|Flying with Witches (standard:horror, 30272 words)|
|Author: Michael Gouda||Added: May 28 2001||Views/Reads: 2796/3487||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Doris never realised that her peaceful little village could become a hotbed of witchcraft and eventually result in a fight between Good and Evil.|
FLYING WITH WITCHES by Michael Gouda CHAPTER 1 Had Doris Simmonds known that the decision she was in the process of making would turn her parents into zombies, disrupt the village community, release some terrifying supernatural forces and ultimately result in a death, it might well have affected her thinking. Unfortunately at the time she had no way of looking into the future. The trouble is, Doris thought, that Time only runs in one direction and we only know for certain about the things that have already happened - and these we can't do anything about. Future events, ones that we could change if we knew they were going to happen, are hidden from us. Life is very unfair. "You're very quiet, dear," said her mother. "Mm," replied Doris in a remote, detached tone of voice. It was one of those useful sounds that could have meant anything. "She's always quiet," said Doris's dad, Frank. He was sitting sprawled rather untidily at one end of the floral-patterned sofa with his wife, Alice, bolt upright at the other. She didn't want it thought that she was enjoying watching the television soap. Doris was on her own in one of the matching armchairs. Doris stared at the wallpaper which was a tasteful shade of beige with some darker brown little squiggles on it. On the same wall was the shadow of a vase cast by the parchment shaded table lamp. Her mother and father stared at the screen. It was arguable who was getting most out of the activity. "I expect you've done your homework," said Doris's dad after a pause. He did not turn to look at her but she assumed he was talking to her. "Mm," said Doris again. The expression on her round, rather plump face was calm and gave no evidence of the emotional turmoil which was seething within her. "She always does her homework," said Doris's mother. "Straight after coming home from school." The coloured shapes on the TV screen moved and spoke but neither Frank nor Alice would have much idea of what had been happening if you had asked them about it a half an hour later. The little brown squiggles and the shadow on the wall, on the other hand, formed a very definite image in Doris's mind. To anyone else, especially someone of an unimaginative turn of mind, it might have looked like a slightly deformed turnip, but to Doris, admittedly blinded by the light of love, it was the head of Rory Callahan. There was his long sensitive face, the eyes, large and compelling, the shock of unruly black hair - the similarity to be brutally honest was tenuous - but then most things reminded her of Rory Callahan. "Mmmm," groaned Doris with such emphasis and frustrated longing that both Frank and Alice's attention was diverted from the Australian soap they were half watching - but only of course because it preceded the news and they didn't want to miss that - to stare at their daughter. "Are you feeling all right, dear?" asked Alice. "Mm," said Doris recovering herself. Her hand, up against her chin, hid some of her face but what was showing gave nothing away. "Of course she's all right," said Frank. He glanced at his daughter fondly and then looked back at the screen. Most of what her parents said to her, Doris usually ignored, not because she was rude or rebellious or wanted to annoy them, but merely because she didn't hear them. Much of the time she lived in a world of her own, Click here to read the rest of this story (3703 more lines)
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