Writing for Fun
November 2022
Spooky - Pete Norman
It was dark, sinister . . . apocalyptic. The merest sliver of a moon could make very little impact against the dark, foreboding clouds which drifted like the shroud of death above her head.
It was as dark as the pits of hell.
The Wicked Witch of the North pulled the wide brim of her pointed hat down over eyes, which, in the dim light, floated like islands of blue against the sea of her luminous green face.
Ahead of her the vagueness of the stones were a procession of grey monoliths, between which the narrow path stretched away into the darkness. She drew her cloak around her, took a deep breath and strode off with as much purpose as she could muster.
A dark shape began to materialise and she hurried towards the relative safety of the small bench. On the bench was a dark figure. As she approached, he rose to his feet, swirled his black cloak dramatically and smiled, his white fangs a faint glow in the gloom.
In a deep voice he said, ‘I am the Prince of darkness, the undead, the blood sucking vampire of your very worst nightmares . . . but you might call me Drac-ul-a! He followed this with a maniacal laugh.
The witch snapped, ‘You idiot, Justine. Save all that stuff for the punters – you don’t scare me one bit.’
Dracula dropped onto the chair and huffed. ‘But I’m only trying to get into character, Carol.’
She sat down beside him. Well, if that’s the case then you can start by calling me Mombi – the Wicked Witch of the North – if you like.’
She looked around them and shuddered. ‘Whose idea was it to meet in this stupid place anyway?’
‘Well, it wasn’t mine,’ he protested, ‘It was Billy, he said that meeting in the graveyard would get us in the right mood.’
The Witch grunted. ‘I could tell you exactly what mood it’s got me into, except mum always says it’s rude to swear.’
She shuddered. ‘Well, where is the idiot, then? He clearly isn’t here. Is he coming or what?’
Dracula threw up his hands. ‘How should I know? But we did say as soon as it gets dark.’
‘Yeah, well it’s proper dark now and has been for ages and he ought to be here.’
She folded her arms and sat back on the seat.
After a few minutes of absolute silence Dracula touched her arm and pointed. ‘Do you think that might be . . .?
Out of the gloom a darkness was materialising, a darkness without form, a darkness so absolute that it was more the absence of light, the absence of anything worldly. As it drifted closer the manifestation of a vague form appeared to be floating towards them like a wraith.
The Wicked Witch of the North seized Dracula’s arm and pulled herself into the safety of his strong arms.
Dracula shouted, ‘Billy! Stop messing about. You’re scaring Carol half to death!’
The form stopped. From behind its shoulder appeared a long handle, tipped with what appeared to be a lethal blade. The form’s face was concealed by a deep cowl, from which a faint glow emanated.
It laughed, a laugh which chilled the blood and near stopped the heart. The cowl turned to face them. In a voice so deep in tone as to be almost inaudible, ‘I AM NOT BILLY.’
The Witch pulled herself even closer.
‘BILLY HAS BEEN GROUNDED. HE IS DOING HIS MATHS HOMEWORK. I HAVE COME IN HIS STEAD.’
From the depths of Dracula’s coat, the Wicked Witch of the North said, ‘Who the hell are you then?’
The form leaned towards them. ‘SOME MIGHT CALL ME THANATOS, OR MAYBE LA MUERTE OR THE GRIM REAPER – BUT I HAVE FOUND THAT DEATH IS FAR MORE APPROPRIATE HERE – DEATH, THE ERADICATOR, THE GREAT LEVELLER – RICH OR POOR, EVERY SOUL IS EQUAL WHEN THEY LAY AT MY FEET.’
Dracula desperately wanted to bring Carol away from this creature, away from this dreadful place. As cheerfully as he could manage, he said, ‘Well then, Death, as we are all here, we might as well start – don’t you think?’
The Wicked Witch of the North leapt to her feet and, clinging closely to her man she dragged him as fast as she could back down the path towards safety. She never once looked back to see if Death was following – and she hoped desperately that he was not – but she just had to get back to the normality of civilisation again.
