell her you said hi.”

  “Good,” said Paul.

  He pulled off his hat to reveal a head as shaved as his brother's and shuffled moodily out of the shop.

  6.

  “Alright, you just start filming and I’ll splice in the informational material during editing.”

  Dan stood holding a microphone that was not plugged into the camera.

  “No problems,” agreed Gary.

  “Introduction, first and final take,” Dan told his friends.

  Dan began:

  “In the Eighteenth Century in this village of Hettford, there lived two witches, Geraldine and Ruth Bellows. So famous was the reputation of these witches that Samuel Taylor Coleridge himself later chose to use one of them as the basis for a famous poem... For heaven’s sake Gary what’s the matter?”

  “I was just looking around to check no-one was going to shoot at us. You’re still in frame. Keep going, we can splice it together afterwards.”

  “It was just a farmer,” said Dan dismissively.

  “How do you know?”

  “We found the gun outside his house but he wasn’t in or wasn’t answering. Look, can we just get on with this?”

  “Come to think of it, how do we know he wasn’t dead?” Milton interrupted, “Shot with his own gun.”

  “Who would want to shoot a farmer?” Dan barked.

  Dan was going red again, the tone of his voice was beginning to elevate in line with his blood pressure.

  “A rival farmer,” Gary suggested, “or a fox.”

  “I don’t know, whoever wanted to steal his gun.”

  Milton looked earnest as he spoke but Gary could see the mocking glint in his eye.

  “They’d just take it,” Dan argued, “there’d be no need to shoot him.”

  “Maybe they were professionals, covert ops trying to stop us getting the truth out there.”

  Dan reached crimson:

  “Don’t be ridiculous Milton: the only one who would want to stop us making this film is the witch.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “May I continue? Am I still in frame?”

  Gary nodded.

  “Good to go.”

  Dan raised his superfluous microphone a second time:

  “Witchcraft - The Hidden Secret, take two. Somewhere in the twelve acres of forest that lie behind us Ruth Bellows still dwells. She is biding her time to avenge herself upon the world that killed her sister.”

  “Oh, mate!” Gary said as gently as possible.

  “What is it now?”

  “You can’t say that bit about killed her sister.”

  “But that’s exactly what happened!”

  “Yeah but It sounds like The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Uh-huh, we should be trying to sound more serious,” Milton agreed.

  Dan opened his mouth as if he were about to explode but then he settled himself and continued.

  “Take three: Biding her time to avenge herself upon the world that she believes has wronged her. Now in these times of high security and global terrorism I feel it is important that every threat to our nation be addressed.”

  Gary raised his hand like a nervous school boy, waving to get Dan's attention.

  “What now?”

  “The batteries are dead.”

  “Then you’ll just have to go and pick some up.”

  “From where exactly?”

  “Your garage will have them”.

  “Yes they will, but as I've called in sick with the flu to do this, I don't think it's the best idea.”

  “What about Discount News?”

  “The Discount News that’s right opposite the garage?”

  “It can’t be helped then” Milton yawned.

  “Look, what is your problem today?”

  The angry badger of beard on Dan’s face lurched forward as he made the inquiry.

  “I hate doi
ng these reports, they’re pointless,” Milton told him, “The best result we can hope for is to be totally ignored and the worst result is. Well, I was nearly arrested that time we sent one to the Queen.”

  “Well, we can’t use my name can we?”

  “That’s another thing. I think we’d be taken more seriously if we did use your name instead of just crediting you as Narrator Number One. Gary’s missing work and I’ve had to shut the shop for this. Either it gets done properly or we go home.”

  “I suppose you want to be the narrator.”

  Dan folded his arms, and dropped his microphone dramatically.

  “No, I want Gary to be the narrator; he’s the one with a degree after all. People would listen to him.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “You have to admit that Gary Turlough Bachelor of Arts, sounds a hell of a lot better that Narrator Number One.”

  The two of them stared at Gary as if they were waiting for confirmation.

  “I’m staying well out of this one,” Gary confirmed.

  “So Milton, we should just quit? Just give up? Chalk it off on the board - another win for Ruthy?”

  Dan stood with his arms folded, waiting for an answer. He looked from Gary to Milton and back to Gary again. By the time his eyes met Milton's for the second time, Gary had already been defeated by the sheer awkward tension of the moment.

  “Listen, I might have some batteries at home, I’ll go and check. I’ll see you soon if I have enough petrol.”

  Gary walked back to his car with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders were slumped and his head tilted forwards. After he drove away, Milton said:

  “You want to be a bit more appreciative of him.”

  “No one’s forcing him to be here.”

  “Come on, whilst he’s gone we’re going to find that farmer to see if we can get his good camera fixed. It’s the least we can do.”

  7.

  Gary arrived at his front door. He could smell something familiar, but he couldn't quite place what it was. He placed the key in the lock and opened the door.

  “Ah,” he thought, “that's what the smell is.”

  A thick black smoke curled out of his hallway and into the street. Gary glanced down his hallway. Gary had always been told that where there was smoke there was fire. However, he was not one to accept conventional wisdom without challenge and he opted to find out for himself.

  8.

  Milton knocked on the door of the farmhouse, there was no reply.

  “Here, let me try.”

  Dan knocked on the door of the farmhouse, there was no reply.

  “Maybe he’s just out.”

  “Or maybe he’s dead, shot with his own gun.”

  Dan attempted to imitate Milton’s voice; he made it sound a lot like Beaker from The Muppet Show.

  “He’s in,” Milton said, “There’s smoke coming from the chimney. He’s either asleep, or hoping we’ll just piss off.”

  “I don’t see that happening,” Dan declared, “look, I’ve an idea.”

  Dan walked to a stationary tractor that was parked nearby; he sat down in it and pretended he could drive.

  “Let’s open this bitch up! I’d make a great farmer.”

  “You couldn’t do the mornings.”

  “I could if I had to.”

