William looked at the woman. "I do? What could I have that you need. I don't even know you." His voiced trailed off in puzzlement.
"Yes. You have something that I need." Hilda suddenly felt more positive and determined, and she radiated that. She also wanted it ten minutes ago.
"And what might that be then?" William Connoley was paying full attention to her and he was confused as hell, but he was not going to let her know that.
Hilda picked up the man's uncertainty as if he was waving a banner. "I don't know. I'll recognise it when I see it."
"Ah. And who told you this?" William was more than curious to know how she could be so convinced, as he had never seen this remarkable woman before. She hadn't even introduced herself to him yet. The curious feeling licked his heels again.
"Nobody. But I am certain of this. I got your name, and the - ehm - source is reliable." Hilda had to be very careful now, she shouldn't say things that might chase away this extraordinary yet ordinary man. This man, after all, was the key to her return home. Angering him could have the adverse effect, and she was becoming desperate to get out of this world. The insanities were stacking up against the walls of her awareness, and she was not sure how much more of that she would be able to take. There had to be a point where either the insanities themselves, or the walls that they were leaning against would crash down upon her.
"I'll tell you something. I'll go to my truck, wrap up this book, and take it to the person who's buying it. You sit tight and have another coffee. After the sale I come back here and we'll talk about what you're looking for. I am very curious, trust me." William smiled his most reassuring smile and patted the woman on the hand. The strange feeling now not only licked his heels, it was tugging at his hair also.
Hilda stared at the hand and fury was firing up over this impudence. An ordinary was not to touch a witch - but this was not your average ordinary human, she reminded herself, and forced herself to calm down. She had to battle the pressure down, but she managed it, be it just.
William sensed how Hilda tensed up and quickly withdrew his hand. "I'm sorry. It seems that touching makes you feel uncomfortable."
"If it is not a problem for you," she said slowly, swallowing and fighting for control, "I will go with you. I am going to stay in the background. You will not have to worry about me being there." Hilda was humiliating herself tremendously and she knew it, but it was the only way.
William smiled. "Very well. You can come along, and while we're going there you can tell me about yourself, if you want. Your name for instance." He reached for his wallet and put a few dollar bills on the table, to pay for the coffee.
Hilda picked up one of the green pieces of paper and looked at it for several moments. It had letters and numbers on it, and the drawn picture of a person in awkward clothes. With a shrug and an expression of not understanding on her face she put it down.
"Is something wrong with it?", William asked.
"No... no..." She shook her head, wondering why he did not put copper or silver on the table. Hilda had no idea that her actions made William more and more interested in her. The weird feeling was by now enveloping him, giving him the sensation that he was in the middle of a docile thundercloud.
"Right. Let's go then and wrap this beauty up." He got to his feet, the large book in his hand, and gestured to the door, letting Hilda go first and making sure he did not touch her again.
They left the coffee-house, and as they were crossing the street to get to the truck, the witch turned to William. "You can call me... Hilda." She cringed on the inside. For a witch, giving someone your name meant giving them control over you.
"Nice to meet you, Hilda. Just call me William."
After the book was nicely wrapped, they walked to the house of the prospective buyer and the sale was made very quickly. After that they returned to the truck.
"Now, can you tell me what you think I have that you need?" William leaned against his car, smiling at the woman and keeping a safe distance, his hands safe in his pockets. Hilda looked at him for a while. Then, in silence, she took the papers with the poems from her shoulder bag. William looked at the paper and the writing, and then whistled. "Amazing. That looks ancient. And the writing... did you do that?"
"You could say that. It was my quill anyway," she said, and then silently reread one the poems. "You have a book of tales, a book of dreams. A special one."
William looked at her in wonder. "May I see that?" He held out his hand and waited. Reluctantly Hilda handed him the paper with the first poem.
As he touched it, William felt a flow of power shoot through his arm. He shivered, then it was gone. He read the poem carefully. "A most extraordinary poem, Hilda. What does it mean?"
She took a deep breath. "It means what it says. You are the man William Conneley and you have something I need. It's inside your cart, and it will help me to return home."
"A book of tales, a book of dreams," he nodded. "Now, don't tell me-" A glint of understanding swam over his face.
Hilda raised her eyebrows again, not knowing what she should and shouldn't tell this man who was, for now, her sole hope in this turmoil. She watched how he took a piece of metal from his pocket, bracing herself for anything. It proved quite a strain, as she was barely hanging on to her wits by now. Her return could be so close and yet it was all so uncertain.
William hesitated for a moment. "For some reason," he said, "I have been waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?" This surprised her. She was used to people waiting for her, witches from her level did not wait for other people. But in this strange world, where everything was turned upside down and inside out, this commonplace fact felt... wrong, almost. "You don't even know me."
William nodded. "True. And still..." He raised his hand, slid the key in the lock and opened the backdoor of the truck. "I bought this book from Bert, a few days ago," he explained. "I don't know why I had to have it. I just had to. People wanted to buy it from me for much more than what I paid for it but, and you may laugh at me now, the book did not want me to sell it. It didn't allow me to. As if it was trying to tell me that I should save it for someone. And now it looks as if it waited for you."
Hilda looked at the man. This was the first person who started to make some kind of sense to her since she had arrived here. She nodded. "Some books are like that. Special books." Her heart pounded in her chest, the rush of anticipating what might come was almost making her nauseous.
