Hilda the wicked witch (9 page)

"Nice to meet you, Hilda. Just call me
William."

They walked to the house, after the book was
nicely wrapped, and the sale was done very quickly. Then they
returned to the truck.

"Now, can you tell me what you think I have that
you need?" William leaned against the car, smiling at the woman and
keeping a safe distance, his hands in his pockets.

Hilda looked at him for a while. Then, in
silence, she took the papers with the poems from her
shoulderbag.

William looked at the paper and the writing, and
then whistled. "Amazing. That looks ancient. And the writing... did
you do that?"

"Yes. You could say that. It was my quill
anyway," she said, and then looked at the poems. "You must have a
book of tales, a book of dreams. A special one."

William looked at her in wonder. "May I see
that?" He held out his hand and waited. Reluctantly Hilda handed
him the paper with the first poem.

As he touched it, William felt a flow of power
shoot through his arm. He shivered, then it was gone.

He read the poem carefully. "A most
extraordinary poem, Hilda. What does it mean?"

She took a deep breath. "It means what it says.
You are the man William Conneley and you have something. In your
cart. It can help me to return home."

"A book of tales, a book of dreams," he nodded.
"Now, don't tell me-" A glint of revelation swam over his face.

Hilda raised her eyesbrows again, not knowing
what she should not tell this man who was, for now, her sole hope
in this turmoil. She watched how he took a piece of metal from his
pocket, bracing herself for anything. It proved quite a strain, as
she was barely hanging on to her wits by now. Her return could be
so close and yet it was all so uncertain.

William hesitated for a moment. "For some
reason," he said, "I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" This surprised her. She was
used to people waiting for her, witches from her level did not wait
for people. But in this strange world, where everything was turned
upside down and inside out, this commonplace fact felt... wrong,
almost. "You don't even know me."

William nodded. "True. And still..." He raised
his hand, put the key in the lock and opened the backdoor of the
truck. "I bought a book from Bert. A few days ago," he said. "I
don't know why I had to have it. I just had to. People wanted to
buy it from me, for much more than what I paid for it, but, and you
may laugh at me now, the book did not want me to sell it. It did
not allow me to. As if it was trying to tell me that I should save
it for someone. Perhaps for you."

Hilda looked at the man. This was the first
person who started to make some kind of sense to her since she had
arrived here. She nodded. "Some books are like that. Special
books." Her heart pounded in her chest, the rush of anticipating
what might come was almost making her nauseous.

William climbed into the back and opened the
cover of the storage space where the crate of books was that he had
gotten from Bert. On top was the special book, still wrapped in the
heavy linen. "Hilda... come in here. Please?"

The witch climbed into the truck also and sat on
the small bench, staring at the package he had in his hands. It
seemed to scream at her. She suppressed the urge to yank it from
his hands. The book was so close, it beckoned her to take it. Read
it. Use it.

"Could this be it?" William unwrapped the book
and handed it to the strange woman. Somehow this seemed the proper
thing to do. He sat down and watched how she hastily opened the
book, paging through it, as he slowly folded the linen
wrapping.

The pages in the book, bewitching as they had
been in Bert's store already, now seemed to come to life for real,
in the hands of this strange woman. He had looked at it, read the
ancient fairytales, and loved them. The drawn images with the
stories were exquisite, detailed. The wording was intense, yet
soothing where needed.

She looked at William, after taking in several
of the pages that told the stories of her people. "This is it." She
held up her hand. The wand appeared. As she expected, the man's
eyes became large.

"I am a witch, William. I am not from this
world. Your book... talks about my home."

William Connoley simply nodded. He had not known
it, but it did not come as a surprise to him. Ever since he'd owned
this book, something had been haunting him, pushing and pulling at
him. Now, he understood, he was about to witness what it had been
all about. The culmination of the pulling, the refusals to sell the
book. Electricity seemed to permeate the air inside the truck's
rear cabin.

Hilda closed her eyes and lowered the wand,
slowly touching the book with it. The pages started moving, and the
further to the back of the book they paged themselves, the brighter
the light was that shone from them. The magical movement slowed,
and ended when it reached the page that was written in the old
language of the witches. A tear appeared in the eye of the witch
and violently she brushed it away. Her trembling finger traced the
words as she read the page, her lips moving in silence. The page
told her that she was going home.

She tapped her shoulderbag and was dressed in
her regal robes again, the denim lying on the floor. Almost
apologetic, Hilda looked at William, who sat quietly, eagerly
watching the witch. She looked at the page again and slowly recited
the words. The power that emerged from them, she magic she invoked
from them, made the back of the truck tremble.

William, awestruck and hypnotised by the
happenings, barely noticed the shift in atmosphere that spun around
his truck. Time out there and time inside the back of his car were
out of sync, shifting, sliding, tumbling. He stared at the woman,
whose hair had become undone, who was now looking so entirely out
of place here in her majestic clothes, sitting on the low bench in
the cramped confines of the truck's rear cabin.

Hilda raised her voice, as the spell commanded,
making the magic even more powerful, unstoppable. And that was how
Hilda wanted it, how it had to be. It should not stop. The power
was to carry her home, to where she wanted to be.

Before she spoke the last words, she looked at
the man. Touched his hand for a moment. "Goodbye William." Then she
cast the ultimate spell. There was a rupture in the fabric of space
inside the truck, a rift that crossed dimensions and realities.

William Connoley, travelling book-salesman and
keeper of the portal between the worlds, saw shimmers of a room,
with a large dark wooden table laden with mysterious utensils, a
chair, glasslike shards on the floor, veils, small windows, shelves
with jars, and many other things he had never seen before. The
vision, blurred as it was, only lasted seconds, but it burnt itself
into his memory. Then a bright flash of light took away his
eyesight momentarily, while an invisible rollercoaster-like
sensation filled his stomach with a most unwelcome and sickening
feeling.

There was a roaring sound, and suddenly smoke
billowed out of the open door, chasing William into the street,
coughing and gasping for air. His eyes burnt from the grey
fumes.

The smoke lifted. Hilda opened her eyes. She
inhaled the air she knew so well. Heard the sounds she had longed
to hear and smelled the environment. A sly smile played around her
lips. "Right. Now... I need an apple and a new mirror. And then I'm
off to find that black-haired girl with her stupid songs..."

At Granby Drive the smoke had gone as quickly as
it had come. William stared into the back of his truck. The strange
woman, Hilda the witch, had disappeared. Where she had been, only
remained a small crystal ball. He picked it up. Despite the
sunshine he saw a small light dancing in the ball's centre.

He smiled. "Goodbye, Hilda."

###

About the author:

I am an IT consultant who loves reading and
writing.

I've been an amateur-author since years, writing
SciFi, Fantasy and lately also Steampunk. My home is in the
Netherlands.

I hope you liked "Hilda the wicked witch".

If you want to connect with me online:

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http://www.nlpagan.net