WITCH GRANNIES
in
The Case of the Evil Schoolmaster
By Gary J Byrnes
ISBN 978-1440477973
Copyright Gary J Byrnes, 2011.
The right of Gary J Byrnes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright & Related Rights Act, 2000. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
https://www.WitchGrannies.com
This book is available in print at most online retailers.
Acknowledgements
For my wife, Bernadette. Thank you for your love, encouragement and inspiration. Special thanks also to Tara and Eden for their love of bedtime tales. And to Mary and Suzanne who, along with Bernadette, liked the Witch Grannies so much, you’re now holding this book. I owe huge gratitude to my mam, Maura, now a super granny in her own right. And Dad, you rock too! And thank you, dear reader, for trying this story. Now turn the page and into the night with you…
Chapter 1: INTO THE NIGHT
The train went clickety-clack, clickety-clack, which is what trains usually do. Only tonight, the train seemed to be whispering "Go back", sensing danger ahead. Go back, go back, go back, go back.
Emily was tense, sitting rigidly to fight the motion, her hands gripping the table tightly. She was thirteen going on twenty-nine, pouty, dressed in black, but scared underneath her disinterested exterior. The last traces of the city had long since faded. The factories, office blocks and apartments had made way for relentless fields and hedges, with large farm animals and lonely houses occasionally breaking the monotony. Dusk raced west with the train.
Emily’s brother, Malcolm, sat across the table. He was reading a comic about The Matrix.
‘I still don’t really get it,’ said Malcolm, putting the comic into his coat pocket, having folded it in half, twice.
‘Get what?’ said Emily. She honestly didn’t care.
‘The Matrix. Like, are we really just imagining this reality and having our true bodies milked by freaky robot aliens?’
‘I honestly don’t care.’ She dismissed his pointless question with all the derision she could muster.
Her little ten-year-old, annoying brother just got more annoying with every day that passed.
‘Well, I think this is some sort of parallel universe,’ he ventured.
‘You’re just a little geek with no friends.’
He blushed and didn’t reply. True, he was big into science and less into the pop charts, but he never had a chance to make friends: Emily was always there, criticising. And here he was, off again, all his possessions in a bag at the end of the carriage. His sister putting him down again and an uncertain future at the end of the train journey, in a country village called Castleconnell. Neither of them had been there before. Emily expected a tiny kip, inhabited by freaks and layabouts, with no clue of anything that mattered.
Plus, there was the unknown quantity of her grandmothers. She’d last seen them when she was only four and had only hazy memories of a strange smell and a red cardigan, which felt nice and soft against her cheek. She supposed that she didn’t really have too much to fear from them and they would probably just do the granny thing and mind them for a few weeks until her parents got the new house ready. Please get it sorted out, she prayed.
She looked around at the carriage. It was an ancient train, with dirty linoleum on the floor, moth-eaten seats and a squeak or groan for every centimetre of progress along the slow track. The ticket inspector called by to check on them again.
‘We’ll be getting in shortly, about a quarter of an hour, I’d say. Are ye all right?’
‘Yes, we’re still fine,’ answered Emily. ‘You don’t have to keep annoying us, you know?’
‘Well, it’s just, you know,’ he shrugged.
‘I don’t know. What is it?’
‘I can’t say’ he replied nervously, gesturing at Malcolm. He glanced around the compartment, letting his eyes rest briefly on the large, bearded man who sat alone at the far end, his heavy overcoat tied around the waist with baling twine. The lights blinked off, and stayed off for a few seconds. For a reason she couldn’t explain, Emily felt fear, a cruel grip on her insides which caused her pulse to race and her hands to become ice cold. The lights came back on. The man with the beard was gone.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ said the guard, as he ambled off, his body lurching with the train as it continued west, towards the Atlantic.
