Nature of the Witch

Chapter One

Chapter One1994 (but only just)

Jack glanced at the clock. 11:45pm. He was tempted to crawl into his bed but decided against it and flicked on the TV. He watched the image of Big Ben on the screen for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen and retrieving another beer. Then he relaxed down onto his settee and took a noisy swig from the bottle.

The music from a New Year's Eve party in the flat below drifted up through his floorboards; except 'drifting' wasn't technically an accurate description. It made his floorboards vibrate and sliced into the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of his home.

He gritted his teeth and resisted an overwhelming urge to march downstairs and confront the noisy culprits. What on earth would he say? 'Why can't you turn off the music and see the New Year in quietly like me?'

“Jeez I'm like an old man,” Jack muttered with a groan.

Then again he had every right to be a little grumpy. He was entering a new year with yet another failed relationship under his belt. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself. He was the one who had ended it the day before New Year's Eve and he felt a twinge of guilt about that. He hadn't meant to be unkind. It was just that he didn't want to start the New Year pretending that it was going to work out when he knew it wasn't.

He consoled himself with the thought that he was only twenty-one so there was plenty of time for all that. However, he had a sneaky suspicion that some people were destined to be single and he was pretty sure he was one of them. After all, he always entered a relationship with the best of intentions but they all ended the same way.

Whilst others enjoyed busy social lives Jack preferred a more solitary existence and generally tried to keep himself to himself. He had been that way since childhood, even when he was growing up in the children's home. And sometimes it had been hard keeping himself to himself in a place where he was surrounded by other children. He'd had a couple of friends but mostly he'd found that the other kids had even worse issues than he did so it was best to steer clear.

He briefly let his mind wander back to a time before the children's home. Had he liked being on his own then? But he couldn't grip hold of anything concrete; hazy memories slipped by too quickly and he gave up.

He had been five when his parents died in a car accident. He wasn't sure at what point he'd forgotten them. He knew there was a time when he'd thought of them constantly and was miserable, then he'd entered a time when he'd tried his hardest not to think of them and pushed them from his mind so that he wouldn't be sad. And then suddenly he couldn't remember them even when he wanted to. He had no photos of his parents and he would have liked to recall their faces. Occasionally he tried but it was always to no avail.

However, he had long given up worrying about it. He couldn't remember them and that was that. Life had moved on. He hadn't had a happy childhood but then neither did many other children. There was no point dwelling on it.

Now life was good. He didn't have any family but, in the few years since leaving school with pretty poor qualifications, he had quickly built up a blossoming carpentry business and he even owned his own home. Perhaps in the next couple of years, if the business continued to do well, he could look at selling his flat and buying a house, preferably detached so he wasn't bothered by noisy neighbours. With that happy thought in mind he glanced again at the clock, 11:58pm. He only had to stay awake for another couple of minutes. Then he promptly fell asleep and the beer bottle slid silently to the ground causing a small damp patch on his clean carpet.

He was plagued all night by the same dream. It involved a woman and, although he couldn't see her properly, he could tell she was in danger. She always kept her face hidden from his view but he instantly knew that she was fearful for her life. He wanted to help her but all around them was pitch black, and no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't see into the darkness. Whatever the danger was, it was somewhere in the darkness and it was watching them.

And that was how he spent his night, waiting to fight some invisible threat and protect a woman he couldn't see properly. It was no wonder he awoke feeling more tired than when he went to sleep.

Happy New Year Jack, he thought to himself wearily.

He pondered the dream for a moment. It wasn't his first unusual dream; they had started recently and seemed to be occurring with some frequency. In fact, the weird dreams weren't the only change he'd noticed. He'd also been losing his temper a lot. It was true that he'd always had a shorter fuse than most but recently he seemed to have no fuse at all. The slightest incident could make him feel out of control. Many a time at work he'd had to remove himself from a situation and take some deep breaths until he'd calmed down. He wondered if the dreams might be related. Then he shrugged.

It's just a dream.

He woke himself up with a morning run. The air around him felt like needles. The cold bit into his skin which was exactly what he needed. He grinned as he watched the odd die-hard, bleary-eyed party-goer stumbling home.

