Story 48 – Chatterton Part 3
Urban Fantasy, 721 Words.
Into the dirt
The dinner was of course going boringly, until the inevitable question was asked.
“So can you really do it?” Angela Lansbury called down to Sarah. She’s forgotten her real name already so for now she’d become Angela Lansbury.
“What?” Sarah asked, non-plussed, swallowing a little too much mashed potato in one go. She reached for her water and downed a mouthful in a loud gulp.
“You know, magic.” Angela Lansbury said, waving her fingers around like they represented the occult as a whole. Sarah sighed internally, she’d hoped to avoid this discussion altogether.
“Yes, of a type.” It really was a type of magic, many types existed and she had no intention of getting drawn into that.
“I can too you know. It was more powerful as a girl but I still have some.” Angela Lansbury said. This genuinely surprised Sarah, the conversation had taken a right angle turn that she hadn’t predicted.
“Oh yes.” Mis Marple replied, her voice full of pride and self importance. Sarah thought for a moment, this was bad news, a regular source of magic for something to draw on over time? That would be good. It probably wasn’t as bad as all that though.
“Well something nasty is around here, I hope you keep that magic to yourself.”
“Oh yes,” Miss Marpls replied, her smile even wider, a wave of relief flowed over Sarah, “I don’t use it much. Mostly in the garden.” The old lady finished, the wave of relief Sarah felt suddenly turned to painful ice water.
“In the garden?” She said, he voice low but carrying. Paul noticed her tone as once, put down his fork, pushed back his chair and prepared for the worst.
“You know, better flowers, bigger fruit, I have some of the best melons ar…”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Let me get this clear, you are pushing magic into the ground?” Sarah asked, her voice solid enough to bounce small pets off it.
“I just said that.” Angela Lansbury replied, he tone indignant now, either due to Sarah’s reaction or her getting asked the same question twice. Sarah didn’t care which it was.
“For how long?” Sarah asked, the old lady grew misty eyed and cocked her head to one side as she travelled into her memories.
“Well, I’ve been in ramsdown, my cottage, for over 40 years now, so about that I’d think.”
“Well, fuck.” Exclaimed Sarash softly.
“Pardon?” Said the minister.
“Duck,” Sarah aid on auto pilot, “That could explain why something nasty is on the rise and the amount of power it has.”
“Pardon?” Said Angela Lansbury.
“Something bad happened here, years ago, and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. And I’ve got a nagging feeling my life really does depend on it. Well?” Sarah looked around the room and tried to hold the eyes of everyone present one by one. Some avoided her gaze, others turned beetroot red. None of them replied.
“She means the boys.” The hairy man said, his beard more magnificant now is contained gracy and a piece of sweetcorn than it was earlier in the evening.
“We don’t talk about the boys.” The Vicar replied, not looking down at his plate.
“The clergy rarely talks about the boys. Your Dave, right?” Sarah asked, addressing the profoundly hairy man, “What the hell is going on? No one else will tell me.”
“No Dave, we don’t bring up the past like that, it hurts so many in the village.” The vicar continued, still talking to a small mountain of peas.
“And by the sounds of it it could hurt many more yet, so bugger it, I speak my mind.” With that he stood and started toward the doors, “Let me show you something, miss. Tasha, the ground lights please.”
“It’s dark, I want to show her. You want to live like this forever? The cold, the sounds, things moving, animals just dying? Do you?” Tasha paled under his hairy gaze and stood up, she walked past him and into the hall, Dave followed her out. Sarah caught Paul’s eye across the table and they both rose and headed for the hallway, only a few steps behind. Behind them a general murmuring rose and the sound of chairs getting pushed away from the table increased.