Visiting Hours

An unexpected visitor in the dead of night

Hagger’s Hill was at peace with the sky a deep Prussian blue. It was clear of clouds and there was a chill in the air, the frost beginning to collect on the ground and across Ursula’s car. A collection of stars twinkled in the sky like a spider’s web covered in tiny pieces of silver glitter. The only street lighting was in the new housing estate. The lack of artificial light in the old part of the village meant the naked eye could see many more stars than usual, especially on a clear night such as this. Ursula left the curtains open as she drifted off to sleep enjoying the starry sky.

It was such a far cry from the busyness of Chalk Farm where she lived in London. She pulled the eiderdown over her head and breathed in its dusty incense laden fragrance. She’d visited Aunt Hilda every summer until she’d declared herself too old to do so but it had only been once that she’d seen the stars. She’d never forgotten them.

Looking out at the night sky Ursula remembered that day. It must have been her very last visit because Aunt Hilda had gone out of her way to make it special. Thirteen year old Ursula had been sitting in her tangerine and lime green bed reading a book. It was a classic by Judy Blume which became one of her favourites and reminded her of Hagger’s Hill every time she journeyed into the story. Aunt Hilda knocked on the door brandishing Ursula’s sandals.

 “Quickly,” she said. “Put these on.”

“I’m in my nightdress,” Ursula protested gesturing to the sleepy mouse image that festooned the front.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Aunt Hilda asked. “Come on, out you get.”

Ursula slipped her feet out of the covers and into her sandals, looking suspiciously at her aunt. Only Aunt Hilda would get her out of bed at this time of night.

Aunt Hilda led her out the house and along the high street her cardigan of knitted squares flapping behind her. The weather had been warm but the nights were noticeably cooler and goose pimples were beginning to form on Ursula’s arms. Aunt Hilda took her cardigan off and draped it over the shoulders of her niece. It smelt of incense. What had Aunt Hilda been doing before she’d come to find her?

“Where are we going?” Ursula asked again but looking up at the sky she’d already guessed. The Prussian blue background was playing host to a bright full moon; its ethereal light spreading a silver glow across the roads and pavements. Across the sky sat a multitude of stars; some nothing more than tiny points of light; some large and twinkling and joining together to become recognisable constellations. “You want to look at the moon from the churchyard don’t you?” Ursula told her aunt.

“However did you guess?” laughed Aunt Hilda her eyes alive and twinkling with the reflection of the moonlight.

“Aunt Hilda!” Ursula said with mock uproar. “You can’t get me out of my bed to look at the moon!” But she was pleased, the hint of adventure sending shivers of anticipation through her spine.

The two figures made their way to the edge of the church’s grounds. Aunt Hilda unhooked the lock and pushed open the heavy gate which let out a creak. The land around Hagger’s Hill was flat but the church was on a slight hill. Across from the main tower stood a stone crypt; it looked at least a hundred years old, the engraving had worn off almost to nothing and soil had gathered on the top from which sprigs of grass and weed started to grow. The hot dry weather had turned these to twigs and hay. Aunt Hilda sat and Ursula climbed on beside her, the dehydrated plants scratching at her bare legs. She looked up at the church tower with the moon behind it. Surely there could be no sight as beautiful as this? Ursula expected Aunt Hilda to quiz her on the stars; to ask her to point out Mars and Venus and the Pole Star.

Instead she simply said, “Listen Ursula, listen to the moon.”

“What?” asked Ursula raising an eyebrow, “the moon is silent?”

“Listen with your heart not your ears,” Aunt Hilda explained. “Everywhere you journey, everywhere you stay; the moon is constant. Sometimes it will be waning, sometimes waxing; some days it will be full and others it will be hidden by cloud. But whichever face it decides to show you it is always there in the sky looking down on you.”

“But not talking to you!” Ursula insisted.

“The moon reflects your own self,” Aunt Hilda continued ignoring her protestations. “It tells you what you truly believe deep in your soul. If ever you don’t know what to do; what to say; or what to believe, listen to the moon. Open your inner ears, the ears to your soul. Then you will hear.”

