The Doll Read online

  Sybil swung round and stared out the cracked back window. It lay unmoving in the road, a spreading stain of blood colouring the churned up snow.

  ‘Well...!’ she said in wonder. ‘You killed it!’

  ‘Good,’ he said and glanced in the small rear view mirror at the black shape lying in the road behind them. ‘One down, loads to go!!’

  ‘But you can’t!’ Sybil said blankly.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked wildly, struggling to keep the vehicle under control.

  ‘But...’ her voice trailed off and she looked at Queenie in bafflement.

  ‘What my dear sister is trying to say is that these aren’t normal dogs and they shouldn’t be that easy to kill!’ She stopped suddenly and gazed up at the roof in alarm.

  One of the dogs had jumped up onto the top of the vehicle and was raking at the sun roof with its huge claws. Great scores marks appeared on the glass and it began to crack beneath the sheer weight of the creature.

  ‘Hold on!’ Paul shouted to the elderly passengers and jammed on the brakes.

  Scrabbling noises came from the roof as the animal flew off, over the bonnet and landed unhurt in the snow just in front of them. It jumped to its feet and was bunching its huge muscles ready to launch itself at the vehicle again when Paul pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor; the land rover leapt forward and crashed into the hound sending it flying into the air.

  This time it didn’t regain its feet, it lay struggling in the snow, legs smashed and useless beneath its body.

  ‘That one has stayed down as well,’ she pointed out, staring out to the back window as they drove off.

  ‘Are you feeling sorry for those creatures?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she replied, keeping her attention on the remaining hounds that were loping along behind following the fresh tyre tracks. Every now and then one would raise his head to howl but as the vehicle drove on the pack began to slow and fall behind and soon disappeared from view within the low swirling clouds that covered the hill top.

  ‘Do you think they have given up?’ asked Paul hopefully.

  ‘No,’ said Queenie.

  Visibility on the road was practically nil and Paul, struggling to see, fumbled for the headlights, even their bright beams had little effect against the darkness of the storm cloud. He slowed and stared helplessly out of the window. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘Keep going,’ said Queenie. ‘We’re doing just fine.’

  He frowned and stared despairingly out of the icy windscreen. The smooth white blanket of snow stretched out in front of the vehicle. Here and there half buried fence posts jutted out of the drifts marking the edge of the road Strands of icicle covered barbed wire stretched between the posts.

  ‘I suppose I could use those for guidance,’ he suggested.

  ‘As long as you don’t put us in a ditch,’ said Queenie.

  The storm continued to rage across the hill, huge flakes of snow pelting the side of the vehicle as they ploughed on.

  ‘It’s a good job we are still moving,’ said Sybil from the back seat, ‘otherwise we would soon be buried in this.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ he appealed to the sisters.

  ‘What do you want me to do, wave a magic wand?’ snorted Queenie.

  He lapsed into a moody silence as he peered ahead trying to pick out the road. ‘But I thought you said it was the witch!’ he suddenly burst out.

  ‘I did,’ said Queenie. ‘But she didn’t create the storm out of nothing, that’s impossible even for her. She’s just pushing it our way.’

  Sybil chuckled. ‘Try saying a prayer if it makes you feel better.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Sorry, but I can’t for the life of me think of one that is appropriate at the moment.’

  ‘Never mind.’ Sybil leaned over to pat his shoulder.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he repeated miserably then jerked his attention back to the road as the snow covered hedge suddenly appeared out of the darkness. ‘Damn!’ he spluttered and quickly steered the car back into what he hoped was the middle of the road.

  The back wheels caught the edge of the ditch at the side of the road and began to spin in the deep snow. The land rover started to slide backwards.

  ‘I told you not to put us in a ditch!’

  ’Oh hell,’ he said and banged the steering wheel in frustration. He dropped it into first gear and revved the engine but the wheels continued to spin sending out a shower of dirty snow. ‘We’re stuck!’ Shaking his head he put the engine into idle and unclipped the seat belt.

  ‘Now what are you doing?’ Queenie demanded.

