Hilda the Wicked Witch
Paul Kater
Hilda the wicked witch
by Paul Kater
as a member of the Alexandria Publishing Group.
Copyright 2010-2013 Paul Kater
First edition: July 2010.
Second edition: October 2013.
License Notes.
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Contents:
1. The Wicked Witch
2. O'Malley's
3. Hocus Pocus.
4. The necklace
5. Charging the ball
6. The hunt commences
7. I told you to stop
8. The route home
9. Cops and witches
10. The bookstore
11. William Connoley
12. Going home
1. The Wicked Witch
The noise of engines being switch off died away, and as there was so much of it that took some time. Hiding behind curtains people carefully looked out into the street, doing their best to stay out of view. The motorcycle gang was back in town, and usually that did not bode well. They also didn't like to be stared at.
"Dammit, Skull, when you gonna to fix that stinking carburettor!" one of the men yelled as he got off his Harley. The woman that usually was behind him had already jumped off to get herself to safety. Her man Bubba was angry, and when he was like that he didn't pay attention to anything, as several kicks in her side had taught her long ago.
"Yo, Bubba, I thought I done so!" Skull kicked the innocent and abused engine block. "I'll look at it later, I need a piss and a drink first."
"Yeah!", the rest of the gang joined in. They trotted off towards the nearest bar, which was by default destined for an involuntary remodelling. The six big bikes remained in the middle of the street, unattended. Nobody would dare to touch them.
-=-=-
The proprietor of Bantrey's Bookshop hurried to the window. "Oh dear. They're back."
William Connoley stepped up to the window and saw the motorcycles. "They? No friends of yours I assume?"
"The motorcycle gang. It is run by someone they call Bubba," Bert Bantrey explained. "The obnoxious yellow machine is his property, although I'm not sure how he obtained it."
"I see," said William Connoley, not so interested in motorcycles. "Now... about this book..." He returned to the table where a large, leather-bound book lay open. The sides of the pages had a thin golden lining, the paper was old and yellow, and the writing had more resemblance to the patient copying-work of an old monk than something a modern printer would produce. "I do want this book, but the price you ask for it is outrageous, my good man." He carefully tapped a page, making sure he did not touch the text nor the gold. The book was old enough to be handled with respect.
Bert Bantrey sighed and looked at the tome. "I know, the price is high, my dear friend, but it is worth it. Every single penny. I cannot lower the price unless I want to cut into my own flesh. I mean... look at the leather. Look at the printing. Feel the paper and its original texture..."
William Connoley slowly was pulled over. He knew that the price was not at all over the top, but his merchant spirit didn't want to give in so easily. He slowly paged through the book a bit longer, looked at the words. He held one up against the light to see how the pattern in the paper was perfect everywhere. He mumbled something to himself, then look Bert Bantrey in the eye.
Bert already sensed that he had won. A smile was on his face, his hand was in position to be shaken. "Come on, Bill, do it. You know you want it. It has your name all over it, in your favourite typeset. The smell of that book is irresistible and you bloody well know it."
William shook his head. "You are one mean person, Bert, but I am going to buy this book from you."
-=-=-
In a world that no bookseller nor motorcycle gangmember would believe true, a woman stood in front of her mirror. She had no knowledge of those people not the machines, as she was unreachably far away from them. She looked at the silvery glass, touching the necklace she wore. The mirror showed an image of a young woman with black hair and a fair skin, who was walking along a field covered with flowers.
"Yuck," the woman spat. "Look at that thing go. I'd forbid the existence of them, if I had a say in it."
The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as she picked flowers.
"I'll have you gasp for air once I get that apple to you," the woman said as she turned away from the mirror. Her long grey hair floated over her dark red robe, her black dress rustled as she walked over to a table. She took up a wooden stick and an apple. With the stick pointing towards the apple, under her breath she mumbled a few phrases. "And I hope I got it right this time," she ended her short monologue. "Because I hate Latin." Then, apple and stick in hand, she turned to the mirror again and started to approach it, as she built up her concentration. The apple started pulsating, as if a light lived inside it that was fighting to get out. "No, no, not yet, my little friend," the wicked witch (for that was who she was) said. "Only a few minutes more, and then you can do what I have made you for. You will stick in that stupid monster's throat and make sure that she is not getting in my way again!" A loud cackling laugh filled the room, its echoes making even the furniture shudder.
The witch pointed her wand at the mirror and started speaking a spell that was going to take her to the meadow where the innocent wench was dancing and trampling through the flowers. The incantation was gaining strength, the magical aura around the wicked witch formed exactly the way she wanted it to do, so it would project her to her victim.