Ursula looked at the full face of the moon. She let go of her scepticism and tried to open her soul to the possibility the moon could talk. As she watched the glowing orb she felt almost as though she could slip inside of it. Her thoughts turned to Hagger’s Hill and she realised she didn’t have much to do here. She was missing out on all the time her friends were spending together outside of school. When she went back in September she wouldn’t be party to the latest gossip or trends. Yet Ursula’s second thought was that however much she wanted to fit in she knew she couldn’t be altogether like the other children. She was different. She wondered if looking at the moon made you a witch. If only it was possible to just become a witch, if only they were real. Hagger’s Hill folklore told her there was such a thing as witches, but what would she need to do to really be one?

“Aunt Hilda,” Ursula said forgetting she was supposed to be listening to the moon. “Would you be very sad if I didn’t stay for the whole summer next year?”

Aunt Hilda smiled but the beginnings of tears were forming in her eyes. “Not at all. You’re a teenager now; you must live your own life. Hagger’s Hill will be here for you when you’re ready to come back to it.”

“Thank you,” Ursula said. “Have you ever wanted to be a witch?”

“Why?” her aunt replied, “is that what you want to be?” The tears forming in her eyes had dissipated now and she looked hopeful.

“If it was possible I would definitely want to,” Ursula said hooking an arm in her aunt’s.

Aunt Hilda patted her hand. “If you feel like you want to be a witch you already are one, and soon you’ll discover what you need to do to manifest the witchcraft in your life.”

Ursula grinned.

As memories turned into sleep Aunt Hilda crept into Ursula’s dreams. Her adult self sat beside Aunt Hilda on the crypt looking up at the clock tower.

 “Come on I’ll race you,” Aunt Hilda called and they both ran up the windy stairs to the top. Across the churchyard a mist was forming shining in the moonlight and gently tugging at Ursula’s unkempt hair; the wheat coloured hair that tied her to Aunt Hilda if only in looks. In her dream she marvelled at the sturdiness of the square tower and soon Aunt Hilda had gone. She felt thunder ripple through her, shaking the ground and the tower beneath. Thumping it echoed around, pulling her out of her dream and back to consciousness. Waking up felt like treading through a haze of treacle and it was most unwelcome. Apart from the comfort of being with Aunt Hilda again, she’d not slept nearly enough over the last few months. Although fleeting this had been one of the most satisfying stretches of sleep she could remember in recent weeks.

She wondered what the moon would say to her now if she listened; what part of her thoughts it would reflect back. Shuddering she realised she must still be dreaming; she could hear the thudding of the thunder on the church tower. It took a couple of seconds for Ursula to work out it wasn’t solely a part of her dream and neither was it thunder. It was happening right underneath her window. She took a look at the watch she’d left neatly on the bedside table; it was two in the morning. Ursula stepped out of bed and gingerly moved the curtains aside.

“Hello stranger,” came a voice from below.

Ursula jumped. Her first instinct was to rush downstairs and put as much as she could against the door; but what then? Her mind skipped through the possibilities. It wasn’t so bad to be trapped if you were in a shop, was it? After all, she probably had enough supplies to keep her siege up for a couple of weeks. No one could outlast her by sitting outside the building. Ursula’s heart sank as she threw Aunt Hilda’s old crushed velvet dressing gown over her. It still smelt of cinnamon and patchouli. Her mouth turned down at the corners. She skipped through the possibilities in her mind. Who had found her? Who had worked out where she would be and come looking for her? Obviously someone had been searching elsewhere; this couldn’t be their first stop. After all, it was pretty late for a social call.

Taking another peep around the curtains Ursula saw the visitor and let out a long breath. Her heart slowed and a smile snuck in at the corners of her mouth. Standing there his blond hair too big for his slim frame and his almond shaped blue eyes looking up at her was Brogan. Ursula in her excitement and relief threw herself out of her bedroom and made her way downstairs to the door as quickly as she could. She landed heavily and awkwardly and the stairs shook and creaked. She flung open the door and hurried outside to join Brogan on the pavement.

