Hettford Witch Hunt: Series One Read online

Hettford Witch Hunt

  James Rhodes

  Copyright 2013 by James Rhodes

  SmashWords Edition

  SmashWords Edition, This book is licensed for personal use only. You may freely distribute it as it appears in this edition. However you may not alter the text. You may not republish the work if the text, title or author name have been altered. James Rhodes worked hard to bring this edition to you at no cost. Please respect the work of the author.

  Contents:

  Episode One: Intelligence

  Episode Two: Runes and Ruins

  Episode Three: Quiz Night at the Quiet Woman Inn

  Episode Four: The Christ Brigade

  Episode Five: Bring Out Your Dead

  Episode Six: Demon Day

  Bonus Episode: The Spirit of the Holly

  Episode One: Intelligence

  1.

  Reginald took a swig from his hipflask; the smell of fertiliser on his hands did little to mar his enjoyment of the whiskey. He scrutinised the flask, closing one eye to stabilise his ocular perception back into the singular. Bloody hell, he thought, where did all that go to? He put the empty flask back into his tweed jacket pocket and lowered the peak of his flat cap. He leaned over and picked up his rifle, it took him three attempts.

  “Bloody thing,” he muttered.

  Down towards the bottom of the field, just in front of the hedgerow and lounging amidst the mist of late October stood the most docile and succulent pair of pheasants that Reg had seen in all year. He raised his rifle so that they were in his sights and stumbled gracelessly toward them.

  As he stumbled closer, the fatter of the two pheasants seemed to notice his approach; it took a step backwards to the cover of the hedgerow. Reginald raised the rifle to his shoulder, squinted in the sunlight and set the pheasant in his sites. He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

  2.

  “Listen, you turn the knob left to loosen it and right to tighten it, it’s not that hard.”

  Dan's skin was turning increasingly red. It was roughly the colour of a fire engine when he was calm, now it was a glowing coal of anxiety. Dan was a big man with soft round face out of which grew an impressively wiry and thick black beard. A small amount of pink jelly jiggled at the bottom of an ill-fitting t-shirt which bore the logo Royal Army – Be the Best! Beneath his t-shit and gut, Dan wore khaki knee length shorts with beige socks and brown leather sandals. His friend Milton, was slightly less large and slightly less doughy, he had lank shoulder length hair and wore a thick woolen jumper no matter what the weather was like. Milton’s face had the sort of patient sincerity that you might expect from a holy man; this was due to his spending the majority of the passage from adolescence to middle-age in the company of the easily roused Dan.

  “The problem is not whether it is tight or loose, the problem is that the holes do not match,” Milton spoke in a measured tone.

  “The holes aren’t supposed to match: they’re supposed to be threaded by the brace pin.”

  Milton was used to Dan barking at him. He took one of his 'stay calm' breaths and attempted to explain the problem rationally. It didn't work.

  “The brace pin doesn’t thread, it inserts. The butterfly screw threads.”

  “Well if you’re such an expert, how come it isn’t working?”

  Dan was now more of a burgundy than a red.

  “It’s not not working it’s just taking a minute to put it all together. Patience.”

  Milton tried to sound soothing. It didn't work.

  “Look, it’s my camera; maybe I might know how to use it.”

  Gary spoke with the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing and the timidity of a man that fully expected to get yelled at for intervening. He was the youngest member of the hunt and though, at six foot three inches, he was the tallest he was the slightest of build. Gary was thin dark haired and Mediterranean looking.

  “Go on then,” Dan waved to the camera, “Christ! Just trying to get started.”

  Milton and Dan stood and watched Gary fiddling with the tripod stand. They both felt that two minutes was about enough time to give him before they began to hassle him about it. It took him less than thirty seconds. Gary turned around quickly to preempt the inevitable, “what's taking so long?”

  “Now, which way do you want it pointing?”

  Gary smiled at the senior group members and they tried their best not to look too impressed. Milton surveyed the field, trying to look as if he cared about landscape.

  “We’ll want the woods in the background.”

  “I don’t want the shot too cluttered,” said Dan “not too much woods.”

  Gary fiddled with the camera, ever so slightly.

  “Here, will this do?”

  Gary gently removed his hands from the camera and took a step backwards. The air was shattered by a colossal boom and less than a second later the camera exploded into shards of plastic shrapnel. The tripod remained firmly in place.

  “Now will you look at that,” complained Dan.

  “I, I’m OK,” Gary muttered.

  “I mean are we such total cock-ups that we can’t even put up a camera without it exploding?”