-=-=-
In Bantrey's Book store, the two men shook hands on the sale, and then, as their habit was, they both slapped the tabletop, next to the book.
-=-=-
The wicked witch unleashed the built-up power from the wand. As it hit the mirror, the mirror exploded in a million tiny fragments! The power around the witch was disturbed by quantum-physical laws that she had no knowledge of, and she disappeared from her room, but instead of ending up with her apple in the meadow, she materialised somewhere entirely different...
-=-=-
In O'Malley's Bar, the piña coladas were the drink of the day. Skull and Bubba, together with their friends, were having a great time. The barkeeper sat tied up on a stool in the corner of his own establishment, the large mirror had been taken down with the aid of a wine bottle, and lay in tiny bits. The whiskey flowed liberally. The gang had the bar to themselves; the other customers had left the place as the gang had entered, which was usually the safest and healthiest option. The runaway clientèle would return to pay for their beverages later. If there was something to come back to, of course.
"Hey, Bitch, come over here!" Julius shouted to his girlfriend. The girl, with long black hair that desperately needed a wash, and equally black pants under a purple shirt, waddled over to him, not taking the brandy bottle from her lips. Julius slapped the bottle from her hand, pulled her against him and started slobbering in her neck, which he considered the best interpretation of a great kiss. Bitch screamed with laughter, let him at it for a while, then calmly reached out and whacked a bottle over Julius' head. The slobbering ended that the same moment, and Julius descended to terra firma. "Always told you that booze gives you a rotten head," Bitch grinned, kicked her lover and went looking for another bottle.
The general level of sound and noise the gang produced inside the bar prevented them from hearing a rather loud, whistling sound that happened outside. It came from an alleyway that was rather close to where they had all
parked their bikes, an alley that ran next to Bantrey's Book store. The sound from there was not just that, it also manifested a very fierce gust of wind, strong enough to blow the bikes over. As was to be expected, the gust did just that.
-=-=-
"Oh my," Bert Bantrey said when the windows shopped shaking and the floor was without tremors again, "did you hear that?" Quickly the two ran to the window again. They were there just in time to see the last bike roll over and play dead.
"Uh-oh," William said. "Your motorcycle people will not be happy with that. Perhaps I should load my acquisitions into my truck and make miles..."
"Let me give you a hand, old boy," Bert said, "you'll damage your back with that pack! And then I'll lock up. Safety first." Together they lifted the large crate with books and carried it outside, where William opened the truck. The crate fit inside the compartment like a hand in a glove made to order. The precious leather bound book lay on top of it, wrapped in a fine cotton cloth.
The two men shook hands again, and then William got in and drove off quickly. Bert did not waste time either: he went inside his shop, turned over the sign in the window so it told the world the shop was Closed, and locked up.
-=-=-
"Crappdy crap. Where am I?" a voice came from the alleyway. A woman, dressed in black, wearing a long, dark red cape, came from the alley. Her long grey hair stuck everywhere, she had bruises on her face, and her dress was as dirty as the alleyway's floor. That was quite dirty...
The witch looked at the apple that no longer pulsated. "Suck an elf. All that energy's gone to waste." She flung the apple away: it ended its flight with the sound of breaking glass. The witch nodded. At least that was satisfactory. On the ground, in the street, she saw six strange things, with wheels, handlebars and lights.
"Hey... you are too early for the ren faire!" someone on the other side of the street laughed.
The witch looked at where the laughter came from. She was not partial to laughter when she was the reason for it. She pointed her wand, mumbled something, and the couple that had been walking along at a safe distance suddenly stood next to her, frozen. "Now this is interesting," the wicked witch said as she looked at the clothes of the two people.
Both of them wore blue pants, like usually the men wore when they would go out riding. They wore also blue jackets of the same fabric, and beneath those were white shirts that looked skin-tight. They also wore identical footwear, which looked comfortable.
"So this is how you dress here, although I still don't know where here is." The witch nodded as she waved the wand. For something simple as this there was no need for a spell. The clothes of the frozen woman had moved to the body of the witch and the clothes of the witch lay on the ground. Another move of the wand, and her own clothes had changed into a convenient large bag to carry around, which she slung over her shoulder. The witch then stared at the naked body of the frozen woman, and tapped her navel piercing. "Fascinating," she said. "You'll stay here until the sun sets," she then told the two silent figures.
From behind their curtains people had watched everything. None of them wanted to get involved. This one woman looked even more worrying than the motor gang.
The witch looked around, her long grey hair blowing in her face. "Oh, crap, that again." She snipped her fingers and her hair hung down in four long, thick braids. "Now to find out where I am," she grumbled. "There is something very wrong here. This is not a meadow with flowers, and where's that girl..." She started walking down the street.
2. O'Malley's
