The Witch and the Watcher

Two

TwoAs the hills slept, a faint blue glow appeared between two trees. It barely illuminated the night, blinking out a few minutes later. A yellow mist lay dormant on the forest floor. Nearby animals woke from their slumber, taking flight in the darkness. The mist started moving slowly, clockwise around the trees. It sensed something far off, gliding through the forest towards the unknown beacon. It skirted a golf course to its right, gradually climbing as the pull became stronger. It made its way ever upwards, through thick undergrowth until it broke out onto a deserted road. The mist crossed the black tarmac, heading back into trees and undergrowth until it came to rest a few hundred yards later. It settled on the wet grass, gently swirling in the blackness of night. Across the lawn, a small cottage sat, framed by trees and holly bushes. Two people inside, one sleeping soundly, the other, restless.

* * *

“Do you want a sausage sandwich, Jaspy?” Vicky asked across the kitchen. Spring light spilled into the room, bathing the kitchen in crisp sunlight. On the stove, a deep frying pan held sizzling sausages, their aroma flowing through the cottage. A digital radio sat on the windowsill, gently playing Take it easy, by The Eagles.

Jasper glanced up from his comic, looking at his mother. “Yes please, Mummy. Could you dip the bread like Nanny does?”

“It's not very healthy, baby bear. But just this once I'll do it for you. Sauce?”

“Brown please,” Jasper said as his eyes dipped back to his comic. Talk of sausages was replaced by Captain America and Tony Stark.

Vicky walked over to the double fridge, pulling a pack of Lincolnshire sausages from the middle shelf. As the door clicked shut, she expertly grabbed an egg from the door compartment. Her bare feet moved soundlessly over to the Range-master, where she deposited two plump sausages in the black pan. Fresh sizzles echoed through the kitchen as The Eagles were replaced by R.E.M. Two minutes later, Vicky placed a plate in front of Jasper, ruffling his bed hair as he tucked into his breakfast. She walked back over to the cooker, rattling the pink sausages around in the pan. Picking up her coffee mug up from the counter, she took a sip as she watched her son. She smiled as he sucked egg yolk from his thumb, before taking another hearty bite. Vicky would never have admitted it to anyone, but Jasper had always been her favourite. Lucy and Brett, she'd loved to bits. When her daughter was born, Vicky had been in her early twenties. Brett had come along a year later, taking over her world whilst her husband Steve, had worked all hours to grow his I.T consultancy business. He was six years her senior, already attracting attention from local companies, who'd needed his skills. Vicky was quite happy to have played full-time mum, her life spent at playgroups, coffee mornings, and children's parties. When Brett had finally started school, Vicky decided to resurrect her career in graphic design, securing a part time position with a local company in the nearby town of Redditch in North Worcestershire. For five years, Vicky had enjoyed the flexibility of being a graphic designer and a mum, whilst Steve worked seventy-hour weeks, coming home most nights when the children were in bed. It had worked perfectly for them though, enjoying and appreciating the time they had together. Her parents would regularly babysit, allowing the young couple to share quality time at fine restaurants, pubs, and concert venues. Vicky knew that her parents had tried doubly hard, filling the void that Steve's parents had left when they'd both succumbed to cancer within a few years of each other. Just when life had settled into a steady rhythm, Vicky had fallen pregnant once more. Steve had reacted swiftly, buying a four bedroomed cottage on the fringes of the Lickey Hills, not far from their Alvechurch home. Vicky had instantly fallen for the cottage, loving the secluded, secure feeling it gave the family. She gave up work again, devoting her time to looking after her new arrival, Jasper. She'd been besotted by his dark looks, a trademark inherited from her half Spanish husband. Vicky herself had a faintly Mediterranean look. Her brown hair and naturally tanned skin melding well with the rest of her clan. Jasper had grown into a fine young boy. Lovable but sensitive. His elder siblings tended to do their own thing, the age gap becoming apparent as they'd ventured into their teenage years. But they were close. They were a happy family, liking nothing more than spending time sat around the dining table, recounting their days, or listening to Steve's corny jokes. They had been the perfect family. Until six weeks before, when it had all changed. Vicky still felt numb to it all, not quite believing that her husband and two children could be taken away so cruelly and suddenly. The drunk driver had been arrested and charged. Vicky had been contacted by the police on numerous occasions over the following weeks, giving her updates. The trial was imminent. Vicky had told the authorities that she would not attend. She was not part of the accident and was content to let the system take over. She knew that the man who'd taken away her family would receive jail time. Probably a few years, which was nothing compared to the devastation he'd wreaked. Her focus was Jasper. The woman's eyes grew misty as she watched him polish off his breakfast, taking a glug of orange juice to wash it down. He was eight years old, and Vicky knew that she needed to provide a safe and loving haven for him. He'd suffered a cataclysmic shock, which if not treated properly, could send him off the rails as he became older. She was not short of money. Steve had ensured that in the event of his death, the remaining family members would be taken care of. At thirty-eight years old, Vicky had accepted that she would probably never work again. Or if she did, it would be in years to come when Jasper was ready to leave his teenage years behind. She finished her coffee, placing the mug in the dishwasher. “Do you want anything else, Son?”

