The Witch And The Watcher

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The Witch And The Watcher - book excerpt

Book I – The Witch

Prologue

Another Plane

The Island of Tenta

The witch sat in a large vat of snakes. Her milky white eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A small blue and red snake fastened its mouth onto one of her scarred nipples, gently working the hard flesh with its jaws. The room was decorated with severed heads, slowly decaying, coating the space in a thick cloying stench. Animal bones hung from the ceiling, gently rattled by the numerous drafts that worked their way inside. A large black rook with milky eyes flew in through the open shutters, landing on a lifeless head. Its large jagged beak stabbed at an empty eye socket, pulling a slither of flesh out, gulping it down greedily.
"What news, Kowl?" the witch asked impatiently. Her mouth remained closed. Their communication was on a different level.

"Giant dead," Kowl answered.

"Dead? How?"

"Big man in black kill him. He kill big man too." The rook stabbed the solitary eyeball, pulling it from its socket, consuming it greedily.

"The others?" she asked.

“Gone. Through cave. Then bang. Cave collapse. Man, woman, and baby escape. Two left. Man and creature."

"Creature?" she asked curiously.

"Yes. Smaller than man. Eyes of fire."

"Tamatan! The demon with many names. He's not been here for a long time. Where did they go?"

"They take lonely road, away from town."

"Very foolish if you ask me. That road is not the place for men or demons." She chuckled, coughing up a black ball of phlegm. Spitting it into the vat of snakes, she addressed the bird. "Take the sunken road. Find Valkan. Tell him that Lenga is calling in her favour. Tell him to come here with his gang and beasts."

"Will take time to get here."

"No matter. They will find them out there soon enough. Then I will have two more heads for my collection."

The bird hopped across the room, flying out through the shutters. Lenga lay still, her expression clouded. Elias was here with a woman and child. A half- breed, part vampire. It got Elias killed. But who are they? And what place did they come from? Lenga pulled the snake from her breast, its fangs snapping off in her flesh. She threw the reptile across the room, pulling the teeth from her nipple with gnarled fingers. Whoever they are, they are from lands beyond the forest. They were far from home.  She smiled, her blackened teeth poking out through her cracked lips. "Man flesh. I cannot wait to taste you, whoever you are.”

☨☨☨

Far away, in another place, a force stirred. Deep below a red crypt where a recent battle had raged, the force began pulsing. It had been contained in the lifeless pit, devoid of light and air for hundreds of moons. The force took shape, trying to find a weakness in the red stone walls. It could feel similar energy far off. The entity called to it, pulling it towards the red land, where a constant wind battered anything exposed to its wrath. It sensed a weakness in the confines, a hairline crack that led to the surface. The misty apparition waited patiently for its allies, focusing its energy on breaking through. It needed to escape, craving a new purpose. Chaos.

☨☨☨

The scorched forest lay in darkness, low clouds blocking out the moon’s glow. Wisps and tendrils of long dead beings writhed and twisted around the blackened trees, which were showing the first signs of recovery after the recent fires. In between two trees, a black doorway, framed in a blue glow, disappeared for the night. The forest lay quiet. No animals dwelt there, choosing to leave Amatoll for safer climbs. It was a graveyard of trees. Morbid and still. A whisper on the wind, caused the spirits to stir. They felt the call from far away, a voice echoing through the land. As one, the entities began to move, gliding through the forest towards another doorway. A doorway to another place. A red place, with howling winds and dark forces.

 

One

Worcestershire 2011

Vicky lay on the kitchen floor, her makeup streaked with tears. Her reddened-eyes, tightly closed. She lay in a ball, a silent scream escaping her ragged mouth. She was dressed in black. Her once immaculate hair was as unruly as her attire. A loud sob echoed around the kitchen as the crying intensified. “Why? Why us? Why God why?” She flipped onto her back, her stockinged feet banging the quarry-tiled floor. The woman’s hands were pressed to her face, trying to block out the cruel world around her.

“Mummy,” a voice said. The boy ran over, his socks skidding on the smooth floor. He sat next to his mother, lifting her head into his lap. Dark brown eyes framed by wavy dark hair looked down at his beloved mother. A mother that he’d watched fall apart over the last few weeks. “Don’t cry, Mummy. Please,” he said as his voice cracked with emotion.

Vicky looked up, seeing the angelic face of her youngest child, contorted in grief and pain. “Oh, Jasper. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, baby bear.” She got up, pulling her son into her embrace. “Mummy’s just upset. But I will be okay. I have to be. I have to take care of my boy.” She kissed the top of his head, drinking in his smell. She closed her eyes, blocking out the pain for a brief moment.

“I need to look after you too, Mummy. It’s just the two of us now. I’ll help you as much as I can. I will even tidy my room before bedtime. Well, most nights anyway.”

Vicky laughed, squeezing her only remaining child to her chest. “I love you, baby bear. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, Mummy.” Tears fell freely from her eyes. “I’m so sad that Daddy, Lucy, and Brett are up in the stars. I really miss them. I miss Daddy’s beard, tickling my face. I miss Lucy’s lame music and Brett’s bad guitar playing. I wish they were still here.” Jasper’s emotions boiled over as he wept in his mother’s arms.

“It’s going to be alright, Son. Really, it will be.” Her empty promise died away, leaving them sitting on the kitchen floor, holding onto each other. Clinging to hope, when hope had deserted them.

