The Witches and the Werewolf PH2018

Little Wick is an old, Cotswold market town. Just like many others, it comprises a central street of sandy coloured stone shops and small houses. A quiet, sleepy little place, except when coaches full of tourists roll through, almost scraping their mirrors on the rough, stone fronted buildings that crowd in from each side of the narrow street. Then they park up in the new, municipal coach park at the edge of town and disgorge hordes of anxious, eager people who are panicked by the thought of there being one single stone they haven't photographed before it's time to leave.

Due to the nature of the place, most of the businesses are quirky, craft shops and the like. There are a few cafes, mostly espousing the quality of their “local” vegan fare and a couple of pubs offering more meaty fare as well as a selection of very strong, micro brewed ales.

Veronica Swift was a tall, slim woman. Her eyes a striking pale blue, like ice and her black hair hung long and loose, reaching most of the way down her back. Her skin was pale and her figure was that of a model. Lean, rangy strides carried her down the cobbles of the street on this chill morning. The heels of her boots clicking noisily and echoing back from the buildings she passed like an announcement of her passing.
She stopped outside The Cauldron and began fumbling around in her oversized bag. Muttering under her breath with frustration as she searched in vain for the keys. “Oh for goodness sake where do they always manage to go?” She hissed to herself. Then she gave a startled little squeak as the door flew open with a jangle of wind chimes and flutter of poorly attached fliers.

“Morning Ronnie!” The cheerful, cherubic face of her friend and second of the Cauldron's three partners leered at her through the opening “Forgot you gave me the keys last night. Dincha?” She grinned, her grey eyes twinkling mischievously, framed with horn rimmed glasses. Maggie Harris was a shorter, rounder, more cheerful woman. She wore her auburn hair up in a bun and blew constantly at wisps of white that had escaped their prison as if to antagonise her with their presence. Her figure might most diplomatically be described as Rubenesque...Or better yet, not at all, if she could hear you.
“Maggie, good god, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Veronica snapped.
“Nah, you'd have to have a heart fer one o them luv. You gonna stand there all morning or come in and stop all the heat getting out? I put the kettle on oh, and Samson caught a rat in the night. Big bugger too, we saved it for you to see.”
She stepped back to allow the taller woman in and Veronica walked straight to the counter to dump her bag and then shook off her long, purple coat “Uggh, I don't think I can stomach seeing a dismembered rat this early, but the tea sounds good.”
“Aww, you should see, he's ever so proud he is.”
“Meow?” Came the small cry from the foot of the black, velvet curtain that divided the shop from the small store room and kitchen at the rear.
“Good morning Samson, have you been a good boy? No little surprises for Aunty Mags?” Veronica crouched down and tickled the black cat under his chin and he obligingly raised his head to present his favourite patch of fur. There was rather a lot of him, Samson was a former stray, a scruffy old tom who the ladies had adopted one wintry morning when he had just strolled in behind a bemused family of Chinese tourists who were looking for somewhere to change their Euros. Now, he was the size of a small dog, though heavy with muscle and with a reputation amongst the town's other animals (and their owners) for extreme violence and even Kaiser, the German shepherd owned by the landlord of the Bat and Badger pub kept his distance and eyed the old Tom warily from the decking of the smoking area whenever the cat decided to take a shortcut through the yard on his way home.
“Meow!” The cat answered and started to wind in and out of her ankles, a task made more difficult by the hem of her long dress which reached the floor. Not that Samson was the sort of animal to give up on anything, as shown by the small town's startling number of hetero chromatic, black cats which all bore a striking resemblance to their sire.
“Look, just there!” Maggie said and, Veronica's eyes raised and she half turned her head to stare at the partially disembowelled corpse of a rat that was nearly as big as a Jack Russell terrier.
“Eeew, gawd, no. Why didn't you throw it out?”
“What? Eee's proud of it and wanted is mummy to see!”
“I am not his mother, Mags, I told you before..”
Yes you are, you gave him his home and fed him and it's always you ee comes to first...When you aren't sleeping off all the booze you drank the night before, that is” Maggie's eyes twinkled at her and she finally let out a snort of laughter. “You danced on the table, then fell off and would have hit yer ed if my Roger hadn't caught you. You don't even remember giving me the keys do yer? Oh and Sam, gave me a free double to get you out of there and back home. Poor bugger was too scared to try and get you to leave by himself, Not surprising after that business with the umbrella at Christmas.”
“Oh pack it in Mags, really, I don't want to know.” She replied, straightening up and swishing past the curtain, only to emerge a moment later with a pair of tongs and a plastic carrier bag. “I don't know what was in that stout, really, I thought my head would fall off when I woke up this morning” She continued as she stooped to grip the dead rat in the tongs and drop it into the bag, much to the chagrin of Samson
“Meow!!”
Maggie swept through into the back room and the sound of cups being arranged preceded the whistling of the kettle “You should show a bit more appreciation, he left that there for you to play with so you can learn to hunt a bit, he's tryin ta help you be a better cat, Ron.”
“I don't need to be a better...or any kind of cat, thank you very much.” Came the sharp reply. Veronica's tone softened though when she saw Samson looking up at her expectantly and she stooped again to scratch between his ears “You are a very good boy, We'll get you a nice bit of fish later, how about that?” Her cheeks reddening as she could almost hear the grin spreading across Maggie's face on the other side of the curtain.