Death did indeed follow but at a distance. When they reached the exit, she spun around and was relieved to see that he was no longer behind them. She whispered, ‘He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.’
She turned.
He was right there, directly in front of her, blocking her way out into the road.
He smiled.
She did not.
For a few tense seconds they stood, in complete silence, her unable to move and him with no intention of moving.
The silence was broken as the Church bell rang the hour – the witching hour.
Carol screamed and ran to the other side of the road and the sanctuary of a street light. It might have been dim and next to useless but surely evil could not prevail in the world of light.
Justine appeared beside her and together they watched as Death crossed the road towards them.
‘WHEN SHALL THE FUN BEGIN, DO YOU THINK?’
Dracula said, ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’ He took the Witch’s arm and propelled her towards the lights of civilisation. She stared straight ahead, somewhat reluctant to confirm that Death was still behind her, where she could not see him – but then again, she had no desire whatsoever to actually see him – so she clung close to her man.
The street lights in the first road were thankfully brighter and as they approached the first door, she was relaxing a little. The bell played a jolly little tune – ‘Tie a yellow ribbon on the old oak tree’ – and the door soon opened to reveal a very old, very puzzled face. She carefully studied Dracula and then the witch and then she smiled. ‘Oh, my goodness. Don’t you both look so spooky.’
From the shadows behind them, Death stepped forwards. ‘AND AM I SPOOKY TOO?’
A look of abject terror spread across her face. She gasped, dropped the bag of sweets and rushed back into the hallway, slamming the door in his face.
Dracula turned to Death. ‘Look, you idiot, tone it down a bit, will you? You’re not supposed to scare the life out of everyone.’
Death smiled and took a couple of sweets from the bag. He rolled one around his mouth. ‘SO, THESE ARE WHAT YOU CALL SWEETS, ARE THEY? – I MIGHT JUST GROW TO LIKE THEM.’
At the next house he remained silent and a pace behind the others. He still drew a long, suspicious look from the householder but he did cautiously grant them access to the sweets.
As they progressed along the road, bringing horror and terror – in equal proportions – to the neighbourhood, they settled into an uneasy silence. This should have been a joyful, fun experience but neither of them could derive any pleasure whatsoever from his presence and Death seemed quite content to scare the bejesus out of everyone but more especially his two companions. However, as they rounded the last street of the estate their goody bags were quite respectably filled.
As they walked back up to the main road, Dracula said, ‘I think we should call it a night now, don’t you think?’
The Witch nodded emphatically and they both turned to Death . . .
Carol screamed and grabbed Justine’s arm. ‘I want to go home!’
Of course, Death had not vanished. He had simply ducked down a narrow alleyway and had doubled back towards his home – his dad would kill him if he found out.
He crept into the back garden and hid the scythe behind the garden shed and then climbed up onto its roof. He took no chances, he left his goody bag on the shed roof, then he reached across and pulled open his bedroom window. His light was still on and his Maths homework was still spread out in a jumble across his table. He smiled to himself – he had actually got away with it!
However, just as the words were formed the bedroom door flew open and his father filled the frame.
‘How dare you?! You were told, most specifically, that you were not allowed to take part in that sinful, pagan abomination.’ He walked menacingly towards a trembling Billy and held his hand out.
Billy muttered, ‘Sorry, dad,’ and pulled off his cloak, which was unceremoniously torn from his hands.
‘Tomorrow, you will assist me with the incineration of this blasphemous filth. He stormed out of the room and, as he slammed the door, he shouted, ‘You’re grounded!’
Billy stood, staring at the closed door, while the stomping footfalls grew fainter, then he opened his bedroom window and reached out to the shed roof. He grinned; it was all worth it in the end. His voice dropped a couple of octaves. ‘THERE’S A LOT OF GOOD EATING IN THE GOODY BAG . . .’