  ‘There is nothing for it,’ he said reluctantly, ‘I will have to get out and put some grit under the wheels. That should get us moving again,’ he added, trying to sound confident then slowly opened the door. The cold wind engulfed him as soon as he climbed out of the land rover and his feet sank into the deep snow. He turned to look at the two old women who were silently watching him through the open door. ‘This won’t take long.’

  Slithering along the patch of ice to the rear of the car where the red tail lights were glowing brightly in the gloom Paul swung open the rear door. Dragging the shovel and the bag containing the grit out of the boot he rapidly spread a thick layer beneath the rear wheels.

  ‘Hurry, Paul,’ urged Sybil, watching him over the rear seat.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that!’ he muttered under his breath, scooping up more of the grit he carried the heavy shovel to the front of the car. He shuddered as the sound of a croaking bird call echoed through the swirling cloud then turning his back on the sound continued to throw the grit beneath the wheels.

  ‘That will be enough,’ Queenie called urgently through the open door. ‘Get in!’

  ‘Just one more shovelful,’ he said, ‘and that should do it.’

  Paul scrambled hastily to the rear of the car then paused as a flicker of movement caught his eye and he slowly turned. Three enormous hounds had emerged from the blizzard and were stealthily approaching the stranded vehicle.

  The nearest slowed and stared, little flecks of red flared deep within its curious eyes as it blinked in the brightness of the rear lights.

  He grasped the shovel in both hands. ‘Queenie!’ he shouted, retreating slowly to stand with his back pressed against the car. He felt it move as Queenie threw open the door and jumped out. She appeared quickly at his side and grabbed his arm.

  ‘Paul, get back in the car,’ she ordered, keeping her eyes on the approaching pack.

  ‘No,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I need to put more grit beneath the front wheels otherwise we won’t be going anywhere!’

  ‘Do as you’re told!’

  ‘Stop arguing Queenie, just keep them off me while I finish!’ He frantically shovelled some more grit from the bag and carried it to the front of the land rover. The shovel was swiftly upended onto the snow and the grit was roughly distributed beneath the wheels with his shoe. ‘That’s it,’ he shouted and threw the shovel into the hedge.

  Queenie was facing the hounds which hadn’t moved a muscle. ’Good,’ she said. ‘Now get back in the car.’

  Keeping his back against the Land Rover he slid around to the side and felt for the open door then scrambled back into its warmth and security.

  ‘Are you okay?’ a quiet voice came from the back seat.

  ‘Yes,’ he stuttered. ‘Can’t we help her?’

  ‘We will just get in the way,’ she replied quietly. ‘Don’t worry; Queenie can deal with those by herself.’

  By now he was shaking so much that he was struggling to put on his seat belt. ‘But where are the witches?’

  ‘Close, I’m sure.’

  Outside the snow laden wind swirled around Queenie, she blinked against the stinging flakes as the dogs waited just inside the circle of light. The largest hound slunk forward baring its teeth.

  ‘Bad dog!’ she scolded, wagging her finger.

  Its ears drooped
and it hesitated, glancing sideways into the shadows.

  ‘Sit!’ she ordered then started as it threw back its head and howled.

  A high pitched giggle answered the hound and one of the witches stepped out of the shadows. She began to walk towards the old woman, her bare feet sinking into the icy snow, her long ragged dress trailing behind.

  ‘And you can go away as well,’ stated Queenie.

  A foolish smile crossed the creature’s face and she glanced to the side where her red haired companion had just stepped out of the cloud of whirling snowflakes.

  ‘So that’s what you were waiting for,’ Queenie said. ‘Well, it’s going to take more than you two ninnies and your little lap dogs to get the better of me,’ she said scornfully and flexed her fingers.

  ‘Have you not heard of the Black Hunt, crone?’ asked the red head, stepping forward to lightly rest her hand on one of the hounds. ‘They will not return to their master without their prey.’

  ‘Then it’s you they will be taking,’ replied Queenie. ‘So I would start running if I were you!’

