Hilda the wicked witch
witch
by Paul Kater
Published by the author at Smashwords -
Copyright 2010 Paul Kater
License Notes, Smashwords Edition:
Thank you for downloading this free ebook.
You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be
reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes,
provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you
for your support.
Contents:
The noise echoed away through the street. From
behind curtains people carefully looked out onto the street, most
of them staying out of view. The motorcycle gang was back in town,
and usually that did not bode well.
"Dammit, Skull, when are you going to fix that
stinking carburetor!", one of the men yelled as he got off his
Harley. The woman that usually was behind him had already jumped
off to get herself to safety. Bubba was angry, and when he was like
that he did not pay attention to anything. Several kicks in her
side had taught her that.
"Yo, Bubba, I thought I had done so!" Skull
kicked the innocent and abused engineblock. "I'll look at it later,
I need a piss and a drink first."
"Yeah!", the rest of the gang joined in. They
trotted off towards the nearest bar, which was by default also
destined for an involuntary remodeling. The six big bikes remained
in the middle of the street, unattended. Nobody would touch
them.
In Bantrey's Bookshop, the proprietor looked out
of the window. "Oh dear. They are back."
William Conolley stepped up to the window and
saw the motorcycles. "They?"
"The motorcycle gang. It is run by someone they
call Bubba," Bert Bantrey said. "The obnoxious yellow machine is
his."
"I see," said William Conolley. "Now... about
this book..." He returned to the table where a large, leatherbound
book lay open. The sides of the pages had a thin golden lining, the
paper was old and yellow, and the font of the text had more
resemblance to the patient copying-work of an old monk than
something a modern printer would produce. "I do want this book, but
the price you ask for it is outrageous, my good man." He carefully
tapped a page, making sure he did not touch the text or the gold.
The book was old enough to be handled with respect.
Bert Bantrey sighed and looked at the book. "I
know, the price is high, my dear friend, but it is worth it. Every
single penny. I cannot lower the price unless I want to cut into my
own flesh. I mean... look at the leather. Look at the printing.
Feel the paper and its original pattern..."
William Conolly slowly was pulled over. The
price, he knew, was not at all over the top, but his merchant
spirit did not want to give in so easily. He slowly paged through
the book a bit more, looked at the pages. Held one against the
light, to see how the pattern of the paper was perfect everywhere.
He mumbled something to himself, then look Bert Bantrey in the
eye.
Bert already sensed that he had won. A smile was
on his face, his hand was already in the position to be shaken.
"Come on, Bill, do it. You know you want it. It has your name all
over it, in your favourite typeset. The smell of the book is
irresistable and you bloody well know it."
William shook his head. "You are one mean
person, Bert, but I am going to buy this book from you."
The woman stood in front of the mirror as the
motorcycle gang parked their monstrous machines. She had no
knowledge of them, as she was very far away from them. She looked
at the silvery glass, touching the necklace she wore. The mirror
showed an image of a young woman with black hair and a fair skin,
who was walking along a field covered with flowers.
"Yuck," the woman spat. "All those colourful
things. I'd forbid them, if I had a say in it."
The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as
she picked flowers.
"I'll have you gasp for air, once I get that
apple to you," the angry woman said as she turned away from the
mirror. Her long grey hair floated over her dark red robe, her
black dress rustled as she walked over to a table. She took up a
small silver stick and an apple.
With the stick pointing to the apple, under her
breath she mumbled a few phrases. "And I hope I got it right this
time," she ended her short monologue.
Then, the apple and the stick in her hand, she
turned to the mirror again and started to approach it, as she built
up her concentration. The apple was pulsating, as if a light lived
inside it that was fighting to get out. "No, no, not yet my little
killer friend," the wicked witch (for that was who she was) said.
"Only a few minutes more, and then you can do what I have made you
for. You will stick in that stupid girl's throat and make sure that
she is not getting in my way to take control over this country." A
loud cackling laugh filled the room, its echoes making even the
furniture shudder.
She pointed her wand at the mirror and started
speaking a spell that was going to take her to the meadow where the
innocent wench was dancing and trampling through the flowers. The
incantation was gaining strength, the magical aura around the
wicked witch formed exactly the way she wanted it to do, so it
would project her to her victim.
In Bantrey's Bookstore, the two men shook hands
on the sale, and then, as their habit was, they both slapped the
page that was open.
The wicked witch unleashed the built-up power
from the wand. As it hit the mirror, the mirror exploded in a
million tiny fragments! The power around the witch was disturbed by
quantum-physical laws that she had no knowledge of, and she
disappeared from her room. Instead of ending up with her apple in
the meadow, however, she materialised somewhere entirely
different...
In O'Malley's Bar, the pina coladas were the
drink of the day. Skull and Bubba, together with their friends,
were having a great time. The barkeeper was tied up on a stool in
the corner of his own establishment, the large mirror had been
taken down - in tiny bits - with the aid of a winebottle, and the
whiskey flowed liberally. The gang had the bar to themselves. The
other customers had left the place as the gang had entered, which
was usually the safest and healthiest option. The runaway clientele
would return to pay for their beverages later. If there was
something to come back to, of course.