The two women had just finished their tea when the door burst open and a huge stack of brown cardboard boxes exploded into the shop, scattering across the bare wooden floor and sending Samson darting like a bolt of fat, black lightning for the back room.

“Morning Jen” Maggie said with a sigh as she put her cup down on the counter, just to the left of the little round coaster Veronica had put there to protect the work top. She bustled out to help the third and final partner of their business while Veronica huffed and placed the cup on the coaster.
Jenny was in her mid twenties and had come back to her old town after finishing a degree in English Literature at one of the new breed of city Universities that dotted the country. She had, after getting her “Desmond” (a 2:2 degree) decided that home was where the heart was and now used her skills to write local histories, update the shop's website and generally try and avoid her mother's repeated attempts to marry her off to one of the local agricultural workers or, more bizarrely, a commodity trader who had subsequently run as the local UKIP candidate after buying a holiday home in the area. She carried the shame to this day of voting for him after she couldn't bring herself to vote for the Lib Dem who had ranted at her father one afternoon for being late with her delivery of prosecco, The local Conservative who had groped her at the Spring fair or the Labour candidate who she remembered was a mean spirited bully at primary school.

With the latest delivery squared away the three women set about their morning routine, Jenny typing quickly, then pausing to gaze thoughtfully out of the window as she wrote the “Cauldron Blog” for the day, Veronica out back and mixing essential oils into some pungent smelling potion that would be decanted into tiny 10 ml bottles and stoppered with real corks to “cure” everything from Lumbago to a lack of success with the opposite sex and Margaret rearranging the shelves so that the joss sticks were no longer hidden behind the packets of home made fudge.
“Ah, it's so much better when we are all here” Maggie began, her smile already forming as she nodded at Jenny “The maid”, pointing her thumb at her ample bosom “The mother” then nodding at the curtain before she finished “and the Ha...”
“Don't you bloody dare, Margaret bloody Harris, or so help me I will stir your next cuppa with the rat tongs.” Veronica's stern warning interrupted from behind the curtain.
“Aww come on Ronnie, it's traditional and I know you ain't no maid, remember?” Maggie held her own ribs as she continued to tease.
“I was drunk and...Hey, does everyone know? Oh god... Can't ever leave things be can they Mags? Have you blabbed it everywhere like usual? I bet you have, its what you do. Like old Billy Dribble when he drove through town last year and forgot to turn his muck spreader off...I hate you, I really do, you know that, right?”
Tears in her eyes, Maggie finished with the joss sticks and dusted herself off (they never seemed to sell many of them, which was why she decided to change where they kept them). Oh no, your secret's safe with me and Jen here, anyway, that must have been ten years ago, just before they banned the pig fair...Bloody bureaucrats interfering in people's lives. Them Spanish allow bulls to chase people through their streets but we can't have a pig fair! Don't seem right ta me.”