                                                                        ☨☨☨

“No, I’m not the account holder. My husband, Steve Evans was the account holder. He recently passed away. I want to become the account holder. Can you help me?” Vicky sat on the settee, her feet propped on the coffee table as she looked out of her bay window. Spring was starting to show in her garden. The first shoots of green could be seen appearing, alongside the already green holly bushes and conifers that surrounded the cottage. “Death certificate? Do you really need me to send you that?” she said, her emotions starting to rise. The voice on the other end of the line paused as Vicky began to cry. The person, who was sitting four thousand miles away on another continent, decided to wave the rules. The change in tack calmed Vicky somewhat, her tears wiped away with the back of her hand. She thanked the person on the other end of the line, telling them quickly that she didn’t require any more help. Vicky ended the call, dropping the phone on the settee next to her. She laid her head back on the cushion and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, trying to remember what her old yoga teacher had told her. The window was open a few inches, allowing the sounds of her front garden to filter inside. Birds could be heard in the trees, the sounds of bushes rustling in the gentle breeze. For a brief moment, all the pain of the last few weeks ebbed away. She stretched her feet, pointing her toes to the ceiling. The phone’s ring tone shattered the silence. Vicky’s eyes fluttered open as her hand reached for the offending object. She pressed the green button.

“Victoria. Are you okay?” a female voice asked.

“Hi, Mum. I’m fine. Just having five minutes.”

“Oh! Sorry, love. Shall I call back later?”

“It’s fine. Are you and Dad okay?”

“We’re alright,” the voice lied smoothly. “Your Father is out in the garden, attempting to cut wet grass. I was wondering if you and Jasper would like to pop over for a bit of supper this evening?”

“He’s got football after school. That should finish by five. What time do you want us?”

“After that is fine. I’m cooking your favourite.”

“Chorizo and butterbean stew. Sounds just what I need.”

“That’s why I’m cooking it. We’ll see you later then. I’ll let you get back to your five minutes. Love you.”

“Love you both too,” Vicky said before ending the call. Five minutes later her toes, encased in black socks, were pointing to the ceiling once more. Her chest rose and fell gently as Vicky tried mentally to slow her heartbeat. Gradually it started to decrease. The woman was about to fall asleep when the phone rang once more. Shit! She snatched the ever-offending object off the sofa and pressed the green button again. “Hello?”

“Mrs Evans?” a male voice said.

“Yes.”

“Sorry to bother you. It’s Mr Wellings, from Jasper’s school. There has been a bit of an incident here. Would you be able to pop down and pick him up?” Vicky’s lessening heartbeat was now hammering in her chest. The solitude shattered.

                                                                        ☨☨☨

Jasper sat in his grandparent’s conservatory wrapped in a blanket. His head was propped on two cushions, headphones plugged into his tablet. He was oblivious to the rest of the world as he lay playing his favourite game. In the lounge, Vicky sat on a large brown sofa, her legs tucked underneath her. In one hand she held a steaming mug of Cappuccino. Her other arm rested on the side of the sofa. She faced her parents across the cosy room. It had recently been re-decorated, with an ochre feature wall behind a real brick fire surround and wood burner. The other walls were painted a deep cream, canvases and family pictures adorning the walls. A large mango wood coffee table sat in the centre of the room on a thick rug, adding to the showroom feeling. The rest of the floor was wooden, polished with love and care.  Every item of furniture was either oak or mango wood. All individual, giving the room a premium quality. Vicky thought it was the kind of lounge you would see in a glossy magazine in a doctor’s waiting room. She felt at home. Safe and warm. Karen and Mike Tucker sat opposite her, mugs in hands. Their expressions were sombre.

Mike placed his mug on a cork coaster on the coffee table, picking up the piece of paper that lay folded on the wooden top. He opened it, tears stinging his eyes as he looked at the crude drawing. In the middle of the page, a burning car lay on its side, three stick figures lay around it, all on fire. He balled the paper in his fist, tossing it back onto the table. “Little bastards! How can kids be so horrible?”

“Beats me, Dad. The boy that did this is a right little bleeder. He’s the class bully. Well, he was, until Jaspy punched him one. He’ll think twice about doing that kind of thing again.”

“How is Jasper?” Karen Tucker said. Her closely cropped grey hair framed an attractive face. A face used to laughter and mirth. However, the last few weeks had already taken their toll on her. She was a youthful sixty-four, full of vigour and zest. She sat looking at her daughter, feeling ten years older than she should.

“He seems okay. More angry than upset. The Head Master hasn’t exactly suspended him. Rather sent him home until the dust has settled. I’m sure the parents of the boy who did this will get involved. They’ll probably rock up at the school tomorrow. So, I’ve been told to bring him back on Monday.”

“Oh well, at least he gets a long weekend,” Mike said as he reached for his coffee mug once more. The threesome all looked into the dimly lit conservatory, their collective hearts reaching out to the young boy, who seemed oblivious to their stares.

“So young,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Lucy and Brett too.” Her voice trailed off as Mike placed a weathered hand on her black trousers, squeezing gently. The older woman melted into her husband, crying openly. Vicky was over a second later, wrapping her arms around her parents. They all wept together, sharing their pain. The closeness that had formed over the course of their lives solidified and hardened even more-so as their tears and sorrow mingled. Mike held his wife and daughter, wishing that his son-in-law had taken a different route that day. Wishing that they’d stopped off for a burger at a motorway service station, instead of being run off the road by a drunk driver. He’d closed his eyes tightly when he recounted what the news reporter had said a few weeks before. He’d been sitting with his wife, watching the early evening news, unaware that the three people who had burned to death in a wrecked car, had been his son-in-law and two grandchildren. He cast the memory aside as his daughter broke the embrace.

“Oh, Mum!” Vicky started. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.” Her words ended as sobs wracked her body. They sat there, clinging onto each other as Jasper sank a birdie on his favourite golf game. Thoughts of death and pain, a million miles away.