  “You couldn’t do this morning. I can’t believe you made Gary pick us up at eight and you didn’t wake up until ten.”

  “I would adjust to it if I did it every day. I used to wake up early all the time.”

  “Yes, I remember,” groan Milton.

  “Best paper boy in the village I was. But that’s the trouble isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “I started work too young, by the time I was twelve I was already sick of it.”

  “Is that why you left school too?”

  “I was sick of that by five. What was the point in me staying? You know what O Levels I got? F, O, F and F.”

  “F OFF.”

  “You have to admit it does sound like a hint.”

  Milton laughed and then looked at Dan's serious face.

  “Well, no doubt that’s how you took it. Honestly though, you’d think they would have been a little more compassionate considering what had just happened to you.”

  “Expect no compassion from anyone.”

  “One of your dad’s maxims?”

  “Aye.”

  Milton looked around. Nothing much seemed to be happening

  “Your plan isn’t working. Time for plan B.”

  9.

  The repetitive beeping of the smoke alarm dulled Gary's mind as he tried to blink away the tears that filled his stinging eyes. Smoke was pushing out of the kitchen door like an indoor firework snake. It smelled almost as bad as one too.

  Gary made it into the kitchen and then became overwhelmed by it. He dropped to the floor and managed to find a small amount of breathable air. Rubbing his eyes clear, he stood up tall and located the source of the smoke.

  He had left the frying pan that he cooked Alison’s bacon in on the hob. The heat had burned off the excessive amount of oil he had used to cook it, then it had burned off all of the bacon grease. Finally it had burned through the Teflon coating. Gary singed his hand trying to lift it off the hob.

  He wrapped a tea towel around his hand and moved the pan to the sink. The cold water boiled on contact as he turned on the tap.

  As it the boil slowed to a simmer he ran to the back door and fell out in to the small backyard.

  10.

  Dan was dancing, with his arms out forward. He was doing his best impression of a rapper. He made a very poor effort at beat boxing some drums. Milton's voice came in over the beat:

  “Ahh yeeh, this ud be a propa good place to av a rave man. What d’ya think Swampo?

  “Bangin’ Dangle, bring in some phat speakers put on some boggle, some buckaroo, some strait up subuteo ma fa.”

  Milton and Dan quite sincerely believed that they were accurately capturing the vocal nuances of anyone younger than thirty. Dan added some record scratching into his beat box repertoire.

  “Inada area,” Milton tried to stay in time with Dan’s percussion as he spoke, “boogadaboogadaboodagada yo.”

  All of a sudden, Milton reverted to his normal voice.

  “See I told you it would work.”

  A very angry and fairly inebriated Farmer approached, he was atypical for a farmer in that he dressed exactly as you would expect a farmer to: green wellies, tweed trousers, a wax jacket and a flat cap. As if to complete his rural apparel, he held a rifle in his hands. The rifle was pointing at Milton and Dan. The farmer was a wiry man who looked as if he could have easily found employment kidnapping puppies for Cruella De Ville.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing on my land?”

  Dan was not about to be intimidated by a mere rifle. He puffed out his chest as if increasing the size of the target would somehow discourage the farmer from shooting at him.

  “Do you have a license for that firearm sir?”

  “What? Of course I have a licence. What the bloody hell are you doing on my land?”

  “Today, at around about eleven o’clock, did you unload two rounds of ammunition from that firearm?”

  The farmer pointed the rifle directly into Dan's face.

  “I’m about to unload two rounds of ammunition right now if you don’t answer my damn question.”

  “OK,” said Dan, “At eleven o’clock this morning, my friends and I were filming a small documentary in the public field adjacent to your own. Our camera was struck by a bullet from a rifle just like that one you’re holding. It is a 2.2 isn’t it sir? And, it was only providence and quick thinking that prevented any personal injuries.

  The farmer didn't blink

  “I don’t know anything about it, now you get to fuck.”

  “Or you’ll do what exactly, call the police?
I tell you what; let’s call them together shall we? I can’t remember which is worse these days - is it trespassing or reckless endangerment and misuse of a firearm?”

  The thought managed to find its way past the alcohol and into Reginald's consciousness. His face dropped and he let the rifle fall.

  “What do you want?”

  “A hundred quid and we forget about the shooting.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Dan was on a roll:

  “Fair enough sir, then, how about two hundred and we forget about the rave?”

  “Eighty and I don’t shoot you and feed you to my pigs.”

  Dan glanced at Milton. Milton gave the farmer the most stern and reproachful expression in his repertoire.

  “Alright eighty,” Milton agree, “But I want a chicken too. One that lays eggs.”

  The farmer shook his head, not in disagreement but in sheer disbelief.

  “You'll be wanting a hen then?”

  11.

  The smell of air freshener was becoming almost as overwhelming as the smoke had been. Gary wandered around the house closing all of the windows. He was fairly sure that Alison would not be able to detect his mistake. That was, unless she wanted to cook something in the frying pan, at which point it would become painfully apparent.

  With the house in order, Gary began the search for batteries. It was just as well, he thought, that he had come back for them or who knows what might have happened.

  He kept a drawer in the lounge for miscellaneous items and he dug through it hoping he might find a few loose batteries in there. The drawer was a difficult search as a ball of string had become entwined with a bobbin of sewing thread and the two strands had absorbed the various scraps of paper, bits of plastic that looked as if they belonged to appliances, loose nails and keys that Gary felt must open something and wanted to keep on the off chance that he might one day find out what they opened. He pricked his finger on a sewing needle but failed to find any batteries. Out of luck, he tried the drawer upstairs next to his desktop computer, there were lots of cables and some cracked CD-ROMs but no batteries.

  Taking a risk that he would get home before Allison, he went back downstairs to the lounge and removed the batteries from the TV remote.

  12.

  “Should I even ask?” Gary asked Milton.

  When Gary asked the question he was referring specifically to the small wooden crate containing a chicken that Milton was holding.