Malcolm didn’t seem to know that anything was up. He was listening to the radio on his Walkman. Probably the BBC World Service or something square, thought Emily, who was fairly sure that there was something nasty in the air. The only other passengers in the carriage were a group of deaf people opposite, three men and a woman. They conversed enthusiastically with their hands and other body movements, but their inaudible exclamations merely added a surreal air to the scene. The inspector returned, carrying packs of crisps and two bottles of fizzy orange. Emily was relieved to see him, grateful even, and Malcolm was asleep.
‘Here you go,’ said the inspector. ‘The shop is closed now.’
Emily smiled. ‘Thanks a lot. How much are they?’
‘My treat. Is he asleep?’
‘Yeah. What were you saying earlier?’
‘Look, you’re old enough to know, but I wouldn’t let my daughter travel on this train without me.’
‘Why not?’ she asked, a shudder running down her spine.
‘A kid was snatched off this line last month. Just disappeared. Gone. No trace. I don’t know what happened to him. There’s police around nearly all the time. But not tonight. That’s why I was keeping an eye on you and your brother there.’
‘Okay. Now I’m a bit freaked out.’
‘We’re nearly there.’
Suddenly the lights went off again. And stayed off. There was a sudden screeching, as loud as a banshee, as the emergency brakes were applied and the train lurched horribly, sending every loose thing and person flying. Emily was thrown against the table, hurting her hip. She was panic-stricken, expecting the man with the twine belt to grab her in the darkness.
Chapter 2: SITTING DUCKS
Then the lights came back on. The inspector and Malcolm were on the floor.
‘You’d better come with me. I need to talk to the driver,’ said the inspector, nursing his badly bruised forehead with a shaking hand.
‘Where am I?’ groaned Malcolm.
‘You’re okay,’ said Emily, her hand holding his chin tenderly.
The deaf people were exclaiming silently, but they seemed fine.
Emily and Malcolm, who had escaped the sudden stop without injury, followed him down the empty carriage. They crossed over the weird part between carriages that shakes like mad when the train is moving and entered the carriage nearest the engine. It was a wild scene, one of pandemonium. About twenty people had been in the bar, drinking bottles of beer and cider, as well as cups of gone-cold tea and packaged sandwiches. They lay in heaps, some knocked out, others moaning from pain and shock.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ said the inspector. ‘What a mess!’
‘What a stink,’ said Malcolm, noticing the spilt drinks all over the floor.
‘Come on.’
They followed the inspector forward, passing the bar counter, all broken and twisted. Up a narrow passage, noisy with steam, to an intercom system. The inspector pressed a button and spoke. In return, just static. He
tried again. And again.
‘No good. We’ll have to get out to check the engine. Stick close and take your time.’
He unlocked and opened the top door of the train and climbed out on a collapsible stair. There was no platform, the train had stopped in the middle of the countryside. Emily and Malcolm followed the inspector. It was dark and quiet. The train lay still, trapped in a valley of trees and shadows. Animal sounds came from not too far away. Emily shivered.
They went forward, trudging awkwardly on the large, oil-covered stones that made a bed for the railway tracks. The engine stood brooding, its huge diesel engine making a low, steady rumble, steam hissing from pipes. The inspector climbed up and reached the door into the driver’s compartment. He looked in, then twisted the handle and went inside. Re-emerging a few seconds later, he shook his head, downcast. He climbed back down and was pale as the moon.
‘He’s gone. I don’t know where. He must have gone back for me on the other side. Come on.’
They passed in front of the engine, a mighty hulk not something that would normally be seen up so close. Its front lights glowed red like the eyes of a demon, dull but cunning. There was no sign of the driver on the other side.
‘I’ll check the train for him,’ said the inspector, his forehead dripping with sweat. ‘Now, I want you two to climb up this embankment. Go as high as you can and stay put. I’ll get the other passengers out to follow you.’
‘Why can’t we go back inside?’ asked Malcolm. ‘I’m freezing.’
‘It’s the little matter of the 10.10 express to Dublin,’ replied the inspector. ‘We’re on single track here and the train is due to pass through in about five minutes.’