“No thanks, Mummy. That was delish.”

Vicky grinned, loving how her son had adopted one of her favourite words. “What do you want to do today? Shall we go for a walk?”

“Okay. Or I could play the X-box for a bit?”

Vicky sighed and smiled at the same time. “Alright then. We can go for a walk this afternoon. I'll pull a few weeds out this morning,” she said, looking out at their rear garden, its manicured lawns leading to a post and rail wooden fence that drew the boundary with the Lickey Hills beyond.

“Mummy. Will I get in trouble for punching Sean?”

“No, Jaspy,” Vicky said as she pulled up a chair. “I will make sure you don't. The boy that did this is very nasty and cruel. He did a horrible thing to you.”

“Sorry I punched him, Mummy,” Jasper said solemnly.

“That's okay, love. Normally I would not approve of violence. But that little boy deserved it.”

“Why was he so nasty about Daddy, Lucy and Brett?” Jasper's eyes turned misty.

Vicky placed her hand over his, gently stroking it. “Some people are like that, Jaspy. Most people are nice, but sometimes, people do and say nasty things to hurt us.”

“It's not nice.”

“No, it's not,” Vicky said as she looked into her son's deep brown eyes. “But you will just have to ignore people like that, Son. On this occasion, you did what you thought was right. I'm sure Sean will not be bothering you, or anyone else again.”

“I hope not, Mummy. Can I play X-box now?”

Vicky smiled, ruffling her son's dark locks. “Of course you can, baby bear.”

Jasper pulled his chair out, the wooden feet scraping the quarry-tiled floor. He embraced his mother, squeezing with all his strength. “Love you, Mummy. You are the best mummy ever.”

I love you too, Jaspy. You are the best little boy ever,” she said as tears peppered her eyes.

An hour later, Vicky was dressed for gardening. Khaki combat trousers, a blue fleece over a black top, and a pair of trainers were deemed appropriate for the balmy spring morning. Tying her hair back into a pony, she walked out to the shed at the side of the cottage, sliding the bolt. Two minutes later, Vicky was on her knees on a polystyrene mat, pulling weeds from the bare flower beds. Her mother had once told her what the weeds were called. Hibiscus? She thought as she stuffed a clump of greenery into the black bin liner. She worked her way methodically around the garden, half filling the black bag with various green things that she'd forgotten the names of. As she was about to walk back to the house, something caught her eye underneath a line of conifers that ran the length of the garden. She hunkered down, a cold feeling settling over her as she pulled a dead cat from the undergrowth. “Oh no!” she said, recognising Gracie, the cat from next door. Its lifeless eyes stared at Vicky, its body cold and stiff. She inspected the dead cat for signs of injury, finding nothing. Strange. She's only a few years old, Vicky thought as she ran her gloved hands over the animal's flank. What happened to you, poor Gracie? She walked back to the house, returning a minute later with a large brown box that had been sent from sss. Vicky gently laid the dead cat in the box, closing the flaps. The temperature and light dropped a few degrees as the sun was obscured by a large cloud. A stiff wind kicked up on the other side of the fence, rippling the lawn as it blew towards Vicky. The cardboard flaps opened and closed as the strong breeze buffeted them. A noise carried to Vicky's ears, making goosebumps stand proud on her neck. What was that? she thought as the wind whistled through the trees. Her bamboo chimes protested loudly, rapping against the tree trunk that they hung against. Is it a far-off train? Vicky thought as she walked over to the fence. She rested her elbows against the damp wood, trying to catch the noise once more. As her eyes dropped from the horizon Vicky's mouth fell open as she noticed several dark shapes on the grass beyond the fence. Oh my God! She ducked through the railings like a prize fighter, striding over towards the inert shapes. On the grass in front of her, lay several dead birds. All black. All large. Blank dead eyes staring up at the darkening skies.

“What the hell is going on?” The sound came again. Closer, more distinct. It set her teeth on edge, like nails drawn across a blackboard. Vicky whirled around as the wind intensified, feathers being plucked from the sad carcasses, flying towards the house. She was just about to head back to the house when something in a nearby hedgerow caught her eye. She walked over tentatively, stopping when a yellow mist spilled from the undergrowth. What the- she thought before the mist was lost on the breeze. As it dissipated, a low drone echoed around the Lickey Hills. The wind stopped dead, leaving Vicky stood there, her mind baffled as to what had just taken place. Her thoughts skipped back to the mist. Was that gas? Could that have killed Gracie and the birds? She slowly walked back to the house, opting to leave the birds for the foxes that would surely turn up later. Ducking back through the fence, Vicky spied the cardboard box, deciding with a leaden heart to ruin an old lady's day before she went for a walk with Jasper.