  “Are you alright?” Milton replied.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Well, you’ve been ages and your eyes are blood red.”

  Dan slapped Gary on the shoulder, in what he believed was a paternal manner:

  “Look, if Alison can’t forgive you maybe you should just let her go.”

  “No it’s not that. I left a frying pan on; when I got home my house was filled with smoke. It stinks now.”

  “Man, you are having a bad day,” Milton observed.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

  Milton took some folded twenty pound notes out of his pocket and gave them to Gary.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a present, from our friend Annie Oakley.” Dan told him.

  “The farmer? Shit this is more than it was worth.”

  “Well we stuck in a few quid for petrol too. Since you took the day off for us and all.”

  Milton shook his head ever so slightly but he did not correct Dan.

  “You didn’t have to but thanks, I do need it.”

  “We know,” said Dan, “did you get the batteries?

  “I got some batteries, hopefully they’ll be alright.”

  “Good job, good job. If you can just set us up then you can take a rest for until we’re done.”

  Gary replaced the batteries on his old digital camera, attached it to the tripod and briefly explained to Milton how it worked. Dan stood in front of it, this time without his microphone. He called the take and attempted his introduction again:

  “In 1774 the villagers of Hettford, finally overcome by the constant fear of Geraldine and Ruth Bellows, captured Geraldine at her home. As Geraldine burned, the village journal records that she only had one thing to say, ‘look out for my sisters.’ We presume this was a spelling mistake.”

  Having got that far into the take, Dan was beginning to look wary but he carried on unabated with growing grandeur.

  “The activities of Ruth Bellows first came to my attention in the year Nineteen Eighty Two.”

  Milton waved at Gary. When Gary looked up, Milton whispered at him:

  “Gary?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does the memory card do?”

  Gary tiptoed up to Milton; Dan was so into the speech he was giving that he had not noticed them yet.

  “Well, it’s sort of like the cassette for the digital camera. It’s what it records on to.”

  “So what does it mean when it’s full?”

  “It can’t be full: I just emptied it before I came out.”

  “Do you want to have a look?”

  Gary glanced at the unfolded view screen. A large red message clearly indicated that the memory card was indeed full.

  “I’ll just see what it is and then I’ll delete it.”

  Gary looked at the footage the camera had just taken.

  “What the?”

  “What is it?”

  “There’s nothing on it. None of the stuff we’ve recorded today at all. Just this weird light.”

  Noticing that his two friends were no longer paying attention to him, Dan rightly assumed that something else had gone wrong.

  “What’s going on? Let me have a look.”

  Gary stepped aside and let Dan look at the video screen.

  “Is it broken?”

  “I don’t think so; it’d just be blank if it were.”

  Dan's face lit up.

  “So you think this is something that’s actually been recorded?”

  “Yes, apparently directly over what we were just filming.”

  “Great! This might be it, the proof we’ve been looking for. Can you run it through some filters or something, like they do on telly?”

  Gary beamed.

  “Actually I can, I spent hours learning how to on my editing software. This is the first time it’s ever been useful.”

  “Fantastic. Alright let’s pack up and get on with things.”

  Milton gave Gary a paternal pat on the back.

  “Are you OK to give us a lift back to the shop?”

  “I said I would and I mean to.”

  Dan rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

  “Well, it looks like we might have had a successful day after all.”

  13.

  Gary's car pulled up in front of a small bookshop. The bookshop was made of aging sandstone it was the end house in a row of other detached sandstone houses, there were no other commercial properties nearby that would bring in foot traffic; a handmade sign in the shop window read, “gone witchin' back soon.” The glass shop windows had an elegant display of some of the merchandise propped between black and red candles and pentagrams. The sign above the door read “Occultivated: The Sole Stop for your Soul Shop.”

  “Thanks for the lift mate. Let us know about that film.”

  Gary felt the car elevate as Dan stepped out of it.

  “Yeah, cheers man,” Milton agreed.

  He stood and watched as Gary drove away.

  “Can you do me a favour?” Milton asked Dan.

  “Probably, what?”

  “Can you look after my chicken for an hour or so?”

  “I don’t see why not, where are you going?”

  “I have to run a few errands, chicken wire and such.”

  Dan nodded.

  “Don’t be too long, I don’t like the way that chicken stares at me.”


  14.

  Milton was struggling with the chicken wire. He put it down for a few seconds and carried on towards Discount News. Saul and Paul were stood outside the front of the shop, as Milton approached they glowered at him. Saul nudged Paul and Paul nodded.

  Milton repressed a smirk as he passed through the air of threat that the two lank teens were attempting to create. He heard one of them mutter:

  “Kiwi lover.”

  Alison was stood behind the counter serving an old woman. Milton went to the fridge and then joined the queue.

  “No, I don’t want this one. I only wanted two random picks and one with my regular numbers,” the old woman was agitated.

  “Isn’t that what I gave you?”

  “No, the numbers on this one are wrong.”

  “That’s a random pick ticket.”

  “Well, it’s supposed to have my numbers on it.”

  Alison sighed heavily but maintained a polite smile.

  “The first ticket I gave you is the one with your numbers on it.”

  “But that’s not right. The first two are supposed to be random picks and the third one is supposed to be my numbers.”

  “Oh right, you wanted them in that specific order: How silly of me not to have realised.”

  “It’s not your fault love; they probably don’t have the lottery where you’re from hey?”

  To Milton's astonishment, Alison maintained her smile.

  “Well, we do have one but it’s mostly just casting bones. Here, give me those tickets, I’m pretty sure I know how to fix them.”

  Alison took the tickets from the woman, rearranged the order and gave them back to her.

  “There you go. Maybe this week is the week hey?”

  The woman thanked Alison and moved out of the way.

  “Milton, hi.”

  “I bet you never had to deal with stuff like that when you were working in marketing.”

  “You’d be surprised actually. How can I help you today?”

  “First of all I would like these.”