‘What? Won’t they know we’ve stopped?’ asked Emily.
‘No coverage on my mobile, it’s the valley. Until I have some clue what’s going on here, I have to assume the worst,’ he said.
This made perfect sense to Emily.
‘Come on, Malcolm. Let’s move.’
‘Good girl. Go on, Malcolm. Stay with your sister.’
Luckily, there was no high barrier to negotiate. A low wall, just over a metre high, met a gradual embankment with trees at the top. In the moonlight, a blanket of silver grass led up to safety. Thankfully, it was dry. They scrambled upwards, grabbing clumps of grass, slipping, panting. Emily stopped to look back. The train sat on the track, still rumbling, still mysteriously missing its driver. Doors along the train opened and bedraggled passengers poured out, some twisting their ankles as they stepped out into thin air.
‘This way,’ called Emily. ‘Up here!’
She waved and they began to climb the embankment too. After a few minutes, the Emily and Malcolm had reached the tree line, well up from the track. The train seemed a safe enough distance away. They stopped and sat and looked. About thirty passengers had gotten off the train. All were climbing up the embankment. There was no sign of the inspector. Then his face appeared at the first door, the one they had left the train by. He looked up and waved. It seemed to Emily that he waved at her. He shouted something, but she couldn’t make it out. She heard his sound, but not his words. Then, the quiet of the still night was broken by a distant clickety-clack. It grew louder. A horn sounded, echoing up the valley like a whale ordering the little fish from its path.
‘The train!’ cried Emily. ‘Quick, get up!’ she shouted at the passengers nearest the track.
Some of the stronger passengers sensed what was happening and went back down to help the less fit. Some elderly ladies struggled on the grass and welcomed the assistance. Their heels didn’t help, so they took them off and carried them, cursing the grass stains that would inevitably destroy their tights. An injured man and woman were also helped; they didn’t look well and were in serious need of some first aid.
The rumble turned into a roar. The oncoming train had not slowed. Emily guessed the signals must have been tampered with. The inspector was still inside the doomed train. Emily shouted to him. He reappeared and looked up the embankment. He lifted his right hand to his mouth and then the express train struck with a boom like thunder.
Chapter 3: WELCOME TO FREAKSVILLE
The house was warm and bright, sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows and central heating doing its useful job. From her window, Emily saw fields, trees and a few cows. A lone mountain loomed in the distance, greyed by morning haze. She stretched, still a little tired from the journey. Then the memories came flooding back. The crash. The inspector. The missing kid.
‘Well you’ve really landed in it this time. How do you do it?’ she asked herself aloud, only half expecting an answer.
She pulled her clothes on, the same ones she’d worn last night. There were grass stains on the knees and other signs of adventure. She silently wished that they’d be able to get their bags from the crash site this morning. She feared that some of her precious things might have been damaged. Worse, all her clothes in flames! Now that would be a real disaster. There was a knock on the door.
‘Emily!’ a shrill call. ‘Are you awake yet? It’s nearly eight o’clock, you know?’
‘Yes, Granny.’ It was Granny Smith, her Mam’s mother. Her Dad’s mother, the other granny, was Granny Annie. ‘I’ll be right down.’
‘Good girl. There’s eggs on.’
Emily heard the raps on Malcolm’s door and took his confused groans to mean that he had slept through the first alarm call a few minutes bore. Some high-pitched cursing ensued, with all the holy saints being invoked to get Malcolm out of bed. The language was a bit coarse, which alarmed Emily, but she smiled at the thought of Malcolm on the receiving end.
She washed her face and brushed her hair and teeth, luckily with two different brushes, which had been left on her dressing table. Then she skipped down the stairs, a wide smile on her face.
‘Morning Grannies!’
‘Mornin’,’ replied Granny Smith, busy at the range.
‘Sure it’s nearly dinner time already. Teenagers,’ said Granny Annie.