The sound of Jenny choking interrupted her rant and she looked up to see the young, blonde woman's cheeks puffed out and bright red as she fought to not laugh loud enough for Veronica to hear.
“An you can cut that out, Jenny, my girl, I know you are just wetting yourself out there.”

“How does she do that?” Margaret mouthed silently to a shrug from Jenny and a “Because I am a witch, that's how” from behind the curtain.

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion until lunchtime was heralded by a click and a whir from an ancient cuckoo clock high on the wall. The three women looked up expectantly as the geriatric cuckoo creaked arthritically from the clock and made a sort of “pfft” sound which left them all a little disappointed.
“We really gotta get that thing fixed one day, I can't remember the last time I heard it say cuckoo.” Margaret began.
“I've never heard it” added Jenny.
“Christmas, Oh one.” finished Veronica with an air of authority that brooked no argument. “Anyway, lunch time. Shall we go to the Badger? Sam is doing a Japanese theme today.”
“Just so long as it ain't sushi. Fish should be cooked and in batter, with chips, not raw and wrapped in seaweed.”Groused Margaret.
“I'm ok, I will just mind the shop, I have to finish this piece on the maiden stones anyway.” Jenny offered “You go without me, I'll have ramen, since it's Japanese day, and we will all be in sync, won't we?” She smiled at the others as they slipped their coats on and then frowned a little as neither seemed to pay much attention to her subtle reminder that she was also a witch and knew about such things as synchronicity, even if Veronica sneered at what she regarded as “new age clap trap.”

The walk only took a few minutes as there wasn't the usual number of people on the street to enquire after Margaret's health, the availability of one of her sons to do some odd job for them or to thank her for calling on an elderly relative.
“Everyone just bloody loves you Mags, how do you do it?” asked Veronica.
“It's easy, I just listen to them. People love to talk, Your trouble is, you have no patience. Someone starts telling you some problem and you already know and then you go starting to fix it. Most people don't want their problems sorting, they just want someone to listen to them. I'm a listener, you Ron, are a fixer. You are only required when things get seriously bad and so you carry people's fears with you, when they talk to you, they know things are bad, see?”
Veronica's reply was just a hmmph as she pushed through the low door into the warm, gloom of the Bat and Badger, an old, timber and stone building that was probably the second or third oldest in the town as most pubs in small places seemed to be, once two or three people lived near each other, there seemed to be some sort of reaction at a universal level that made a pub appear. Jenny would maybe have a theory on that...Veronica shook her head to banish the thought and went straight for her usual table near the big, bay window. Within a few seconds of Maggie joining her, Sam, the landlord bustled over. Six foot two and built like he could still play Lock for the county, even though he was in his fifties now. He wrung a bar towel in his hands anxiously as he said “Afternoon ladies, ummm...We gonna be behaving ourselves today I hope?”
Veronica's steely gaze pinned him like he was some butterfly collector's latest acquisition and he stuttered before saying “Course you are, no harm done after all...haha...Would you like to try the special? We are doing Japanese today.”
“It aint raw fish is it?” Margaret asked suspiciously.
“Oh no...We couldn't get any fresh tuna, so it's rice balls and teriyaki pork.”
“Hmm, that sounds alright, yes, we'll have two of those and two pints of Bear Trap...And a saucer of cream” Veronica's gaze had drifted down to the chunky, black shape of Samson walking purposefully in through the door from the smoking area.
“Sure, coming right up” Sam smiled at them, then looked behind him to see Samson, then he added “I better check on the dog” and his hunched, burly frame retreated back out through the door.

The ladies had barely finished half of their beer when the food arrived. Margaret snorted and Veronica arched one eyebrow at Sam questioningly.
“Butcher never had any pork loin, see, so I ad to use Gloucester sausage.” He stated apologetically.
Veronica looked down at her plate. There were two, white balls of rice nestled together and between them, a large, pink sausage was positioned suggestively...the whole thing looked like something usually seen scratched into the toilet door.
“It looks like a dic..”
“Rob!” Sam shouted, “What can I get ya? The usual?” And with that he was gone before either of the two women could embarrass him further.
“Bless him, he does try” murmured Maggie as she set to her lunch with a gusto.