"Hey, Bitch, come over here!" Julius shouted to
his girlfriend. The girl, with long black hair that desperately
needed a wash, and equally black pants under a purple shirt,
waddled over to him, not taking the brandy bottle from her
lips.
Julius slapped the bottle from her hand, pulled
her against him and started slobbering in her neck, which he
considered his personal interpretation to a kiss. Bitch screamed
with laughter, let him at it for a while, then calmly reached out
and whacked a bottle over Julius' head. The slobbering ended right
the same moment, and Julius descended to terra firma. "Always told
you that booze gives you a rotten head," Bitch grinned, kicked her
lover and went looking for another bottle.
The general level of sound and noise the gang
produced inside the bar prevented them from hearing a rather loud
sound that happened outside. In an alleyway that was rather close
to where they had all parked their bikes, an alley that ran next to
Bantrey's Bookstore. The sound from the alleyway was not just that,
it also manifested a very fierce gust of wind, strong enough to
blow the bikes over. As was to be expected, it did just that.
"Oh my," Bert Bantrey said when the windows
stopped shaking and the floor was without tremors again, "did you
hear that?" Quickly the two went to the window again, and were
there just in time to see the last bike roll over and play
dead.
"Uh-oh," William said. "The motor people will
not be happy with that. Perhaps I should load my acquisitions into
my truck and make miles..."
"Let me give you a hand, old boy," Bert said,
"you'll damage your back with that pack!"
Together they lifted the large crate with books
and carried it outside, where William opened the truck. The crate
fit in the compartment like a hand in a glove made to order. The
precious leatherbound book lay on top of it, wrapped in a fine
cotton cloth.
The two men shook hands again, and then William
got in and drove off quickly. Bert did not waste time either: he
went inside his shop, turned over the sign in the window, so it
told the world the shop was "closed", and locked up.
"Where the hell am I?", a voice came from the
alleyway. A woman, dressed in black, wearing a long deep red cape,
came from the alley. Her long grey hair stuck everywhere, she had
bruises on her face and her dress was as dirty as the alleyway's
floor. And that was quite dirty...
The witch looked at the apple that no longer
pulsated. "Crap. All that gone to waste." She flung the apple away.
It ended its flight in the sound of broken glass. The witch nodded.
At least that was satisfactory, she thought. On the ground, in the
street, she saw six strange things, with wheels, handlebars and
lights.
"Hey... you are too early for the ren faire!",
someone on the other side of the street laughed.
The witch looked at where the laughter came
from. She was not partial to laughter, and even less if she was the
reason for it. She pointed her wand, mumbled something, and the
couple that had been walking along suddenly stood next to her,
frozen. "Now this is interesting," the wicked witch said as she
looked at the clothes of the two people.
Both of them wore blue pants, like usually the
men wore when they would go out riding. They wore also blue jackets
of the same fabric, and white shirts that looked skintight. They
also wore identical footwear, which looked comfortable.
"So this is how you dress here." The witch
nodded. She waved the wand. For something simple as this, there was
no need for a spell. The clothes of the frozen woman had moved to
the body of the witch. The clothes of the witch lay on the ground.
Another move of the wand and the clothes had changed into a
convenient large bag to carry around, which she slung over her
shoulder. The witch then stared at the naked body of the frozen
woman and then tapped the navel piercing. "Fascinating," she said.
"You'll stay here until the sun sets," she told the two silent
figures.
From behind windows, people had seen what
happened. None of them wanted to get involved.
The witch looked around, her long grey hair
blowing in her face. "Oh, crap, that again." She snipped her
fingers, and her hair hung down in four long, thick braids. "Now to
find out where I am," she grumbled. "There is something fucking
wrong here. This is not a meadow with stinking flowers..."
She started walking down the street.
The witch paced along. As she passed a large
shop, she noticed her reflection in the window and she stopped to
take a look at herself in her new outfit. As she took in her image,
a gasp escaped from her lips. In her own world she had not been bad
looking, but here, wherever here was, she looked absolutely
stunning.
She stepped up as close to the window as she
could, examining her face. It was fine-lined, her black eyes were
still there also, but she was... young. And slim. Her nose was
smaller. The wart, she noticed with pleasure, was however still
there. With a smile she touched it. After admiring her new self for
a while, in which there did not seem to be any life in the street,
she turned her head. A sound had drawn her attention. It sound like
ruffians having a good time, and she appreciated the company of
such people.
It did not take her long to determine where the
noise was coming from. It came from the other side of the street,
from a house that had no more glass windows. Grimhilda, Hilda for
friends, the wicked witch, nodded with a nasty grin and stepped
onto the street.
The man in the car, who happened to have to go
through the street, got quite a scare when he saw the denim-clad
woman step into the street only yards before his car. Although he
slammed his brakes and yanked the steeringwheel around, it was
clear to him: this will be a hit. He closed his eyes and the car
stood still. Slowly he started breathing again. He opened his eyes
and looked out the windshield. The young woman stood in front of
the car, holding some kind of silvery stick pointed at him.