  Milton handed Alison a packet of Scotch eggs.

  “One pound, sixty seven please.”

  “Secondly,” Milton ventured as they exchanged money.

  ”And I know it’s not really my place…”

  “But?”

  “But, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”

  “Go on.”

  “Well as you know, we’ve been filming with Gary today. Anyway, I know you’re mad at him (and probably me too) and I understand why. But he really has had a pig of a day honestly – he’s been run round, shot at and nearly set himself on fire.”

  “He was shot at?”

  “Yeah, some daffy old farmer shooting game but the effect was the same. Anyway, I was wondering if you could find it in your heart to let him off the hook just for the night.”

  “We’ll see. I’m not promising anything.”

  “You’re a star. A star. I always said so.”

  Alison smiled as if she had taken the compliment.

  15.

  Gary was asleep on the couch; on his chest was a steaming mug of tea. Alison reached forward to remove it from Gary's hand. He tightened his grip on the mug and murmured at her. Alison tried a second time and Gary waved his free arm in the air as if he were swatting invisible flies.

  On the third attempt, Alison entered a tug of war with Gary. The result of which was that he woke up to the sudden surprise of being quite badly scalded.

  “Alison, oh shit, I meant to make you some dinner.”

  “It’s alright, I heard about your day. Just being hysterical indeed, honest to god Gary you’re a weird bastard sometimes.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  “So what was it that set on fire?”

  “Mercifully just the frying pan. Who did you hear all this from anyway?”

  “Milton stopped by the shop; he was carrying a big roll of fence for some reason.”

  “That’ll be for his new chicken.”

  Alison chose not to question the statement.

  “So how did the filming go?”

  “Weird, I was wondering if you could have a look at it actually. We filmed something but I’m buggered if I can tell you what it is.”

  “You go take a shower, I’ll bring some food up and we’ll look at it afterwards.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  16.

  Gary leaned back in the swivel chair and assessed the image on the monitor. He had been at it for an hour and none of the filters or effects he had added to it had made any difference whatsoever. That was odd in itself; even the filters that should have changed it to a different colour had no effect on it. He continued to talk to Alison about it, though she had given up caring more than half an hour before.

  “What’s thrown me off about the whole thing is that I was just filming seconds before. In fact I’d be filming all day, there should have been at least four different files.”

  “Something wrong with the camera I suppose.”

  “I don’t know: I could understand the files being corrupted, but this...”

  “Didn’t you tell me Milton was using the camera?”

  “Yes.”

  “Blame human error first.”

  “People make machines you know.”

  “I know, but they’re normally competent people.”

  “As opposed to?”

  “Any of your friends.”

  “So long as we’re clear”.

  Gary continued to fiddle with the computer but, no matter what he tried, he kept coming back to the same image: a small white light that looked like a candle in a dark room fading in and out to a steady beat.

  “Are you getting anything?”

  “Not much.”

  “Did you try the auto-enhance?”

  “Yes. I tried the auto-enhance.”

  Gary began to become irritated with the computer, whereas Alison began to feel irritated towards Gary.

  “Here, if I look at it and there’s nothing there then you’ll agree that there’s nothing there right?”

  “Grudgingly perhaps.”

  “And then we can go back to bed.”

  “You might have to twist my arm a little.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Excellent.”

  Gary gestured towards the computer.

  “It’s all yours.”

  Alison pulled up a stool and sat next to Gary at the computer.

  “So, what have we got?”

  “It’s very much just this flashing light.

  Alison fast-forwarded the capture, the same image continued to repeat. Even as she increased the speed of the frames it maintained the same rhythm.

  “Boring.”

  The film suddenly varied and was replaced by the silhouette of a young couple staggering drunkenly down the street. As they got closed to the camera, it became very obvious that the young man was Gary and that the plump gothic girl that he had his arm around was not Alison.

  Gary licked the girl's ear, giggled and gave him a messy wet tongue driven kiss.

  The real Gary reached for the computer mouse in desperation, but it was too late. Alison put her hand on top of it and the video continued.

  Gary and the girl walked to the front of Milton's shop and Dan graciously opened the door to them. Alison fast-forwarded the image and it showed her boyfriend and the girl in a darkened room. Alison knew that this had happened but seeing it so vividly made the pain of it all the more acute.

  The girl pulled off Gary's sweater; she kneeled down in front of him and began to unbutton his jeans.

  Alison covered her face and ran out of the room, breathing in heavily to contain the sobbing. Looking back at the computer screen, Gary noticed that it had reverted to its original image of a steady flashing light. He rewound the image to the point where only a few seconds before it had shown him receiving fel
latio but there was nothing, only the steady flash of the dull light.

  Episode Two: Runes and Ruins

  1.

  Saul and Paul stood outside of Gary’s front door, their shaved heads shining with menace. Saul put one finger to his lip to quiet his younger brother. When Saul was absolutely sure that they had not been detected, he banged loudly on Gary’s door and the two of them sprinted away.

  After seven minutes and forty-three seconds, Saul and Paul observed Gary opening the door from their secret observation point (hidden behind a parked car). Gary was wearing a dressing gown that he had neglected to fully close at the front and it was apparent to any onlookers (of which there were only two) that he was not wearing anything else at all.

  Gary looked wearily around for the cause of the knock and, as he let his head drop wearily downwards, he spotted the fuzzy brown object that Saul and Paul had left on his doorstep.

  Gary bent over and picked the object up and sniffed at it. Saul and Paul giggled in their hiding place.

  Too tired to care why someone had chosen to leave a piece of kiwi fruit on his doorstep and satisfied that it was fresh, Gary bit the top off the fruit and began to peel it.

  2.

  Milton and Dan were sitting down to breakfast, Milton was eating the perfect four-minute egg with a runny yolk and bread soldiers. Whereas Dan was drinking a can of generic fizzy cola, that was labelled Dr. Pepsi.

  “No cornflakes?” Milton inquired.