With their meal finished and another pint of Bear Trap on board, the two women strolled back to the shop, this time the walk taking over twenty minutes as there were rather more of Margaret's fan club about and by the time they re entered the shop Veronica was ready to commit murder (A condition that could only be cured by a cup of tea).

The tea had to wait, however as, sitting down in Jenny's seat was a young man wearing a scruffy old army greatcoat and looking around with the air of a sheep finding itself in the yard of Billy Higgins butcher's shop...Jenny was leaning over him, cooing while squinting into his eyes through a cloudy lump of rose quartz.

“Jen?” They both asked in unison.

She looked up and around, rising and started an excited babble “This is Hugo. He's come up from London to investigate the Maiden Stones and, you aren't going to believe this..”
“I don't.” Stated Veronica “Whatever it is, I don't need to hear it, just more new age nonsense. Really, I am sick of these townies and their stupid...internet!” She practically spat the word and was in the process of looking to Margaret for back up when her second sight kicked in, all by itself and she gave a gasp. “That's....that's not possible” she whispered and nudged Margaret, who was stood similarly open mouthed. When she looked round she could see the same look of shock on her friend's face.
“I told you, didn't I?” Jenny exclaimed. “Those stones were never a calendar.” She took a breath and explained how Hugo had tested a theory he had picked up in an alchemical manual that suggested some of these ancient stones had been a sort of gateway between worlds.
It emerged that he had turned up in the dead of night with his books and a coil of fine gold wire which he had used to join the stones in the shape of a pentagram. He had then stood in the centre and spoken the incantation he had found only to wake up the next morning covered in bits of wildlife and entirely naked. He'd found the old coat in the corner of a derelict barn and despite the smell, it was all he could cover himself with, then he had walked over through the woods until he'd arrived at Wick. He'd beaten a hasty retreat from there and fetched up outside the shop in Little Wick where Jenny had spotted him and dragged him gratefully inside.

“A werewolf though?” Veronica asked doubtfully. Even though the evidence was right there before her. The man's aura had taken on a bloody, cast and it towered over his physical body, a looming, bipedal lupine shape that chilled her to her bones.

Margaret took two steps and flipped the door sign over to show the world that the shop was closed, then she snicked the lock shut so that no one could come in before ushering the others through into the back room and up the rickety stairs to the upper floor.

While Jenny filled them in on what she knew of lycanthropy, Veronica had been galvanised it seemed and paced the small square room tapping a long, midnight blue nail against her lips as her brows furrowed in thought. Finally she spoke and the other women became instantly quiet as she said “This transformative magic can almost definitely only be undone by reversing the spell. For that, we need to know exactly what and how our unhappy traveller did what he did.”

She was about to add something when Samson appeared in the doorway, anxious to find out what the fuss was, then he seemed to double in size as his fur puffed out and flew at Hugo in a hissing, spitting black ball of fury that only abated when he was swept up by Veronica to glare balefully at the man and flatten his ears still further with the promise of further violence to come when he had him to himself.

“Oh don't mind Samson.” Margaret said “He was abandoned as a kitten, it takes him a while to get used to new people” She spoke as if he hadn't just tried to take Hugo's throat out with his razor like claws and the grumbly, anxious “meow” sounded from beyond the now closed door as Veronica turned back.

“Seems to me, and Jenny, you can get on that laptop of yours and find out for sure, that we will need to go back up to the Maiden Stones and reverse what this young man had done, I would guess we need to do it at a full moon too, which means Hugo here will need somewhere to stay while we wait.”

“Is this just normal to you?” He asked, his voice trembling from both the supernatural unreality of what was happening to him and the close call with Samson.

