Halloween 2010: Episode 1: The Witches of Overdale East

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

Monday, 26 October, 9:30 pm

Overdale East United Frieze Church

The clouds had cleared revealing a waning moon. This meant that the late October evening air over Kilcathclyde and its unusual inhabitants had a noticeable chill.  Three shadowy figures swept into the vestibule of the Overdale East United Frieze Church, south of the river.  They were wearing mysterious black cloaks which swirled and billowed as they moved.  Once inside the church, the tallest of them turned and addressed the other two.

“My sisters, let us begin our gathering by putting ourselves in the right frame of mind.”

“Agreed,” said the other two, whispering.

“Have we made all the preparations?” asked the tallest.

“Yes, Priestess Myra,” said the shortest of the three.  “Do we have all the materials we’ll need for our work this chilly autumn night?”

“Yes, Priestess,” said the third cloaked figure, who was between the heights of the other two.  She produced a black satin bag.  The Priestess peered inside.  The skin of her hands was as white as the moon.  But the door to the church was adorned by a huge pentagonal, stained-glass window depicting the church’s founder, Piers S. Frieze, among a grove of birch trees and thistle bushes.  The near full moonlight filtered through the window casting a pale greenish glow over the priestess’ skeletal looking hands.

“Yes, it appears everything is there.  There’s the Eye and the books. We have some supplies of the herbs we will need, and there’s the Board,” she said.

“Did someone bring milk?” said the shortest one.

“Yes, Brenda,” snapped the middle sized one.  “I stopped by Kmark on the way here.  Honestly, all you think of is food!”

“There’s tea in the cupboard,” said the Priestess.

“I brought biscuits,” said Brenda, completely ignoring the remarks from her middle sized sister.

“Of course you did!” she quipped.

“Brenda, Sega, stop arguing.  You’re disturbing the energy vortex.  We must be one in mind and body and spirit tonight.  Our purpose must not be derailed for any reason.  So, pull yourselves together.”

“Yes, Priestess Myra,” the others said, penitently. 

“Let’s go downstairs.”  She produced a large ring of keys and opened the door to the church.  

 “I can hardly see,” said Brenda.

“Yes, I thought of that,” said Priestess Myra.  “Senga, the bag, please.”

Senga held out the bag and the Priestess rummaged through it.  Momentarily, she pulled out a long stick and clicked a button on the side.  The end of it illuminated.  “It’s a special kind of torch! I bought it at the Pound Shop in the automotive section over on St. Hamish Street,” said Myra.

They walked up the center aisle of the tall and gloomy church, their breath appearing like mist before them as they made their way.  There was a thud, a muffled yelp of pain, and the bag Senga was carrying crashed to the floor, loudly.

“What happened?” asked Myra, clearly irritated.

“Tripped over that loose tile by where Martin and Jean usually sit.”

“Check the bag, Brenda,” snapped Myra “Get up, Senga!”

“Oh dear,” said Brenda, clucking her tongue.”What a shame!  It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“What’s terrible?” said Myra and Senga together.

“Well, the milk jug has burst,” she said, wistfully.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” said Myra.  “You made it sound as though someone dropped a house on you.  Give me that!”  She took the bag away from Benda rather forcefully and continued up the aisle, milk leaking on the floor the entire way.

They arrived at a narrow door with a very heavy metal ring for a door knob.  Using the keys, Myra chose the largest and bulkiest one.  It was rusty and heavy-looking­­ – very much resembling something the Wicked Witch of the West would lock Dorothy in the castle with.  The door opened inward with a creak and Myra put the torch in revealing a very narrow winding staircase.

They descended three floors and came out into an extremely enormous, torch lit room.  There was a fireplace big enough for a person to stand in at the far side.  A fire was blazing away and along with the torches, cast long¸ dimly lit shadows across a flagstone floor.

A stove had a large pot simmering away on it.  At the opposite end was a wooden table that thirteen people could sit around.  Next to that in the very center of the large room was a mosaic medallion that was thirteen feet across.  On this appeared three letters in Old English font, “W. O. E.”

The ladies removed their black cloaks. Underneath they wore long black dresses and black blouses with puffy sleeves.  Brenda was short, had fiery red hair¸ pulled back in a tight bun.  Her skin was very pale and her face looked as though it had been wacked very hard with a large shovel.  She began rumbling through the bag and took out the broken jug of milk.  “I think there’s still enough for tea!” she smiled, revealing teeth that were jagged and sharp.  She looked rather fierce for her small stature.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” said Senga.  She was taller than Brenda, as mentioned earlier.  Her platinum blonde hair was also pulled back in a tight bun. She swept up the dungeon kitchen toward the stove.  The tallest of the three, Priestess Myra, proceeded to remove the contents of the black bag and wipe off the milk with a rag seemingly produced from nowhere.  She took out a large, thick, and ancient looking book, several long taper candles, a flat rectangular piece of wood, and a mysterious spade shaped object with a small round window of lead crystal embedded in it.

Her dress was the longest and blackest and had a bustle.  Her hair was as black as the dress and was pulled back in a shiny, tight bun that was larger than the other two women’s by far, and her eyes were as black as her hair.  She then pulled out a black pointed hat with a rim.  A green chandelier overhead gave her skeletal white skin a green glow similar to the moonlit window in the church vestibule.  When she grabbed a broom and began sweeping off the medallion¸ she bore an uncanny resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.

Senga came up the kitchen and set a tray down on the table.  “Tea’s on, ladies!  Come and get it!”

“Wonderful!” said Brenda.  “I’m peckish.”

“As always,” said Senga, darkly.   

As Brenda sank her pointed teeth into a biscuit, Myra spoke.  “Sisters, as you know, we are celebrating thirteen years as a coven.  We must do something.”

“Oh yes!” said Brenda.  “It’s hard to believe that we met at that Bacchus rite so long ago, isn’t it, Senga?”

“Aye!” she said.  “Remember we took the ferry from the island of Lesbos to the aisle of Asbestos.”

“Oh, aye!” said Myra, looking into her teacup.  Her face hardened.  “We’ll celebrate after we have completed our task.”

“What precisely is our task¸ sister?” said Senga.

“We are going to have our revenge on that shag carpet Shug at St. Muckymuck.”

“At last!” said Brenda.  Her sharp teeth bared in a wicked smile.  “And his little cat, too.”

“Oh, aye!” howled Senga.  “Imagine bringing a cat all the way over here from the States.  Why didn’t he just get rid of it?”  The two howled like witches.

“Gather ‘round the Ouija board, three Witches of Overdale East, and I shall explain everything!!” she cackled loudly followed quickly by the others.  The dungeon rang with the wickedness of their laughter.  

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.