  “There’s no shortage of cornflakes.”

  “Just didn’t feel like them eh?”

  “No, don’t get me wrong, I’d love some cornflakes.”

  “OK.”

  Milton dipped a soldier into his egg with the rustic pride of self-sufficiency. It was the first egg that his recently acquired chicken had laid. That is to say, it was the first one he‘d found; he had located a few more since then but he wasn‘t about to start carbon dating them.

  “You’re wondering why I’m not eating cornflakes I suppose?”

  “I was. Frankly I’m getting a little bored now.”

  “There’s not enough milk - somehow.”

  “Sorry, slow day at the shop yesterday.”

  “You got through nearly two pints? Just on cups of tea?”

  Dan’s face grew red with astonishment.

  “You can have an egg if you like.”

  “No thanks. It’s too weird,” Dan’s voice emphatic.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with the chicken right out there… I don’t know, when they come in nice cardboard containers you can almost imagine that they were made in a factory. You don’t actually have to dwell on the process of ovulation, which, I am sorry, becomes more revolting each time that it occurs to me. You wouldn’t eat that if it came out of a lady’s vagina would you? Honest to God, you could at least close the window so I don’t have to smell the thing.”

  “Is there any milk left at all?”

  “A little tiny bit.”

  “Enough for a cup of tea?”

  Dan became a violent scarlet colour; his face resembled a throttled grape. He was about to let fly a tirade about mass consumption and consideration but it was cut short by a knock at the door. Dan looked sulkily at Milton waved his hand towards the door and said:

  “Since you were going to make tea anyway….”

  Milton left the room and re-entered few minutes later holding a brown package. He looked astonished.

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  He threw the package clumsily and Dan caught it valiantly in one hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Dan tore open the package and pulled out a small black book.

  “What is it?” Milton asked.

  “It’s a diary for next year.”

  “Bit early isn’t it, I mean it’s still November.”

  Dan nodded.

  “You would say so.”

  “Anything in it?”

  Dan opened the first page of the diary with a painful slowness. A small piece of paper burst out energetically from the front page and whistled towards the kitchen window. Milton dashed after it at a considerably lower tempo.

  Just outside of the window was a roll of chicken wire that Milton had neither used nor disposed of. The piece of paper became snagged on it but continued to try to push its way through it as if it were caught by some vast wind. Milton carefully peeled the paper off the wire and, clutching it tightly in his hand, closed the window.

  He sat back down in front of Dan and handed him the scrap of paper.

  “You owe my chicken an apology,” he said.

  3.

  Alison was asleep. Still in his dressing gown, Gary got back into bed with her. He leaned over to take in some of her beauty. Without opening her eyes, Alison began to speak:

  “Breakfast?”

  “I brought some up but you were asleep. I can go and get you some more if you want.”

  “No, it’s alright, it’s too late now.”

  “It is quarter past ten,” Gary sighed despondently as he spoke.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you still asleep?”

  “No, it’s you that talks in his sleep remember; I’m just resting my eyes.”

  “What time do you have work?”

  Alison rolled over and the quilt of the bed disappeared almost entirely beneath her. Gary looked down at his bare legs.

  “No work today - Tajel’s shift. What about you?”

  Gary tried to sound as upbeat as possible.

  “I’m a free man till tonight.”

  Alison sat up in the bed and opened her eyes.

  I hate it when you work nights.

  “I know, but it’s a much better job without the customers coming in all the time.”

  “Don’t you get bored?”

  “No more so than in the daytime.”

  “You’re just too smart for that job.”

  Gary scratched himself.

  “Aphid’s are too smart for my job,” he said.

  “You could always take your PGCE.”

  Gary raised both his hands to signal that Alison should hold both her thoughts and her horses.

  “Things aren’t that bad.”

  “Teaching would be OK.”

  “It’s too permanent. Plus, I have a humanities degree; I can’t live off whatever stipend they give you whilst you do the PGCE and I certainly can‘t live off the JSA that I‘ll be offered once I get one.”

  “I could help you. It’s got to be better than working in an all night garage in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “What if we want to get married some day or have kids?”

  Gary’s eyes widened in amazement:

  “I thought we’d agreed not to.”

  “But, I mean, long term.”

  “Long term, we agreed not to.”

  There was a change in Alison’s eyes; her shoulders seemed to magnetically pull toward each other. It was like watching a fuse being primed.

  “We didn’t agree, you agreed. Mr. Patel thinks he can get me a new job. He’s buying a marketing firm; it’s pretty far away though in Leeds. He’s getting me a new visa and everything. I’d have to move.”

  “You know my work is here.”

  “The fucking garage?”

  “The Hunt.”

  The fuse was lit, the explosion occurred:

  “I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you Gary. A lot of shit. And I’ve given up everything.”

  “I know. I can’t understand why.”

  Gary’s lethargic sense of relaxation was a force to be reckoned with. Alison clutched the bed sheets in agonised frustration.

  “Try to figure it out in the next two months.”

  “That had the general ring of an ultimatum. You know that I draw the line at ultimatums.”

  “I’m just letting you know. That�
��s all.”

  4.

  Milton sat behind his bookshop counter. Several books about Wiccan law leaned against the cash register decorated with an orange paper star taped to the counter in front of them that had the words, “majik bargain” scrawled on it in black marker. He looked at his friend Dan who was standing in front of him banging his fist on the counter.

  “Cheer up mate.”

  “I don’t understand why we have to do this in the shop.”

  “It is opening hours; we’re never going to have any customers if we don’t open when we say we’re going to at least once a week. Besides all the best reference stuff is here.”

  “We never get any customers ever. Shakespeare’s Sister only comes in because she fancies Gary and that’s died down since the incident in our spare room. But I suppose you’re right about the reference stuff. Have you found anything?”

  “As a matter of fact I have, so when I say cheer up I speak with authority.”

  “What did you find?”

  Milton picked up a heavy, ancient volume covered in brown leather.