That evening Margaret and Veronica enjoyed three pints of “Hammertime” stout each while Jenny and Hugo drank Evian water and paid for the drinks. They had ascertained that while winding the gold around the stones Hugo had walked “widdershins” which, as Veronica huffed “Just goes to show why you should leave magic to people who know what they are doing. After all, you wouldn't want some idiot who didn't know how electricity worked to rewire your house, would you?” Her hand rested idly on her lap, feeling strangely empty as, for once, Samson wasn't perched..well, sprawled across it.
Margaret asked “Is the wire still up there?” to which Jenny shook her head.
“No, I drove up earlier and he must have torn through it after the change.” Anything else she was about to say now forgotten as Sam approached bearing four plates piled high with rice and what looked like chopped up sausages.
“The Japanese thing was a bit of a disaster, so I decided on Spanish for tonight” he explained, half apologetically, half proud of his ability to overcome the odds and still serve themed food.”

“Err, what is it?” asked Margaret.
“Paella of course” Sam answered defensively. “Only There wasn't enough chicken and I had all those sausages left, and chorizo is just Spanish sausage anyway, isn't it? And after what Bert said, I thought it would be better to cut up the sausages and mix them with the rice. It's even got peas in, look!” He pointed with a tubby finger at a wrinkly green pea that had been cooked to death and beyond.
“What did he say?” Asked Hugo.
“He said that it looked like a di...”
“Sam! I think Roger wants a refill.” Veronica interrupted and, after placing the plates on the table Sam lumbered off to help another of the locals forget their worries until they woke up with a headache and no memory of why their wife was looking grumpy the next morning.

“It shouldn't be gold, anyway.” Veronica mused aloud “Silver is the moon's metal, it would be more in tune with what we need.”
“But didn't you say we had to do exactly as before but..backwards?” Hugo asked between mouthfuls of yellow rice and sausage that tasted faintly of teriyaki sauce.
“Oh and you are the expert on how to undo spells I suppose, mister wolfman” Veronica quipped as she teased bits of sausage to the side of her plate with her fork.
“”Now now, Ronnie, there's no need for that” Maggie cooed, then winked reassuringly at Hugo. “Don't you worry son, Ronnie here is the best witch you could ever meet, she will see you right.”
The rest of the evening passed with another 3 rounds of drinks which Jenny paid for and the four of them left before things became too boisterous, though just as they were leaving, Veronica stopped dead in her tracks at the door and said, “Samson, I know you are there and I know what you are planning. Get along home now, and you leave Hugo alone else you'll be a very bad cat, you hear me?” There was a thump as four paws hit the stone cobbles and a disappointed sounding “miaow” as the black shape leapt from the low roof of the porch and went off in search of whatever it is that Tom cats go in search of when they aren't allowed to attack werewolves.


The days passed in a blur of activity as the three witches and Hugo pored through books and websites and made then discarded plans. Lunch times a persistent lucky dip of world cuisine that invariably involved some form of sausage in the recipe.

Finally, on the day of the full moon, the three witches decided everything was ready and, dressed in the latest hand me downs of a baggy jumper and blue jeans that had to be rolled up several times at the cuffs, (Even the smallest of Margaret's six sons was verging on gigantism). Hugo was waiting for the bus while Jenny reminded him not to worry about anything and “Oh, don't freak out when we arrive, ok? It's proper magic and we will be arriving in a traditional way.”
Hugo hadn't a clue what she meant and couldn't ask as the bus turned up and Jenny bundled him on with a kiss on the cheek and called out to the driver “Top of tinker's hill for this one Tom, he doesn't know the area so give him a nudge when you get there ok?”
Tom the driver nodded and took the fare from her then Hugo sat down with a bump as the bus lurched into motion, leaving Jenny waving until it was out of sight around the next bend. Only then did her face lose the confident smile and lines of worry start across her forehead as she turned and marched back to the shop.

Hugo shivered as he sat on what locals called the altar stone, the grey rock rounded by centuries of weathering and covered in moss. The sky was black, much blacker than he had been used to back home in Hammersmith and as he looked up, he could see the stars with a much greater clarity than he had ever known before. Some of this he knew was about more than light pollution, even in the daytime he had become aware of his heightened senses, a by product of his transformation, the older witch, Veronica had said, “The wolf is always within you” she had said “Not quite dormant, but at the same time, content to wait for it's own turn.”

