Banshee Angel Of Judgement (3 page)

“
Yeah mum,” he
said as he took a drink.

“
What have I
told you,” his mother scolded as she entered, “get a glass, for
crying out loud.” She shook her head at him as she stepped past him
to get his dinner ready.

“
Sorry,” he
sullenly answered putting the milk back in its place in the fridge
door then closing it.

“
Give me
out an onion,”
his mum said as she took out her favourite chopping knife from a
drawer; at the same time turning on the cooker to heat the frying
pan, that sat ready for business, “then you best go get
changed.”

He put the onion his
mother asked for onto the worktop next to the cooker as his mother
looked in one of the nearby cupboards looking for something. Andy
left his mother to get on with making his dinner.

He bounded up
the stairs to his room to get some fresh clothing then as quickly
stomped back down them to head for the bathroom. As he stripped off
his dirty clothing he allowed the spray from the shower to
heat.

Andy didn’t take long to
shower as the smell of his mothers cooking lured him to hurry. He
left the bathroom pulling on his t-shirt as he went. “What’s for
dinner mum?”

“
Hash-browns,” she looked over at her son think to
he
rself that he was growing up
to fast, “and I’ve got some chops in the oven.”

“
Great I’m
starved.”

“
You’re
always starved,” she smiled knowingly at her boy.

“
How long till its ready?” he asked as he got a glass
fr
om the sink’s draining board
to get himself some more milk as his mother got a plate from the
cupboard where she kept her crockery.

“
In a minute,” she said a
s she set the plate on the worktop next to where she was
cooking. “So how was work today? Have you been painting again as
you did yesterday?”

“
Yeah, it
wasn’t too bad but we will probably be working late tomorrow to get
things ready for the opening on Friday,” he said as he took a drink
from the glass.

“
Still just
you and that Micky?” Andy’s mum didn’t like Micky much thinking he
was a bit of a waste of space.

“
Yeah,” he
answered as his mother began dishing out the food from the frying
pan to the plate then stooped to open the oven door as she switched
it off at the same time, in a well practiced manner.

C
hapter 5

Knocking
on Micky’s
door Andy stood waiting for his workmate to appear. The sky looked
grey overcast yet the weather report was for it to brighten up
later but he thought it looked like it could start raining before
the morning got much older.

Micky pulled the door
noisily shut behind him as he joined Andy. “Hi,” he said simply as
he stepped past Andy who quickly followed in his wake.

Micky still
felt the effects of the alcohol he’d swallowed the previous night
yet it didn’t show on his features even if he had drank more than
his usual amount after having a row with his girlfriend.

“
So did you
have a good night then?” Andy queried just to make
conversation.

“
Quiet, had a couple of bee
rs, watched the telly then bed. You?” He didn’t really like
talking about his personal life so kept it simple so he didn’t need
to.

“
Not much,” Andy replied, “my mate Joey dropped round so we
play
ed FF13 for a bit on the
PS3.”

“
Thought you
had revision to do?”

“
Yeah,
and I did until
Joey turned up,” Andy grinned.

“
So I take it
you didn’t get much work done then,” stated Micky with a knowing
smile.

“
Not really,”
Andy shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly but still with the
sheepish smirk.

They turned
right onto the steep hill heading for the wooded path that would
take them to the park. One or two of the street lamps were still on
even though the sun had been up for some time yet the two men took
no notice of them.

“
Oh, you’ll not pass your exams with that
attitude,” Micky
jested.

“
You sound
like my dad,” Andy smiled before adding, “mind you you’re not far
off being old enough.”

“
Cheeky
shit,” Micky said wide eyed and a chuckle of amusement at the
younger man’s cheek. They ascended the hill quickly then turned
into the tree lined back road.

“
So what do
you think we’ll be doing today?” Andy queried.

“
Well we’ve
still got that fence to finish then it will be brushing up before
we open tomorrow,” he sounded as if he had resigned himself to some
great enduring task.

“
I can’t
believe we open so soon. It seems like yesterday that we got the
induction.”

“
Yeah, well
that was over two weeks ago now,” Micky reminded him.

They strode on
in silence for a short distance towards the old tumble down cottage
as the grey skies grew lighter. The fresh breeze
, in their faces, gently playing with their hair
as they ambled along. Only the clatter of their sandwich boxes
rattling in their bags hanging from shoulders and the early morning
song of the birds, courting for a mate to be heard.

“
See we’ll miss the old firm match on
Saturday,” Andy broke the silence between
them.

“
I’ll have my
little radio so I can listen in,” Micky stated.

“
Is that not
against the rules?”

“
Only if you
get caught,” Micky said smugly as they past the tumble down, stone
ruin with its weed strewn, uneven small front garden.

“
What happens
if you get caught though?”

“
Nothing
much, maybe at worst a written warning or a verbal,” Micky said
dismissively.

“
Is it the
same if they catch you with a mobile then?”

“
Yeah, but
they’ll only be bothered if they see you using it if there’s
customers about,” Micky explained as he’d done with other newbie’s
in the past.

“
So if it’s
just in you’re pocket they’ll not say anything then?” Andy was
surprised by this news.

“
No, how would
they even know you had it on you; they’ve not got x-ray vision,”
Micky gave a short chuckle at the thought.

