Hilda the Wicked Witch

The witch paced along the street with its strange, stone houses, snf the odd stone street. As she passed a large shop, she noticed her reflection in the window. Curious, she stopped to take a look at herself in her new outfit. A sound then drew her attention. It sounded like a bunch of ruffians having a good time, and she usually was interested in the company of such people, although that kind of people wasn't always interested in her company. It did not take her long to determine where the noise come from. Its origin was on the other side of the street, from a house that had no more glass windows. Grimhilda the wicked witch (Hilda for friends) understood what had happened there.

  The man in the car, who happened to drive along at that moment, got quite a scare when he saw the denim-clad woman step into the street only yards before his car. Although he slammed his brakes and yanked the steering wheel around, it was clear to him: there was no way he could avoid hitting her.

  Hilda saw the strange, metal contraption come closer at high speed. She popped up her wand and threw a bolt of magic at it, to stop it. Immediately the car stood still. The driver, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart pounding between his ears, started breathing again as the expected thud didn't come. Instead he was flung forward, with his seat belt yanking him back into his seat. After all that shocking movement he opened his eyes and looked through the cracked wind shield. To his surprised the woman stood in front of the car, holding some kind of stick pointed at him. Nothing had happened.

  There were many good things about being a witch, Hilda thought. Her magical senses, achieved by long years of training and use, had made her react to the threat before she had actually seen it. Curious, she walked around the metal cart, which was like nothing she had ever seen. There was no horse in front of it, although there was a sound coming from the front of the thing as if there was a wild animal trapped it. There was one man inside it, with eyes closed. Oh, he was opening them again. Hilda tapped the window with her wand. The window fell apart, glass bits dropping into the man's lap.

  "What is this abomination?" she asked him.

  "What? This? It is my car. But you should be dead! There is no way in hell I could have braked in time to avoid you."

  Hilda frowned. "You are one of the men the false King has sent out to find me and kill me? Even here? Curse him!" Another tap of the wand made the door fall out of the car and the seatbelt evaporate. "Get out of your cart, you foe!"

  The man started shaking. His day had already started lousy: first by sleeping too long and then having a fight with the wife. And now this happened. "Am I still dreaming?" he asked as he clambered out of the car. "I must be." He sounded as if he hoped he was.

  Hilda looked up at the man. "Maybe you are. Maybe you are not." Then she poked the tip of her wand under the man's chin, pressing slightly harder than needed. "Now speak. Did King Herald send you after me? Where are your companions? He would not send one man alone. Certainly not one as craven as you."

  The man tried to swallow, but the stick made that very difficult. "I know nothing of King Herald, woman. I'm Stewart Jones and I'm just trying to get to work."

  A lone bicycle rider came riding through the street. Taking in the strange scene, he stopped. "Is someone having a problem here?" the man asked as he looked at Hilda and her threatening pose towards the man who was leaning against the damaged car.

  "Communtatus rana, become a frog," Hilda said, swooshing her wand at the cyclist for a moment. A second later the wand was under Stewart's chin again. The bicycle dropped to the ground and from under the helmet crawled a frog. She didn't have time for more people to keep her from finding out where she was.

  Stewart saw it happen, and his eyes filled with fear. "What the hell are you? A witch?"

  Hilda frowned. "He didn't tell you? How useful an ally, isn't he?" Annoyed, she withdrew the wand, leaving a white spot on Stewart's skin. "This is not getting us anywhere.Just tell me how Lamador brought you to this place and how he intends to get you back, then I can go home that way as well. I must leave this crazy place."

  "Lamador? Who's that? Your King Herald's brother?" Stewart was sweating from every pore by now, looking at the frog that was helplessly crawling about, croaking in despair.

  "Lamador, you dumb person," Hilda said, tapping his forehead with the wand to emphasise every syllable, "is King Herald's sorcerer. A powerful sorcerer he is too, and if you don't know that, then he erased your memory well." She then took four long strides away from the car and the man. "Aaargh... this is so bad!" she then yelled. "This is total disrespect to the Wicked Witch, sending such amateurs after me!" She pointed her wand and drew up the charge.

  "Deliquesco!" Nothing happened, except for Stewart holding his breath.

  "Crappedy crap... I hate Latin. Fluxum!" Again, nothing happened. Hilda's face adopted an expression that was feared by the ones who knew her. To Stewart it just looked slightly amusing.

  "Dissolve!" A crackle shot to the car from the wand, making it light up for a moment.

  "It's not working, is it?" Stewart now grinned. His voice still echoed through the street as his car turned liquid and splashed onto the street.

  "It works fine," Hilda told the shocked man, "English just takes a few seconds longer." She then decided that he was no longer worth her attention and turned towards the bar. She walked off, leaving the frog and its bicycle to take care of their own trouble.