He shivered again at the cold, at the gnawing fear of what had happened in the last four weeks...Despite his interest in the occult, he didn't believe in witches, if he was honest, he didn't believe in these three witches much, but he was desperate enough to accept their help. That's when he saw the shadow..shadows even. Three of them, flitting across the sky just above the dark edge of the tree tops, his eye followed them only by seeing the stars vanish momentarily as they passed before them. There was a whoosh, then three thuds and a grumble as the witches landed just to the edge of the circle “Ooh, talk about splitting me difference” grumbled Maggie.
Then Veronica's harsh voice sounded “Shut up, I told you to ride side saddle, why can you never just do the sensible thing?”
“I told you, I keep slipping off and the last time I landed in old Mister Fosset's outhouse. Right on his lap, too. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack.”
“Hugo?” Jenny's voice called out.
“Yeah,,,umm, I'm here...ummm, did you really just ...just fly?” He replied, his voice shaking.
“Of course we did, how else do you think witches get around when we don't want the world to know our business?” Veronica interrupted as she leaned her broom against a small gorse bush and strode into the stones. She paused to look closely at Hugo's face and nodded grimly “Hmm, bit of red around the iris, moon rise can't be far off, lets get ready, shall we?”
Then she proceeded to wrap silver wire around the head stone in deosil and moving between the others wrapping each in the same way until she had formed a five pointed star before wrapping the tail of the wire back around the head stone and motioning Hugo to step over the wires and stand in the centre.

“Ladies?” She called. “You ready?” Then without waiting for a reply she placed her own, black candle atop the headstone and nodded with approval as Margaret and Jenny topped each of the other four stones with coloured candles to represent the four elements of earth, air, fire and water.
Hugo's mouth dropped open as she raised her arms to the sky and spoke words of power. Immediately each of the five candles flared into life. The flames coloured to match the wax they were made from but burning with a strange intensity that seemed anything but natural.
“Now Hugo, just stand there, take your clothes off and leave the rest up to us.”
“Wh..what?” he asked “It's freezing.”
“Oh don't be such a silly sod.” Maggie said “You ain't got nothing we ain't seen before and those are the only clothes you got, so if you don't want to walk back naked after the change, take them off now.”
“Speak for yourself” Jenny said and Margaret huffed.
“I've seen your browser history, my girl so don't be playing smart with me.” Margaret replied with a smirk and all three turned their backs on Hugo so as to encourage him to undress.

Naked and shivering, Hugo stood in the centre of the pentagram as each of the witches spoke in a language he couldn't begin to understand but somehow felt deep in his psyche.

Just as Veronica brought her hand down with the last syllable the first sliver of the moon broke out over the tops of the trees and Hugo fell to his knees with a scream as the bones in his feet snapped and broke and stretched, knitting back together instantly. His hands were next, the crunching of his fingers and knuckles loud in the still night air. His fingers bled as the nails lengthened, curled in on themselves and curved into wicked, inch long claws. His screams became a guttural snarl as his jaw broke, his cheek bones crumbled and his face stretched forward into a snout, his eyes entirely red now and his back arching. The vertebrae rippling up, tearing at his skin before being smothered with waves of coarse, black hair. Finally Hugo raised his head to the moon, half over the trees now and bared his teeth as he howled. The sound bloodcurdling to the three witches who stood outside the tangle of silver wire.
“Well, this is a bit worse than Sam's Sausage Khoftas, if you ask me” mumbled Maggie as she fought to keep a hold on the small glass bottle she was holding.