After breakfast he tackled some business paperwork and mulled over the possibility of hiring a secretary. Then when he needed a break he put on the kettle and settled into some woodcarving. He had taken up woodcarving at the children's home. He was completely self-taught. Of course he wasn't supposed to have a knife at the children's home, but one of the older children had given it to him. At the time he was being bullied by a particularly nasty child who had threatened to do all sorts of horrific things to him whilst he slept. He had kept the knife under his pillow for protection.

In the garden there had been a log pile and one day he picked up a log and started hacking at it. He had instantly found it calming and therapeutic and over time shapes had formed in the wood. Eventually he became skilled and could turn a lump of wood into intricate ornaments.

Strangely he had never done anything with them. He had never sold one, never given one away as a present, never done anything but let them pile up and then, when he had too many, he threw them away. A couple of times he had considered giving them to girlfriends but they just seemed too personal.

It was whilst he was finishing off the wooden sailing ship he'd been making that he heard a noise at his front door. At first he thought he'd imagined it but then there it was again, a faint scraping sound as though someone was trying to get in.

Quietly he picked up his knife and moved closer to the door. The noise came again. This time it was a loud clunk as though someone had grabbed the door handle and then let go again. He frowned. He didn't often have visitors. He looked through his peep-hole but there was no-one there. He waited but the noise seemed to have stopped so he returned to his sailing ship.

He had just settled down again when the noise came back. He felt his temper rising. There was definitely someone at the door. What were they trying to do? Break-in? He rose again from his seat but, just as before, there was no-one to be seen through the peep-hole.

He waited until the noise returned and then he threw open the door and grabbed the person on the other side. They were bending down just out of view from the peep-hole. The person was light because he lifted them off their feet with ease and sent them hurtling down his hallway. Before the mystery person could regain their composure he knelt down across their chest and brought his knife up to their throat. His breathing was heavy as he fought against his temper and, keeping his victim pinned to the floor beneath him, looked down into the eyes of a terrified and vaguely familiar face.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked the stranger, his voice quiet and the blade of his knife resting menacingly against the man's throat.

“I…I…I live here,” the man stammered looking confused. He glanced past Jack into the hallway and his speech sounded slurred. “I think I do anyway.”

Jack stared down at the man for a beat before realisation dawned on him and he hurriedly withdrew his knife.

“You live downstairs,” Jack told him swinging his legs round so the man could sit up.

“I do?” The man still looked confused. His eyes were rolling around as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

Must have had a heavy night last night, thought Jack.

“Did you…a knife?” The man asked, his words tumbling about as he tried to cut through his alcohol fogged brain and process what was happening.

“Let me take you back to your flat,” Jack managed to smile but his heart was thumping in his chest. He could have seriously hurt the man. If he was honest he'd wanted to seriously hurt him.

Jack accompanied his surprise visitor to the flat below. The door was open and displayed a scene of pure c*****e. This was obviously the place where he'd heard the party the previous night.

“Happy New Year!” He called in after the man as he closed the door. The man muttered something in return and then there was a thud as he collapsed somewhere in the vicinity of the settee. Hopefully he wouldn't remember anything when he awoke.

Jack took a deep breath. Thank goodness he hadn't hurt him. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. It was still cold out but Jack didn't mind. For no reason at all he walked a different route than normal, reaching the end of his road and turning left instead of right. Left took him towards more flats, and he was just crossing through a car park when he heard a strange sound. He stopped and listened. He heard scuffling and groaning coming from the corner of the car park. It was dark in the corner but he could just make out the silhouette of a group of boys.

Teenagers, he thought.

He was about to carry on and leave them to it when he noticed the shape of someone lying on the floor. The shape moved and looked as though it was trying to crawl away when one of the lads gave it a mighty kick. The shape let out a cry and began to roll about groaning.

Instinctively Jack called out and rushed forward, “Hey stop that!”

The boys looked up. There were three of them. Two were wearing baseball caps and he would guess they were late teens, not much younger than him. They advanced upon him instantly, like a pack of lions distracted by better prey.

He realised he hadn't really thought it through, but he wasn't too fazed. Three to one might seem unfair but he'd grown up in care and he knew how to defend himself. From a young age he'd come into contact with some pretty disturbed children and had quickly toughened up. He might be outnumbered but they were kids, even without seeing them properly he knew he was bigger and stronger.

As they stepped out of the shadows he braced himself for a fight, but he didn't see a fourth person creep up behind him or the bottle rise above his head. He just felt the blow, an excruciating pain filled his whole head and then he went down.