  “There’s a reference to this type of thing in Karswell under rune casting. Apparently it means either someone wants you to die or someone wants you to fall in love with them.”

  “How do I tell which?”

  “Well according to this, the spell only works if some amount of notice is given. So, there should be some clue to which - probably in the diary. Have you looked in it?”

  “No I daren’t. In case the paper gets loose again.”

  “We’ll need to check that paper too, make sure it has a runic inscription.”

  Dan sighed; he drummed his finger on the counter top.

  “My dad told me about this kind of spells. If the paper gets away there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Well you’re lucky that the paper didn’t get away.”

  “The point is - how do we find out what exact spell it is without guaranteeing that it is inflicted upon me? Also, why didn’t they give it to you instead?”

  Milton thought about it and chose to answer the latter query.

  “Simple, we get a nice bin bag out and open the diary inside the bag. That way it doesn’t have anywhere to fly to. After that we can simply put it somewhere safe. In the bag if necessary.”

  “And if it’s a death incantation?”

  “You just have to give the paper back to whoever sent it to you. Then it will be enacted on them. Or give it to someone else you don’t like.”

  Dan’s look of concern dissipated into one of glee.

  “Anyone?”

  “Supposedly.”

  “Interesting, could I mail it to the department of work and pensions?

  “Let's try to figure out who actually sent it out before you just start cursing people at random.”

  “Nothing random about it. Anyway, it’s fairly safe to assume that this is a Ruthy present.”

  “Best to be sure,” said Milton, “go get the diary and a bin bag.”

  Dan exited the room. When he returned he had a bin bag over his shoulder and he clutched the diary firmly with both hands.

  “Alright let’s give it a whack.”

  Milton carefully took the diary out of Dan’s hands and plunged it in to the bin bag. He held the bin bag closed as if he were about to tie it or blow it full of air. He held it up to his eye and squinted at it. He shook his head at Dan.

  Very carefully he reached in with his hand and began to fumble around. The clock ticked audibly, a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. Suddenly a bell rang.

  Milton looked around in amazement, somebody was entering the shop. He pulled his hand out of the bag keeping tight hold of the small scrap of paper. The customer was dressed in neat office attire and, despite the utilitarian nature of her clothes; she was obviously a very attractive woman in her mid-thirties. She had mousy brown hair and the general air of authority that suggested she had attended more business meetings than was healthy. Milton tried to turn his look of open astonishment into a look of professionalism and keen customer service instinct.

  “Erm, can I help you?

  The woman gazed at him without blinking.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for a thing called the Hettford Witch Hunt.”

  The two men were dumbfounded. It took a moment but Dan responded with a gradual and cautious, “why?”

  “Well, I saw an advert and I thought it looked interesting.”

  Dan shook his head in disbelief.

  “An advert? Where?”

  “Good old Yellow Pages.”

  Dan hummed suspiciously and began to cluck his tongue. Milton took that as his cue to take over:

  “What did you want to know?”

  “What you do and how I go about joining?”

  Milton winced, explaining the Hunt had never gone especially well for him.

  “Erm, OK, well it would probably be best if you came to one of our meetings. There’s one tomorrow night at eight.”

  “Alright, where do I go?”

  “Just meet us here.”

  She approached Milton and held out her hand.

  “Thanks, I’m Carrie by the way.”

  Milton put took her hand; the softness of her skin came as s surprise to him.

  “I’m Milton. This is Dan.”

  He gestured towards his friend and he did so the piece of paper he was clutching in his hand slipped from his fingers and floated upwards. Without so much as glancing at it, Carrie snatched it out of the air and handed it back to him.

  “You should put that somewhere safe.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  “Alright, tarra then, see you tomorrow.”

  Milton recognised the underlying twinge of a Scouse accent suddenly blossom into Carrie’s voice like a rose scented air-freshener.

  “See you tomorrow”

  Milton and Dan were both too busy staring at Carrie’s bottom to notice that the other was doing it. It was as though they had been caught in a trance watching the lines of pinstripes on her trousers create an elegant curve. The doorbell rang for the second time to signal that Carrie had left and their senses returned.

  “I told you we never get any customers,” said Dan.

  Milton stretched out the piece of paper and told Dan to copy the runes inscribed on it. Then he placed it into the thick copy of Karswell’s A History of The Craft.

  “We better put this in the safe.”

  Dan nodded emphatically

  “Can we close the damn shop now?”

  “No, let’s just look at your diary first,” Milton told him.

  Dan opened the diary and began to flick through the pages. Suddenly his red face waned to a sickly white.

  “I’m going to need to buy bigger pants.”

  “Why Dan?”

  “To contain all my shit.”

  5.

  Ron’s All Night Garage was a franchise of one of the major oil companies. However, its owner Ron had gone to some trouble to disguise the fact. Their name was on the pump, what else did they want? He reasoned.

  Everything inside the shop was Ron’s responsibility, including a sign with a picture of a CCTV camera on it that read, “Big Ron is watching you.”

  There was no detectable CCTV camera anywhere in the shop.

  Milton glanced outside at the darkness. He had been trying unsuccessfully to reach Gary on the phone since the morning and had made a special trip to catch him at work. The shop appeared empty and if it were not for the slight sound of snoring, Milton would have left.

  He walked up to the counter and looked down at his friend Gary who was lying stretched out on the dirty carpet; his hands forming a makeshift pillow.

  “Gary, Gary.”

  Milton almost whispered at first, and then he got louder. When Gary still did not wake up, he became frustrated and abruptly banged the counter.

  Gary found his feet and managed to a
rrange his startled look of horror into one of keen alertness.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “None other. Having a nap?”

  “Just trying to get a tiny bit of rest before hungry people flood out of the pub and realise that they don’t have anything edible in their fridges.”

  “This village needs a chippy.”

  “It would make my job easier.”

  “It’s a shame we can’t pay you to work at Occultivated.”