“How did you find me?” she snapped.

“I know you too well,” he replied adding, “don’t worry,” when he saw her face fall. “No one else is likely to guess this one are they? Hagger’s Hill is our little fantasy life. I still can’t believe you got the shop.”

Ursula stared at him. He was chatting and smiling as though nothing was wrong; as though nothing had happened. Ursula fought against her first instinct which was to throw herself into Brogan’s arms and sob. Instead, she followed his lead and kept her emotions buried; her throat burning with a lump which highlighted that her unconscious mind was desperate to speak up and tell the truth.

“Let me help you with that,” said Ursula grabbing for Brogan’s suitcases. Instead of handing them over he raised an eyebrow and held them tightly.

“Follow me,” she said ignoring the unspoken words which now resonated between them. She knew Brogan would also have plenty of things he’d decided were better left unsaid, for now.

As Brogan followed Ursula up the stairs she noted again the Prussian blue sky with its myriad of stars which felt like old friends.

“First thing tomorrow,” Brogan said once they’d reached the top of the stairs. “We move the cars.” He dramatically put the suitcases down on the floor. Ursula blinked at him in confusion.

“Move the cars?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

Ursula’s face crumpled. It was nine miles to the nearest village which was Haresford, why would he move the cars over to there? Brogan must have known she wasn’t ready to be found and more importantly, he must have been prepared to help her hide. “I’m so glad you’re with me on this one,” she sighed.

“I wouldn’t go that far Ursula,” he said, “but whatever you’ve done, and whatever you want to do or will do, I’m not leaving you. We’re a team.”

“Right,” Ursula nodded giving him a tentative smile.

“Who knows you have the shop?” Brogan asked.

“You,” said Ursula shaking her head, “there is no one else. Who else is there to know?”

“Not Simon?” asked Brogan pointedly raising an eyebrow.

“No”, she said. “Something stopped me telling him anything about Hagger’s Hill. I guess I just never wanted him involved in that side of myself. It’s a part of my life I didn’t want to think about. I’m very glad I did feel that way now.”

Brogan raised his eyebrow again.

Ursula continued, “I would have said something but there never seemed to be a good time. And then Simon started talking about…. You know… and it seemed the wrong time to talk about it, and well, you know…”

Brogan looked at the floor; avoiding eye contact. Ursula pulled her hands together and started inspecting her fingernails. It seemed as though neither of them wanted to recall the memories which filled their minds. And the words they both knew Ursula wanted to say went spinning through their heads slipping away, unsaid and buried.

“Ok,” said Brogan. “I think we both know if Simon knew about Hagger’s Hill he would be here right now.”

“I think so,” Ursula replied. “He probably won’t even link me back to East Anglia. But what if he finds the cars?”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Brogan laughed. “If you’re planning on staying here you don’t need a car anyway.” Brogan’s lip twitched. There was one more person who might guess, someone Ursula had forgotten. But then if they had they’d be here too, wouldn’t they?

“Maybe I should sell the car and buy a new one,” Ursula said.

“You can’t just sell a car!” Brogan laughed. “You need to register and tax it so people will know. If you sell the car you’re making it clear you’re never planning on going back. Do you want to do that? Already?”

Ursula’s face twisted as she considered what Brogan was saying. She didn’t really want to think about going back. Not yet. “Let’s burn it!” she said.

Brogan burst into laughter.

Ursula’s eyes opened wide as she nervously laughed too.

“That’s the spirit,” Brogan grinned but the smile etched on his face stiffened as he began to realise Ursula hadn’t been joking.

Ursula coughed gesturing to the doorway of the second bedroom. “This is your room.” She threw the door open.

Picking up the suitcases, Brogan squeezed carefully passed Ursula and stepped inside. Ursula watched as his shoulders began to twitch and then began to shake. A snort emanated from him followed by a giggle as he surveyed the 1970s décor in the tiny room.