  The back door of the land rover opened and she swung round quickly as Sybil poked her head out of the vehicle.

  ‘Need any help, dear?’ she called over the noise of the howling wind.

  ‘No!’ Queenie shouted. ‘Stay there, I won’t be long.’

  ‘Oh please, bring forth your sister,’ the witch smirked. ‘After our last meeting methinks she would be pleased to join us.’

  ‘Think again,’ said Queenie, staring coldly at them. ‘Neither of us are going to join you.’

  ‘I see,’ she frowned and clicked her fingers gesturing towards the old woman. The hound looked from her to Queenie, its ears drooped and it dropped to the snowy road cowering at the witch’s feet.

  Queenie chuckled. ‘Smart dog!’

  ‘Filthy hound!’ she shouted and aimed a kick at its ribs.

  ‘Well, that’s not a nice way to treat your pets. I have a good mind to report you to the RSPCA!’ said Queenie.

  ‘Then I will finish you myself,’ she stated and lunged towards Queenie who smiled and stepped

  back to rest her hand on Paul’s vehicle.

  She hesitated and then scowled at the old woman.

  ‘Having second thoughts?’ Queenie asked. ‘Now do you understand why the hounds failed?’ She grinned at the frustrated look on their faces. ‘Young people are so ingenious these days, aren’t they? Ah, but of course you wouldn’t know that, would you?’ Keeping her eyes fixed on them she began to back towards the open door, making sure she kept her hand on the vehicle. ‘And now we will be on our way,’ she said lightly and clambered into the seat. ‘Don’t waste your time with the hounds,’ she advised, ‘because it won’t work.’ Queenie slammed the door. ‘Right let’s get out of here, Paul,’ she muttered out the side of her mouth ‘before they summon any more supernatural beasties.’

  The grit worked, the wheels began to gain traction on the ice and the vehicle slowly drew away,

  bumping and sliding until it regained the crown of the road.

  A fine snow blew horizontally across the road but it was not enough to impede their progress and they began to speed along the stretch of road running beside the earthworks.

  Unseen by the occupants the headlights picked out a lone figure stood to one side in the deep snow.

  She watched unmoving as the land rover bounced and rattled past. The wind blew sharply across the desolate hill, catching the filthy rags of her dress as she waited for her companions to join her. They appeared out of the swirling clouds, behind them the hounds silently followed to fawn around the witches as they watched, frustrated and angry, the red tail lights disappear into the darkness of the storm.

  chapter SEVEN

  The small market town of Bridport lay just a few miles away in the valley below them as they crawled over the brow of the hill, still struggling against the howling wind and driving snow. Paul drew to a stop and surveyed the steep icy road before them in silence. His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he glanced quickly across at his companions.

  ‘Buckle up, it’s going to be bumpy ride,’ he said, trying to keep his tone light. ‘Okay? Then here we go.’ And began the agonisingly slow descent down the hill; the wheels slithered and span in the deep drifts and he had to fight to keep the car on the road.

  ‘Careful!’ wailed Sybil, clutching at the side door.

  ‘I am being careful!’ he shouted, the strain beginning to show in his voice. The snow churned beneath the wheels as they drew closer to the small cluster of houses on the side of the hill.

  ‘There!’ Queenie announced, breaking the tense silence. ‘First on the right.’

  The small cottage she indicated was separated from the roadside by a small garden although not much of it could be seen beneath the heavy snow fall. A car was drawn in close to the small gate and Paul pulled into the space behind. A layer of ice coated the road in this particular spot and as Paul tried to stop the vehicle, it continued sliding forward straight in to the back of the car, coming to a crunching stop against its bumper. The alarm started blaring and Queenie looked instinctively towards the cottage expecting at any moment for an irate owner to appear.

  ‘Oh no,’ he groaned, dropping his head onto the steering wheel.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Queenie calmly. ‘You seem to have hit Tamar’s car. What a shame.’

  ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry Paul. I’m sure it’s only a scratch,’ she chuckled maliciously, opened the door then looked back at Sybil. ‘Shall we?’