  “Calling it work might be an overstatement. However, if you sold some romance or horror books people might nip in once in a while.”

  Milton shook his head in passive dismissal.

  “It’s a matter of purity for me - even if the idea is terrible its honesty makes it worthwhile. You understand that right?”

  “Only too well I’m afraid. You could probably throw in a few horror books without overly diluting the shop concept though. It might even help shift some of your other stuff.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind,” Milton promise, “We’re not failing shop workers Gary, we’re struggling witch hunters; that’s how I think of it. It makes me feel noble enough not to slit my wrists.”

  Gary sighed.

  “It is wanting to feel noble that drives people to slit their wrists. When I feel bad about my job, I just steal a bunch of stuff. I don’t suppose the business owner has that option.”

  “Stealing Dan’s things helps a little. Doesn’t Ron ever figure it out?”

  “No, its water off a duck’s back really with the high preteen to teen theft ratio here. Plus, he says the losses would cost him less than the CCTV system. Karen’s on to it but she’s too worried that I know what she does on the side to mention it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve no idea but I have the feeling its worse than robbing a few sandwiches. Help yourself to Scotch Eggs by the way, they’ll all be gone within the hour.”

  “Thanks but Roaster has me all egged out.”

  Roaster was what Milton had named his chicken. Gary looked genuinely astonished.

  “I never thought I’d see the day,” he mused, and then because he couldn’t think of anything better to say he asked, “So did you need anything?”

  “Well, just a chat really. We’ve had some important developments today.”

  “Sounds interesting, come round the back I’ll make you a cupper.”

  Gary let Milton through the lift up flap that allowed access to the till, then through the door marked “Staff Only.” He put the kettle on and once they both had fresh mugs of tea, Milton began to tell Gary about Dan’s death curse.

  “So how can you be sure it is exactly two months?”

  “The diary,” said Milton, “It was almost entirely blank except for a few entries. Things Dan had been up to, making the film for instance, his birthday, a few other little things. Anyway, on exactly September the 7th it declares - The last day of your life.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was but the bloody thing sets out the whole decomposition process in detail right up until February of next year. Tiny handwriting.”

  “How’s Dan taking it?”

  Milton simply raised one eyebrow. Gary blew air through his pursed lips.

  “There has to be something we can do to stop it.”

  “Well, we can either give it to someone else and become murderers. Or, we can find Ruth Bellows and shove the runes right up her decrepit arse.”

  “OK, and we’ve been unsuccessfully searching for Ruth for how long? Shit Milton, this is serious stuff.”

  “Yes, this brings me onto the next order of business.”

  “Which is?”

  “There’s a new sign-up for the Hunt.”

  Gary stared at Milton in intense disbelief.

  “Who is he?”

  “She.”

  Gary’s look of intense belief morphed into a look of amused concern.

  “Who is she?”

  “Well, we were so caught up in everything, not to mention completely taken by surprise that I’ve completely forgotten her name. Anyway, she’s not bad looking, not bad looking at all.”

  “OK, do you think this nameless good looking woman will be able to help us find Ruth?”

  “I don’t know, we’re going to interview her at the meeting tomorrow. For some reason I get the impression that she knows what she’s doing but I can’t tell you why exactly.”

  “Well, let’s hope so, because it’s obvious that we haven’t got the first fucking clue.”

  “It’s not hopeless yet.”

  “Shit man, fucking everything’s going wrong!”

  “There’s time.”

  “Just two months – it’s nothing.”

  “Please don’t talk that way in front of Dan. I’m trying to stay positive.”

  “Alright, alright, we’ll just have to fix it, one way or the other.”

  “Now you’re talking sense, can I count on you to be there tomorrow night?”

  “Of course you can.”

  As the two of them walked back out towards the counter they realized that the garage was now filled with people, mostly aged between sixteen and twenty four. Some of them put the things they had stolen back on the shelves, acting on impulse like startled deer. Most of them did not.

  6.

  The night was giving in to the cold awareness that it was becoming the morning. Milton was not thrilled to be seeing it from that end of the day. However, no matter how he tried he had not been able to stop Dan from talking to him.

  When he had agreed to a walk at 4 a.m. Milton had thought Dan meant to walk briskly around the block. Three miles of road down and despondency was racing towards him at the same pace that Dan was racing towards wherever the hell he was going.

  “Look at this, good country air, that’s what it needs.”

  “More caffeine is what it needs,” muttered Milton.

  “Natural adrenaline, far more potent.”

  “Not to sound immature, but are we nearly there yet?”

  “We’re heading for the woods.”

  Milton was almost jogging to keep up with Dan’s brisk strides.

  “I’m going to tell her. She’s not going to scare me.”

  “Jesus Christ mate - is this what we‘re out here for.”

  Dan looked at Milton seriously but he did not slow his pace:

  “Humour me for the next two months and I’ll never bother you again.”

  Milton jogged a couple of steps to catch up.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Dan trotted briskly onwards, red faced and filled with purpose. His beard cut through the air like the prow of a tall ship.

  “So I’ve been thinking about this Carrie.”

  “Who?”

  “The mystery girl who just suddenly pops up minutes after I receive a death incantation.”

  “How can I guess were this is going?”

  Dan stopped and turned his bulk to block Milton’s progress.

  “I’m not being paranoid; you have to admit it is a bit of a coincidence. Turning up out of the blue and quoting some Yellow Pages advert that’s not been in the book for four years.”

  “It’s online.”

  “What?”

  “The advert: Apparently Gary arranged it, it renews on his credit card every year.

  “It changes nothing, it is still a coincidence. Too much of a coincidence: like finding a turd in your vomit. How long have we been doing this?”

  “Since you were discharged.”

  “Exactly how many years ago?”

  “About twenty?”

  “Twenty five,” said Dan “next month.”

  “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem that long.”

  “I’m still using the same papers for my disability allowance.”

  “You’d have thought it would have cleared up by now.”