“Oh Aunt Hilda!” he exclaimed.

“This was my bedroom,” Ursula laughed. “When I was a child I stayed in this room every single summer.”

Brogan took a deep breath looking serious for a moment before his expression softened once more. “I wish you’d let me be a part of this too,” he said. “This part of your life has been so far from me. Why?”

Ursula’s eyes narrowed, “You know why, you know”.

Contemplating the situation Brogan decided it was best under the circumstances not to start the conversation that would invariably follow if he continued questioning. He immediately threw his face into a bright grin and jumped onto the bed draping the synthetic bedding around him and winking. Ursula laughed, but it was a relieved laugh and came out slightly too loud and slightly too fast. She felt Brogan had decided she was too fragile to argue with at that time and this made her even more afraid than it would have done if he’d challenged her. What on earth was he thinking right now? And if Brogan, her challenger and adversary of old couldn’t bring himself to question her, what on earth would the rest of the world think?

Brogan made his excuses and went to bed. It was now very late and he could catch up with Ursula the next morning.

Brogan now in bed, Ursula retreated back to her own room. Grasping the reality of her situation she began looking through what she’d brought with her on her moonlight flight. She was pleased to see she’d remembered her toothbrush. How many days had she been here now and not used it? Or had she used it? She ran her tongue down the inside of her teeth. They felt clean. Her mind echoed back to the time she’d spent packing. Her hands had been shaking as she hastily pulled the smallest suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. Her chest was tight as she gasped for air, the deep breaths she needed to take in order to stave off the looming panic attack not an option for fear of waking the household. No one could know she was leaving; she needed to be as far away as possible before anyone was alerted to her absence. She remembered urgently grabbing at her belongings in the dark, umbrella and deodorant, spare tights and cereal bars. If the panic was stopping her lungs from working properly it was doing the same to her brain. She felt as though she didn’t know how to pack for an escape; after all it looked like she was packing for a day at work not a life on the run.

“Look at me,” Simon had insisted the day before she’d decided to escape. Or had it been a few days before? She couldn’t remember. “I can’t find you in your own face, your eyes are dead. Or are they just dead to me?”

She’d simply stared up at him with disbelief.

Was that kindness she saw in his face? Or was it anger? It wasn’t fair for him to say that to her. It wasn’t her cries that caused all the distress.

Now Ursula surveyed the results of her desperate attempts to keep quiet as she’d filled her suitcase. The packets and packets of sanitary towels she’d brought were no doubt essentials. The business cards however were of no use. Realising she had very little of her own belongings she decided she needed to make use of some of Aunt Hilda’s. After all, apart from spare tights and underwear she’d brought no clothes at all.

Ursula wondered whether she was a similar size to Aunt Hilda. Maybe this time last year she would have been but she sadly reminded herself she didn’t fit in her own clothes anymore let alone someone else’s. But Aunt Hilda’s clothes were going to be her best option, unless she wanted to wash the clothes she stood in every single day.

Tugging open one the doors, Ursula leant into the heavy oak wardrobe and breathed in deeply. If only she’d seen Aunt Hilda one last time. She grabbed a long velvet sleeve, its cuff an elegant bell shape, and held it to her cheek imagining her aunt’s voice talking to her; telling her everything was going to be ok. If only that were true, she thought.

Opening the second wardrobe she was taken aback. The clothes in there were mostly black and included tight jeans, band t-shirts, striped woollen tights, and leather. Ursula’s eyes widened at the sight of the leather thinking they were fetish clothes and for a brief moment she’d wondered if Aunt Hilda had been involved in that kind of scene. Maybe suburbia was catching up with Hagger’s Hill after all? But no, these were every day clothes worn by a young person with a rock music love. Why did Aunt Hilda have them? Ursula’s mother had been her aunt’s only sibling and she had no children of her own. Besides, Hagger’s Hill had an ageing population. Ursula’s mind flitted back to the witchcraft craze; did Aunt Hilda recently take in a lodger who was studying the Hagger’s Hill witches?