  -=-=-

  Bluto lay on the bar, singing a sailor's song that had more profanities in it per line than anyone would deem possible. Each line seemed to be a strain on his vocal chords, as he had to take a healthy swig of the bottle in his hand. After that, a belch sounded as the intro to the next part of the lyrics. His bald head was tattooed with hearts and anchors. His broad shoulders were barely covered by a sleeveless leather vest of an undetermined colour. His mountainous belly was, for a change, not not covering the top part of his jeans. As he sang, the spurs he had on his boots scratched new lines in the bar's surface.

  Patrick O'Malley, the owner of the establishment, was still tied up in his corner. He had wished at least a dozen of times already that he could just faint and not witness the downfall of his hard earned empire.

  Bubba had ripped the green cloth from the pool table and tied that around his neck. "Hey, guys, ain't I looking like a fuckin' leprechaun king now?" he laughed, emptying the bottle of beer and then giving it its first and last flying lesson.

  "Hey, ho, leprechaun king, we follow you and we do our thing," Julius yelled. He had regained consciousness again after the expression of affection by Bitch. Who counted one more bump or black spot when supplied with love?

  "Oh, how grand. A party. Can I join?"

  The sudden sound of a female voice made even Bluto look up from his comfortable position on the bar. "Well, crap on me," he muttered. "A plaything."

  Hilda took in the pathetic state of the bar and frowned. This was a strange tavern. The few people inside made her wonder what was going on here. At least their attire was somewhat more familiar to her than what she'd seen here so far.

  Bubba, the cloth still around his massive neck, walked up to Hilda and looked her up and down. "Welcome, dear lady," he mocked, making a bow and extending a hand towards the bar. "Please join us in our celebration."

  Hilda felt a bit better now. These people clearly recognised her status and paid proper tribute to that. She nodded and walked past the big man, who smelled like beer and fried meat.

  The gang watched the slender woman with the long braids walk to a table that was still upright. There were two chairs next to it that still looked safe, so she selected one and sat down. "Do you have tea?"

  That caused a silence. "Tea," Bluto repeated, as if he had no idea what it was. Given his alcoholic disposition, that might actually be true. "No tea here."

  "Then bring me some wine," she said to Bluto, who stared at her from the bar, "but dilute it."

  Bluto's mental processes, never the fastest, failed completely now.

  "Hey," Bubba roared, "get up
and bring the lady some wine, and throw some water in it!" His eyes sparkled. This was going to be a lot of fun, he knew, an afternoon and probably also a night of pleasure.

  Bluto grunted something inunderstandable and hoisted himself off the bar. He rummaged through the bottles and found something that looked appropriate. Then he located one of the large beer glasses that still was in one piece. He stared at the cork in the unopened bottle. For a moment he gazed around, clueless. Then he solved the situation by hitting the top from the bottle using the side of the bar, glass shards jumping away.

  The contents of the bottle was a bit too much for the glass to hold, so he resolved that by pouring the remains down his throat. A splash of water went into the glass as well, spilling most of its contents on the floor. Bluto picked up the glass and marched over to the table. Slamming down the glass, spilling even more of the wine, he said: "Here you go." After peering at Bubba, who was looking how Bluto would handle this, the fat-bellied man added: "Your majesty."

  "Thank you. I'm not majesty and I don't aim for that. I'm quite pleased with who I am." Hilda patted Bluto on the wrist as if she was petting a dog. Then she lifted the large glass and drank a quart of it down in one go. The strange trip had left her thirsty. That earned her a round of cheers from Bubba's group, and the leader of the pack yelled that Bluto should open another bottle for her and keep it at the ready.

  Bubba then grabbed the other chair, turned it around and sat on it, his arms folded over the backrest. "So, sweetcheeks, where did you come from? Care to play with the big boys, do you?"

  Hilda looked the man up and down. "And who might you be?"

  Bubba looked around, his boys all laughing along with him. "I'm Bubba. I run this place."

  "Bubba..." Hilda sampled the name. "That is a ver odd name, I must say." She looked at his tattoos and messy appearance. "Do you expect people to be scared of you?" she asked as she pointed at the pool table cloak.

  The laughter stopped, Bubba's first. His already rather unpleasant face worsened by several degrees. "You are about to piss me off, woman," he said, grabbing Hilda's wrist. "People here are terrified of me, and with reason. And you should be too."

  "Take your hand off me, before I make you." Hilda's tone was cold, her eyes, black as night, seemed to shoot fire.

  Bubba let go of her. "One of them psychology tricksters, right? Let me show you what we do with psychology tricksters." He rose and towered over her.

  As Hilda was looking up at the big man, he reached down with a speed that was astonishing for a man his size, grabbed the witch by the arms and tossed her over his shoulder, her arms squeezed tightly against her body. She could not reach for her wand, and for several moments was helpless and confused about the sudden change in atmosphere and situation.

  3. Hocus Pocus.