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Flying with Witches (standard:horror, 30272 words)
Author: Michael GoudaAdded: May 28 2001Views/Reads: 2796/3487Story 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.


by Michael Gouda 


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, 

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