  They had just clambered out when the front door was flung open and a small skinny figure appeared framed against the light.

  ‘Queenie Beresford! Why am I not surprised? The only woman stupid enough to be out in this weather,’ Tamar declared; her heavily made up face wrinkling with contempt.

  ‘Nice to see you as well,’ Queenie replied sweetly. ‘But you shouldn’t have come out in the cold to greet us, my dear. You will get a chill dressed like that, especially at your advanced age,’ she added sarcastically, looking at Tamar’s short leather skirt. Long black dyed hair was randomly piled up on her head held insecurely by a tortoiseshell comb. A skin tight black sweater and long boots finished off the look. ’Can we come in?’

  ‘If you must,’ she sniffed. She stared at Queenie’s companions then nodded coolly to Sybil. ‘Little sister as well, how nice.’ She then turned her attention to Paul. ‘And who do we have here?’ she drawled, eyeing him slowly with a lascivious look.

  ‘This is Paul,’ said Queenie, pushing past her into the warm cottage.

  ‘So you have come bearing gifts!’ she said and held out a languid hand. ‘Delighted, I’m sure.’

  A sudden wave of crimson appeared on his cheeks as he met Tamar’s speculative gaze and he tentatively shook her hand.

  She smiled, holding onto his hand slightly longer than necessary. A heady scent filled his nostrils and he remained transfixed as she moved closer.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ he said weakly and tried to pull his hand free.

  ‘Likewise,’ she purred. ‘Shall I take your coat?’

  He quickly shrugged off his duffle and she whisked it away to hang it on the end of the banister. He was just unravelling the thick scarf from his neck when she turned back to him. Her leer faded and a look of fury crossed her face as she spotted Paul’s dog collar. ‘A Vicar! You brought a vicar into my house?’ she cried, turning on Queenie who was warming herself in front of the fire.

  ‘That’s right; Paul is a member of the clergy. In fact he is the Vicar from my local church.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what church he’s from!’ She drew a deep breath and glared at the three of them. ‘So why did you bring him and more importantly what do you want? Because knowing you Queenie, you are after something!’ she snapped.

  ‘I have a request,’ Queenie replied, holding her cold hands out to the fire.

  ‘No.’

&nbs
p; ‘Show some professional courtesy Tamar,’ she said, coldly eyeing her up and down. ‘And hear me out!’

  ‘Professional courtesy,’ Tamar scoffed. ‘What profession is that? You are just an old meddler. Look at you; old, wrinkled, useless,’ she then rounded on Sybil who had retreated to the corner. ‘And you, a pale spineless little jelly, always in big sister’s shadow. Why should I help you, eh? Tell me that!’

  ‘Because we need some information and you, you old painted harpy, are the only one who knows the answer!’

  ‘Painted harpy! How dare you! You fat old woman!’

  ‘And you look like a hooker!’

  ‘Ladies!’ exclaimed Paul stepping between them. ‘Please!’

  ‘She’s no lady,’ spluttered Tamar.

  ‘Stop, please,’ he appealed. ‘Just listen to us, we need your help.’

  She sniffed and slight smile crossed her face as she trailed a red painted fingernail across his chest; Paul involuntarily took a step back.

  ‘Oh, control yourself, Tamar!’ snapped Queenie in disgust. ‘You jezebel!’

  Tamar smiled conspiratorially at Paul. ‘You see this is what she’s like; a horrible old woman.’

  ‘Please,’ he said wearily, ‘can we just get on with this? It’s been a long hard journey over here and I have just about had enough.’

  ‘Of course darling,’ she purred and taking his arm steered him towards the sofa. ‘Make yourself comfortable and we shall see if I can be of assistance.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully and sank back onto the soft cushions.

  ‘Perhaps a drink? Whiskey, brandy?’

  ‘Some tea would be nice,’ suggested Queenie.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you,’ she snapped.

  ‘I am sure we could all do with a hot drink, it has been a cold drive over here,’ he said firmly.