  Dan's impending rant was cut short by the sound of a second large boom. Gary dropped immediately to the ground with his bottom raised a little higher than was necessary; he began duck-crawling towards the shelter of the hedgerows.

  A third boom sounded and Gary saw a bullet impact the ground only a meter from his head. Without thinking Gary scrambled upwards and sprinted towards his car. He got there in plenty of time to see Milton and Dan give up on running. After resting their hands on their knees for a few seconds, they ambled over to join him and put their hands on their knees again.

  “Good run lads,” wheezed Dan.

  “What next then?” panted Milton.

  Dan straightened himself up. His impressive height and bulk produced an impressive amount of sweat.

  “Gary, don’t you have another camera?” Dan asked.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?” Gary was shaking. Talking wasn't easy.

  “You know, the digital one,” Dan continued.

  “I didn’t bring it.”

  Dan's redness had faded to a bright pink; perhaps the run had done him some good.

  “No problem, you nip home and get it and Milton and I will try to see if we can figure out what happened. We need to rescue your tripod too.”

  “Shouldn’t we call it a day?” Protested Gary, “I mean, someone’s just shot at us.”

  “You give in to intimidation once and you’re marked as someone who gives in to intimidation. Perhaps it was the witches; perhaps it was someone else trying to stop the truth from getting out. One thing I am certain of is that we are making this report today. Don’t you worry about a thing Gary; you just go home and get us that camera.”

  “You know what?” said Gary, “you’re right, you should stay here. Milton, are you coming?

  Milton shook his head. Despite being a good deal more slender than Dan, Milton was apparently in much worse physical condition. He waved his thumb towards Dan to suggest that he was going to stay with him.

  “You’re a good lad Gary, go home and save the day for us.”

  Dan clapped Gary heavily on the back. Gary got into his car and drove away.

  Milton finally got his breath back and flicked his long graying hair from his eyes.

  “I should have asked him to pick up some Scotch eggs,” Milton lamented.

  3.

  Gary opened the front door with nervous care. He peered through the small crack and when he was sure that the hallway was clear
he stepped gingerly inside. Alison stepped out of the shadows like Satan, her arms tightly folded and her lips clenched. At twenty four, she was a year older than Gary. She was slim, pretty, dark haired and spoke with an accent that most people assumed was from Australia; until she corrected them. Gary kept his cool.

  “Oh, hi honey,” Gary said, as casually as he could manage.

  “Hmm,” Alison grumped.

  “Had a nice day?” Gary inquired.

  “Not too bad,” Alison's New Zealand accent lilted all over her words, “painted my nails, read a bit of my book.”

  “The Jane Austin one?”

  “No, I’m done with her now. I’m on to the Brontës - Jane Eyre.”

  “It’s an unusual system - reading all of the British classics in order of how much I’ve slagged them off.”

  “I notice you only slag off female authors. Anything you don’t like is OK by me, I thought Austin was quite funny.”

  “She’s tittersome at best. Why don’t you read Winterson? She’s great.”

  Gary began to internally wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “It would be going against the system” said Alison, “by the way, the garage phoned.”

  “Oh.”

  “They wanted to know if you feel any better.”

  “Oh.”

  “I said to Karen, it was Karen who phoned, that you were so poorly that you’d virtually vanished in to thin air. So go on then?”

  Gary opened his mouth; it took a few seconds for the sound to reach it.

  “What?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Go easy on me, I was nearly shot.”

  “I’ll go easy on you when you tell me where you’ve been.”

  Gary winced.

  “Milton and Dan are doing a report.”

  “A report? Who for?”

  Gary really winced.

  “MI5.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “They think they can pass the witch thing off as a terror threat.”

  Alison looked cross. Gary glanced around for an exit.

  “Honest to God Gary, have you any idea what a pile of bullshit that sounds like?”

  “Look I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but with the way things are I thought you’d be mad about me missing work.”

  “Well, it’s better than you cheating on me I suppose.”

  "Is that what you thought?”

  “Yeah well, I wonder why?”

  Gary made the most sincere looking face he could manage to make.

  “I am sorry you know.”

  “Great! Well now you are home you can make me lunch I’ve got to be at the shop by one.”

  “Any requests?”

  “Bacon - preferably surrounded by lettuce, tomato, bread and mayonnaise.”

  “Does it matter what order they’re in?”

  “So long as they’re all there I'll be happy.”

  The prospect of doing something right by Alison for a change was too much for Gary to resist.