Emily noticed a frostiness in the air, though the kitchen was really hot, its great wood-burning range throbbing with heat. Bread baked inside and, on top, a cast iron frying pan was full of eggs, spitting furiously. An egg spat out a glob of boiling oil. It shot towards Granny Annie and hit her right hand, which lay on the table. She leapt from her chair and screamed that she’d had enough. Definite tension.
Emily sat at the table and stayed quiet. Granny Smith poured out a cup of tea and put a bowl of corn flakes bore her. She carefully placed a jug of milk beside the bowl. Meanwhile, Granny Annie sat impassively, staring at Emily, rubbing her sore hand and muttering something about cats and boys under her breath. Edgy. And a bit freaky.
Granny Smith tended the frying eggs and, after a few minutes, delivered a plate with three fried eggs, sunny side up, and two thick slices of home-baked bread. Spread with butter, it was just about the nicest bread Emily had ever tasted. The eggs were fresh and drippy. A hen called from outside, perhaps pining after her missing young. Emily was almost finished by the time Malcolm came down. He looked a complete heap.
‘You could at least have washed your face, young man. You’ve got half of the field on you.’
‘Sorry, I’ll go and wash...’
‘Sit down. You’ll eat first. Then wash.’
Granny Annie continued muttering, her pitch raised by Malcolm’s presence. Emily wondered. She herself didn’t exactly like her brother. That was normal. But her Grannies seemed to be allergic to him. When they’d met last night after the crash, they had both hugged Emily, smothering her with Granny-love, but hadn’t touched Malcolm, just muttered hellos. Now this.
‘I don’t like corn flakes,’ said Malcolm.
‘Well you and your kind can bloody well eat them!’ exploded Granny Annie, standing out of her chair and waving her clenched fists at Malcolm, who cowered in horror.
‘Now, now. It’s not Malcolm’s fault that he was born a boy. Is it Malcolm?’ said Granny Smith.
‘Em, no,’ answered Malcolm. He was clearly in shock.
Granny Annie sat back down while Granny Smith did Malcolm’s eggs and bread.
‘Can’t you just eat the corn flakes?’ Emily asked Malcolm. ‘They’re poured out and everything.’
‘I don’t like them. They stick to my teeth.’
‘Now, now. Let’s not fall out over a bowl of corn flakes,’ said Granny Smith, as she delivered a plate of steaming eggs and buttery bread to a very quiet Malcolm. ‘I want you to get cleaned up now, Malcolm, once you’re finished your breakfast. Then we’ll all go into the station and see if we can’t find your cases.’
‘There’ll be hell to pay if we can’t,’ snarled Granny Annie, ‘I’m not forking out for boys’ clothes. I’m only on the pension.’
She continued muttering to herself and was placated only by a fresh cup of strong tea, to which she added four spoons of sugar and a tiny drop of milk. Emily and Malcolm finished eating, then Malcolm went back upstairs to wash. Emily waited at the table, still making no comment on the unusual behaviour she had witnessed. Further analysis required.
Malcolm came back down after a few minutes. There was slightly less dirt on his face. Boys.
‘All right. Let’s go down to the village and see what the story is,’ said Granny Smith, wrapping her huge tweed overcoat around her chubby body.
Chapter 4: LOST LUGGAGE
They drove to the station in Granny Annie’s car. It must have been thirty years old, a long station wagon, complete with wood panelling along each side. It purred like a well-behaved cat, which surprised Emily. The purring sound grew louder as they neared the village. Emily looked behind to see two black cats, sleeping peacefully in a jumble of clothes and hay in the rear. She smiled. Malcolm saw this and grinned. But only on the inside, as he maintained a black exterior.
Granny Annie parked her car carelessly, half on the footpath and with the front sticking out onto the road at an angle. You could say she threw the car there. Nobody seemed to care. There was plenty of people about: police, villagers, railway officials and anonymous men in dark suits with clipboards. There was also a lot of other grannies about, each of whom made a beeline for Grannies Smith and Annie. In hushed tones, they referred to the tragedy, the shock and the sheer annoyingness of the train crash.