“
I never
thought about it like that.”

C
hapter 6

She could
sense them passing her abode as she cradled her jar on her lap. Her
sharp teeth showing as she watched her prisoners pleading for
release
, to be freed from the
despair that had become their existence.

“
What do you
think?” She teased the trapped souls within, “some new friends to
join you, doesn’t that sound fun.”

She gloried at
their add
ed sorrow, the misery
all the greater in the confining space of the old thick glass jar
sealed on top by a rag wrapped around a wide mouldy cork stopper
inscribed with her mark, pushed down into its mouth.

It had been
her mother’s, the only thing her
accusers had left undamaged after they had come for her and
taken her away. Hidden amongst the rest of the smashed and broken
belongings it had lain to be found by her after she had risen from
death to seek her revenge, so she had used it as their
prison.

The
morning
of the
12
^th
July 1698 was a warm bright fresh
day. It was on this morning they had come for her even though it
had only been just over a month since she had buried her mother.
She had settled into the same routine every morning as had her
mother. Up as dawn broke or before in the dark of winter to set the
fire under the large caldron, far too large for just her, to reheat
the pottage that was contained within. The large pot hung from a
hook that was attached to the iron spit that spanned across the
fire held high by the andirons. The fire fork rested to one side of
the wide large fire breast.

After she had
the fire going out of the banked embers from the previous evening,
she would ladle out some of the cold stew, made from the home grown
vegetables but only enough to start the day. For though she ate
better than most she still had to be careful with what she had
especially now she had to fend for herself.

Once fed she
would put her wood bowl and spoon
away after giving them a wipe on her apron that hung around
her waist so they would be clean, ready for the next mealtime.
After, it was time to collect water from the stream a short
distance along the road at the front of her home; to give feed to
her one and only cow, which gave a little milk though not as much
as it used to, as it was getting on in years.

As she came
back from the stream that fateful morning they had been waiting,
the local sheriff with his fat chubby cheeks his finery evidently
to show how important he was, with him was the laird in even more
fine clothing making her feel rather under dressed in her
hand-me-down clothing with her bare feet sticking out from under
the frayed, soiled hem of the skirt. Though fashions for the poor
changed little she knew her upper bodice also looked old with its
long sleeves showing its age, as the threads bared and needing more
than the usual patching.

Behind the two
fine
gents, in their long
coats over their waistcoats and knee length breeches, stood others
though these were not rich; she recognized most as locals that her
mother served as the parish fey-wife tending to births, giving out
ointments as well as potions to chase the melancholy away in the
cold of winter with all it’s aches and pains.

As she
approached she looked curiously but smiling at the gathered crowd
of five or six good men of the shire.
“How can I help you fine gentlemen this good morning?”
Helen asked cheerfully as the sun appeared from behind a
cloud.

“
Miss Helen
Robertson,
we are here on serious business,” the large sheriff said
solemnly.

“
Oh, and what
sort of business?” Helen asked furrowing her brow wondering what
could bring such grand visitors to her humble cottage.

“
Allegations
have been made so you must come with us,” the fat serious looking
official said as two men broke away from the group of men, moving
to either side of Helen, grasping her arms to take charge of the
prisoner.

“
What
allegations? I haven’t done anything, you all know me as you knew
my mother,” she answered her voice getting louder as the two men
began to drag her, the pail she had been carrying fell to the side
disgorging its contents. The other men watched from the corners of
their eyes unable to look at her straight as she struggled to free
herself.

“
You are
hereby charged with casting spells to the detriment of others and
consorting with advocates of the devil,” the sheriff read the
charge from memory as if he had been rehearsing this for
sometime.

She understood
why they were there now and began to struggle
all the more, knowing the danger she now faced,
too little avail as the two stronger men dragged her to a nearby
cart. On reaching it they held her down as her hands and legs were
tied then she found herself unceremoniously tossed into the back of
the cart to the amusement of the men that were gathered in her
little front garden.

She felt every
stone, every hole on the mud track road that took the cart to the
village of
New Mills. She was
sore from the bruising journey but gentle hands didn’t help her out
from the back of the horse drawn wagon when it came to a stop
before the toll-booth that acted as the local gaol and
courthouse.

They dragged
her to a back room on the ground floor. Inside waiting for
her
, three women, tight lipped
in fine clothing. Helen didn’t recognize them as they moved towards
her as one as Helen tried futilely to roll away from
them.

“
No, come
dear,” the largest of the women said in a southern accent, “the
sooner we check you over the sooner you’ll be able to go
home.”

“
Home,” Helen
said with hope renewed.

“
Of course,”
a thin pointy nosed woman said with a sickly smile, “we just need
to examine you. Don’t worry about a thing; it’s just to prove
you’ve not got the devils mark.”

“
But I don’t,” Helen’s fear was returning for she had
heard of such thing in whispers and
knew that such things could easily condemn the innocent as readily
as the guilty.

“
Well then
you have nothing to worry about have you,” said the third woman her
accent told Helen she was English unlike the other two who both
sounded like they came from the same area in Southern
Scotland.

They seemed
kindly as they untied Helen. She was afraid as they
undress
ed her, embarrassment
and humiliated was how she felt as they began to examine her, for
only her mother had ever seen her naked before.