Partly Sunny and Beautiful

I’m woken by mournful howls of witches burning at the stake. Flaming body parts exploding into the sky strobe light my room, boiling body fluids splatter on my window. Onlookers erupt, boom a clamorous cheer.

Oof. I’m sweating.

From deep inside the Hollow the hypnotic chanting of Beginners worms into the night. Squeals of young Starters shadow behind pitching it to goosebumps. Two warlocks fighting for territorial mastery clash angry moods, conjure mocking blasts of ridicule before guffawing insanely. A coven of crones add fuel to bloodthirsty fire by flapping their cloaks blow soaring tempers ever higher. Cackling, the Sorceress sharpens her fingernails on her bone grinding stone, scrapes out new spells, adds grenades of gargoyle guts, mixes, launches her potion haphazardly.

Smash.

The evil brawl sparks the Pack Runners into a frenzy, kicks them to gallop wildly through the streets, whelp each other down, knock cauldrons flying.

Crash. Whine. Whimper. Blood moon has born a thriller.

Ugh. I check my clock. 3 am, hell bound early. I need more sleep. The weather forecast flashes up for later today, partly sunny and beautiful. Good. But for now, more sleep, escape this misery.

Craving peace, I turn over imagine I’m floating on gentle flows of a warm summer ocean. Breathing in breathing out my heartbeat slows. Beat, beat, beat. I imagine harder; float, float, float.

Agitated Pack Runners growl and snarl, defensive witches’ hiss. Binding mind and hands together I pray - for much more tuneful than this.

I summons re-concentration, relax, head to toe, toe to head, neck to shoulders to arms to fingers arms to legs shoulders to eyes, mind over matter ignore their cries: Stop! Begone their evil clatter.

And then..

…. I reach a cove where lullaby waves soothe, serenade me, lap, lap, lap.

Later the weather will be partly sunny and beautiful. I will walk in it, drink wine, dine on seafood.

Beat, beat, beat. Lap, lap, lap. Float, float, float.

One of the witches’ bays so loudly my heart spooks swears to break my ribcage rip my chest stick to the wall. Help. Heat flashes. Pound, pound, pound. Thump, thump, thump. Pound. Thump. Pound. Thump. Pound. Pound. Thump. Thump. Gasp. I toss and turn fight to run being buried alive I’m staked I’m, done.

A second hag yowls, forcefully, low. She’s summonsing power, refusing to go. Spectators resound, raucous, louder. More body bits detonate, boom. Fire. Blood and guts bubble, sickening drips, puddling thickly, slashing like whips.

Even during death witches can curse; hideous spells - each bringing worse.

Inside my head wakes a worm a glitch. Am I banished from good, spinning into black witch? Glitch, glitch, glitch.

Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.

Later the weather will be partly sunny and beautiful.

Nailing this prediction to a neck strung crucifix I refuse to stay trapped in this nightmare. Opening my eyes I see my blankets are twisted my pillows are flattened restlessly fisted. My throat is dry my head is sore no other choice left but to get up, explore.

Dazed, I drag myself out of bed, focus my mind to sanity shake my body back to reality. Reluctant to see but knowing I must I pull back the curtains blink to adjust.

Two familiar stray cats are having a noisy stand-off near a discarded pizza box in the doorway opposite. Their backs, arched like conical hats bristle like porcupines. Their tails, sweeping like splintered broom sticks flag their fighting intent. Hissing, one of them shows vampire teeth, sharpened needles, stabbers. The other, growling like a rabid beast swallowing curdled blood holds its hunting ground. Thanks to lazy tourists who throw takeaway cartons into our street these two felines are known for fighting over titbits. Once they drew blood, for KFC bones.

A pack of street dogs, the same ones I saw on the beach yesterday are chasing an intruder dog up and down our alleyways, round and through our village. Earlier they were doing the same to another dog near Devil’s Cove. Tonight, and instead of just peeing in the old lady’s planter pots on the corner it looks like they’ve knocked some over, broken them. When I first saw the old cow picking herbs from those planters I felt guilty, thought about telling her what I’d seen the dogs doing. But then I saw her whack one with her stick. I’m on the dogs side now, pet them if she’s about. She curses me every time I speak or wave to her. I still speak and wave but now just to wind her up. Her scowl is uglier than Kim Kardashian’s crying face. When she makes it, I can't help laughing. Does that make me a bad person? My grandson thinks the old woman's scowl face is hilarious, bursts into fits of giggles every time he sees it. We wonder if she’s mad. Every morning and evening she heaves out a huge stone, wedges it in-between her knees, sits on her yard steps and grinds tagine spices like they’re going out of Moroccan fashion. Manically, she then sharpens a machete on the stone before whirling it above her head, gabbling, spitting nonsense. Finally, she holds up a lemon, launches it willy-nilly into the air crowing like a banshee.

Oops. Looks like the one she tossed tonight smashed through another of the Mosque’s windows, that’s three in four weeks. I bet the two old men of the Mosque had a go at her. They must have chased her in again, all her lights are out. Oooh…looks like someone's also pegged three dead mice on her washing line tonight. She'll be right pissed off, there'll be hell to pay tomorrow. Even cats and seagulls hate her. I’ve seen them dump dead mice on her steps, shit in her window boxes.

It's been raining, hard. It’s starting again now. Crikey. That clap of thunder was LOUD. Roof water’s pouring from a broken gutter. Muddy streams are running in between the houses. Rubbish from knocked over bins is caught up in it, sailing towards the main road. The drains will block again, bubble up like overflowing cauldrons, smell like sulphur. Swathes of drizzle are billowing around street lamps flapping clouds of mist about. Lightning’s flashing, forking on the horizon.

Crack.

Thunder’s growling again rumbling back and forth.

Boom.

There’s a storm coming.

I open my window a little wider, the air’s getting cooler.

The sound of women and children singing in the Mosque has stopped, it started just as I went to bed, lasted for hours. I haven’t heard the women and children before, maybe it’s a special thing just for Ramadan. I haven’t heard Imam the braying donkey tonight yet either.

Uh oh. I spoke too soon. He’s clearing his throat now, getting ready to bellow out. Good old Imam. He’ll be waking them all up, yelling them to 'Get out of bed yer fasting lot it's time to stuff yer faces again.' About two hours left until sunrise then.

Brrr.. I’m closing my window, it’s getting chilly.

But, later today the weather will be partly sunny and beautiful. Lovely. I’ll walk on the beach watch the surfers, go for a swim. Until then I’ll hunker down, drink tea dunk biscuits and play word games; but first I’ll get some candles ready for when the power cuts out.