William climbed into the back and opened the cover of the storage space to the crate of books. On top was the special book, still wrapped in the heavy linen. "Hilda... come in here. Please?"
The witch climbed into the truck also and sat on the small bench, staring at the package he had in his hands. It seemed to scream at her. She suppressed the urge to yank it from his hands. The book was so close, it beckoned her to take it. Read it. Use it.
"Could this be it?" William unwrapped the book and handed it to the strange woman. Somehow this seemed the proper thing to do. He sat down opposite her and watched how she hastily opened the book, paging through it, as he slowly folded the linen wrapping.
The pages in the book, bewitching as they had been before in Bert's store, now seemed to come fully to life in the hands of this intriguing woman. He had looked at it, read the ancient fairytales, and loved them. The hand-drawn images with the stories were exquisitely detailed. The wording was intense, yet soothing where needed.
She looked at William, after taking in several of the pages that told the stories of her world. "This is it." She held up her hand. The wand appeared. As she expected, the man's eyes became large. "I am a witch, William. I am not from this world. Your book... talks about my home."
William Connoley simply nodded. He hadn't exactly known it, but it didn't come as a surprise to him. Ever since he'd owned this book, something had been haunting him, pushing and pulling at his peace of mind, and now he was witnessing what it had been all about. The culmination of the unrest, the refusals to sell
the book. Electricity seemed to permeate the air inside the truck's rear cabin.
Hilda closed her eyes and lowered the wand, slowly touching the book with it. The pages started moving, and the further to the back of the book they paged themselves, the brighter the light was that came from them. The magical movement slowed and ended when it reached the last page, the one page that was written in the old language of the witches. A tear appeared in the eye of the witch and violently she brushed it away. Her trembling finger traced the words as she read the page, her lips moving in silence. The page confirmed that she was indeed able to go home now.
She tapped her shoulder bag and was dressed in her regal robes again, the denim lying on the floor. Bert's phone fell next to the jeans. Almost apologetically Hilda looked at William, who sat quietly, eagerly watching the witch. She looked at the page again and slowly recited the words. The power that emerged from them, the magic she invoked with the spell, made the back of the truck tremble.
William, awestruck and hypnotised by the happenings, barely noticed the shift in atmosphere that spun around his truck. Time out there and time inside the back of his car were out of sync, shifting, sliding, tumbling. He stared at the woman, whose braids had become undone somehow, who was now looking so entirely out of place here in her impressive robes, sitting on the low bench in the cramped confines of the truck's back cabin.
Hilda raised her voice, as the spell commanded, making the magic even more powerful, unstoppable. And that was how Hilda needed it; how it had to be. It should not stop. The power was to carry her home, to where she had to be. Before she spoke the last words, she looked at the man who had helped her find the book, and she touched his hand for a moment. "Goodbye, William." Then she cast the ultimate spell. There was a rupture in the fabric of space inside the truck, a rift that crossed dimensions and realities that would remind William of Dr. Who later.
William Connoley, travelling book-salesman and keeper of the portal between the worlds, saw shimmers of a room with a large dark wooden table laden with mysterious utensils, a chair, glass-like shards on the floor, vials, small windows, shelves with jars, and many other things he had never seen before. The vision, strange as it was, only lasted seconds, but it burnt itself into his memory. Then a bright flash of light took away his eyesight momentarily, while an invisible roller-coaster-like sensation filled his stomach with the most unwelcome and sickening feeling. There was a roaring sound, and suddenly smoke filled the cabin, chasing William into the street as he coughed and gasped for air. His eyes burnt from the grey fumes.
-=-=-
The smoke lifted. Hilda opened her eyes. She inhaled the air and smelled the familiar smells she knew so well. She heard the sounds she had longed to hear and inhaled the environment. A smile played around her lips. "I'm home." For a moment she looked around herself but the man who had the book wasn't there. Hilda let out a long sigh. She'd need a while to get over this maddening experience. Then she turned to her table. "Now... I need a new mirror. And then I'm off to find that black-haired girl with her songs amd her snide plans..."
-=-=-
At Granby Drive the smoke vanished as quickly as it had come. William stared into the back of his truck. The strange woman, Hilda the witch, had disappeared. Where she had been, only remained a small crystal ball and a phone. He picked up the crystal. Despite the sunlight he saw a small light dancing in the ball's centre. He smiled. "Goodbye, Hilda."
Without him noticing, two black cats crossed the street, hid under his truck for a few seconds and then ran off into a garden nearby.
###
About the author:
Paul Kater was born in the Netherlands in 1960. He quickly developed a feel for languages but did not pursue a career in those as his native language, Dutch, did not offer many options in that time. After learning far too much about computers he started to make a living with them. During all that time he always wrote short stories, little things to entertain family and friends and also himself with.
Since 2003 he's been writing more seriously, first posting his scribblings on an amateur writer's mailing list, and then publishing shorter and longer stories on the internet. Due to the international character of the Internet, all Paul's stories so far are written in English.
Paul currently lives in Cuijk, in the Netherlands, with his books and the many characters he's developed in the past years, who claim he is a figment of their imagination.
Visit the author at https://www.paulkater.com
If you want to connect with me online:
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