Jenny looked sharply at her from across the stones and shook her head for silence, but Hugo's head whipped round and his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he spied the older witch.
Then he sprang for her.
When she opened her eyes, Maggie saw the wolf writhing around amid a tangle of silver wire that was throwing off blue sparks of energy wherever it touched him and she looked to Veronica and nodded with relief. “Right again, Ron.” She murmured and Veronica, her lips set in a grim line stepped forward, holding aloft her own glass vial.
“Wolf's bane, Silverthorn and myrrh in that order.” she commanded, nodding at Jenny who stepped closer to the writhing mass of fur and silver and lightning that was Hugo, then she tipped the wolf's bane over him, followed my Margaret with the Silverthorn... The effect was startling, the silver wires glowed red, then thunder pealed across the sky as Hugo..or the beast that had been Hugo, let out a roar that was a mix of animal and human.
Veronica was about to pour the myrrh over the beast when she stumbled and a black tornado of fury erupted into the centre of the circle and struck at the wolf. Immediately the silver wires parted as Samson's claws raked deep gouges down the creature's flanks and Margaret cried out “Oh bloody hell, he's free! Get in the air girls, quick!”
Jenny almost fell as she stumbled back to her broom as she looked back over her shoulder at the maelstrom of fur and fury that was now Samson and Hugo. She got into the air a good five feet before she managed to actually take a seat on the old ash broomstick and looked on with real fear as The wolf tossed aside the black cat and made a lunge for Margaret.
Her hand was already on her own broomstick and she launched into the air with a tearing sound as the wolf's claws tore a broad strip from her skirt.
Veronica was next, but somehow the wolf had gotten between her and her broomstick and now he turned, snarling and vengeful to face her. She stepped back and almost stumbled on a root half buried in the loamy soil as she fought for calm, then her eyes narrowed and she took a breath to clear her head.
There was a whoosh and a clang as Margaret swooped low and delivered a thunderous smack to the side of Hugo's head with a cast iron skillet, spinning the wolf through a full circle,
Veronica took her chance and danced sideways, putting a stone between her and the wolf as it lunged for her. The claws striking the side of the old stone hard enough to raise a cloud of chippings that stung her face as she sprinted for the next and she went down hard on the ground as the wolf's claws wrapped around the heel of her boot. She span on to her back and crawled away frantically as it crouched, ready to leap. Then Samson landed, spitting and hissing and clawing for it's eyes. She leapt up and reached her broomstick, soaring into the air to circle above the stones as she looked down in horror.
Brave as he was, she couldn't see Samson winning this and she took a breath, just as she heard Maggie yell “Ron, no!” She pointed her broomstick straight down and accelerated into the centre of the stones, hanging low off the side of her broomstick and reaching out like some sort of wild west rider. Her fingers dug into the soft fur and she wrenched back with all her strength, almost falling from the broomstick with the extra weight, but she accelerated away and up, holding grimly onto a protesting Samson that was sure he was about to have delivered the killing stroke before he was so abruptly torn from the creature's face.
She pulled him close and turned to approach the other two witches who were staring at her open mouthed.
“Well ladies, it looks like we have another month to come up with something, doesn't it? Jenny, you keep an eye on Hugo until he is human again, then get him dressed and bring him back to the shop. I am going home, I need a drink.”
She flew off then, with her cat clutched tightly to her chest and tried to think of a way of keeping him locked up for next time. “Stupid cat” She murmured
“Miaow” He accused.
The end.

I hope It's less than a month for the next chapter...hehe

People need to SEE this. Powerful imagery, characters and dialog!!

Thanks both

a reply to: SprocketUK

Beauty mate. A nice morning read for me.

Sounds like there's a part 2 in the making.

kind regards,

bally

a reply to: bally001


Glad to have given you something to read while you ate your cornflakes mate!
I think there might be lots more parts actually, Young Hugo would make a pretty good match for Jen if she can keep him safe from Samson, so if the witches can't fix him, he'd probably want to hang around. Oh and next week is Caribbean week at the Bat and Badger!

some pics I forgot to add.




and a song

a reply to: SprocketUK

Breakfast consisted of bangers and mash left over from last night.

The sausages inspired me. Never know what's in em.

Nice pics by the way.

Bally

a reply to: bally001

Thanks and bangers and mash for breakfast is bang on mate, mix in some beans and you got a winner!

a reply to: SprocketUK

Missed the beans but topped with good old fashioned hot beef gravy. Gotta love the microwave and instant gravy!



bally

a reply to: bally001

Gravy for breakfast is just a state of mind, mate

a reply to: SprocketUK

Loved this! Especially liked your description of the werewolf changing... very chilling.

Well done, Sprocket, and fun topic!

a reply to: zosimov


Thanks