  “Fuck
off Milt, it pays the bills. Anyway, in all that time how much actual interest have we had in the hunt?”

  Dan began striding forwards once again.

  “Excluding investigatory interest? There was Gary.”

  “Who performed his first mission with us thirteen years ago? And, after Gary was there any interest?”

  “Not much.”

  “None at all,” Barked Dan:

  “None‘a’fucking’tall.”

  Milton shrugged; he didn’t have time to interject vocally.

  “So, after getting one volunteer in twenty five years our second suddenly shows up the exact day I’m cursed. Do you see my point here?”

  “I take your point but I refute its validity.”

  “I don’t know how you can talk like that at this time of the night.”

  “What? Saying refute? Anyway, it’s the middle of the morning.”

  “There’s a fine line between the two,” argued Dan, “this is evening to shift workers like Gary. Anyway, you were saying?”

  “Oh yeah, you remember that I dropped your runic script.”

  “I will never forget: Et tu butter-fingers.”

  “Well, if she’d sent it she wouldn’t have caught it would she?”

  “That remains to be seen. Maybe she sent it in an effort to gain our trust. That’s why she sent it to me, because I’m the leader.”

  Milton couldn’t be bothered arguing. They kept on walking until they reached a small side road that wound into the thick woodland.

  “Come on down here,” Dan said.

  Dan looked down at Milton from the top of a tree.

  “The Taoists believe that the point of change between days is the point at which nature’s energy is at its strongest.”

  Dan’s ruddy complexion glowed to match the rising sun. Milton met his enthusiasm with contempt:

  “Apparently, they weren’t talking about my energy when they said that.”

  Dan ignored him.

  “You’ll excuse what I’m about to do.”

  Dan struggled to get his leg on to a higher branch; he kept lifting his knee until he resembled a dog that couldn’t find a lamppost.

  “Do you need a hand?”

  Milton’s shouted in vain. The tree shuddered under Dan’s bulk as he reached the highest point of it. Dan opened his mouth and began to below:

  “Hecatus in silva non somnum. Hecatus in silva non somnum. Hecatus in silva non somnum!”

  And then for good measure, he added.

  “Fuck you Ruthy! Fuck you Ruthy!”

  Milton peered up at him.

  “Feel better now?”

  “Once you’ve helped me down I will.”

  Dan almost fell through the branches until he was stood about half a foot above Milton.

  “No sleep for the witch in the woods?”

  “I think so, it’s not particularly ominous but my Latin is crap.”

  “Compared to your climbing skills it is positively masterful.”

  “The climbing I can do, descent is the problem.”

  “It is still climbing whether you’re going up or down. Just jump, you’re scheduled to die in two months anyway.”

  Dan jumped, directly at Milton. Milton stepped to the left and watched him fall.

  7.

  Gary groaned as he approached Discount News Newsagents. The sight of its sign reading, “Discount News Newsagents: The newsagents for news and discounts” always filled Gary with delight. However, the sight of Saul and Paul was never a welcome one. He could hear them whispering to each other as he approached.

  “Are you going to do it?” Saul hissed.

  “You do it.”

  “You said you’d do it. You have to do it - I’m not asking.”

  “Alright then.”

  As he got closer the two of them went very quiet and sullenly stared at him. He deliberately fixed his gaze on the shop door. As he passed them Paul shouted:

  “Hey!”

  Gary turned to look at Paul. He recognised a once popular Phil Collins tune as Paul sang at him.

  “He’s a kiwi lover.”

  The two brothers burst into hysterical fits of laughter. Gary stared at them and waited for them to calm down.

  “Did you stay up all night thinking of that?

  “He stayed up all night banging your mum.”

  “Well, that makes a change from him banging yours.”

  The two brothers stuttered to find a retort, Gary entered the shop. Alison smiled as he entered, though she was stood with her friend Tajel so he supposed it could just have been for effect. He decided to push his luck.

  “Hey honey.”

  “Hey babes,” said Tajel.

  “Tajel, can you tell your boyfriend out there to think up some new insults?”

  “Eugh, no… And he’s so not.”

  “Yes he is, that’s why he always puts on that ridiculous hat before he comes in to the shop - so you won’t find out he’s a skinhead.”

  “What was it today?”

  “Oh the usual 'kiwi lover' but with a musical twist; sounds of the eighties. Do they ever go away?”

  “No,” said Alison.

  “I brought you some lunch, which I realise is redundant as you work in a convenient mini-market but I brought it anyway.”

  Gary handed Alison a small bag.

  “Sushi. Did you make this?”

  “I may be a man of limited talent, but I can follow basic recipe directions.”

  Alison actually smiled. It made Gary nervous.

  “Thank you, I’m looking forward to that.”

  “It’s a bit of a scam really. I’m trying to butter you up.”

  “You know I’ve found that scams work best when you don’t tell the victim what they are,” Tajel observed.

  “Ah, but not when they’re as horribly transparent as mine are. You just have to blab away and hope the victim finds the procedure to be impishly charming.”

  “You, impish?”

  “In respect to my charm.”

  Alison shook her head.

  “Considering that it’s the most obvious double bluff in history it does work surprisingly well. The more you think about how stupid it is the funnier it becomes.”

  “And that is the true essence and beauty of the scam. Even my talking about it now is just improving its effectiveness.”

  ”Now hang on, that depends on what I’m being buttered up for.”

  “The hunt called a meeting tonight; I really have to be there.”

  “You told me that when you got back from work this morning.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was, until you woke me to tell me that.”

  Gary shrugged.

  “Fair enough, just trying to keep the peace.”

  “Well, it’s not a problem, but can you do me one favour?”

  Gary’s nerves kicked up a notch.

  “Probably.”

  “Be in the house at three o’clock.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “It’s nothing bad I promise.”

  “I‘m very suspicious of surprises.

  “Trust me, it’s a nice surprise.”

  “Excellent.”

  Gary assumed that Alison meant sex, what other nice surprises where there?