10 A Witch's Advice.

BOB SKELLINGTON’S REMAINS - Part 10

“Well,” said Rosie when the two detectives were back in her car, “what did you make of that?”

“It was odd, but it had a ring of truth to it,” replied the DC,

“I don’t think we’ll learn much from our bones’ little pamphlet, but I’ll give it a once-over while you drive,” murmured her DI, “I’ll let you know any interesting bits, just you keep your eyes on the road.”

“As if I’d do anything else … hey, look, over there, it’s my late granny’s friend. I’ll just say hello if you don’t mind, Rosie.”

Rosie looked up from the pamphlet to see where Sheila was pointing and almost strangled herself against her seat belt.

“Don’t!” she squealed, “Not her! Not the witch!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Sheila, surprised at her superior officer’s alarmed reaction, “she’s such a sweet old lady.”

“Until you see her rising on a broomstick or any other suitable shaped object she can find,” grated Rosie, “then she’s not sweet at all, but terrifying!”

The old lady in her cottage garden smiled in the direction of the car as Sheila pulled up and opened her window.

“Griselda!” she said, almost cooing, “how lovely to see you!”

“By the devil if it isn’t young Sheila,” came the reply, “I was so sorry to hear about your lovely granny, dear,” she added, “I’d known her half my life, the poor door. I used to babysit her when her folks wanted to go out for an hour or two, and we had such fun! I taught her a thing or two! We never had a dull moment!”

“I’m afraid I’m at work or I’d stop for a proper natter,” smiled Sheila.

“I was expecting you when I heard about the skeleton under the old caravan,” replied Griselda Entwhistle*, for the old woman was she.

“You heard about that?” put in Rosie, “you seem to hear about everything that’s going on, Miss Entwhistle,” she added

“Oh, I keep my ears to the ground. I think that’s the saying but if it isn’t I do that as well,” beamed Griselda, her ancient features folding into the biggest smile Sheila had ever seen.

“Never known to be kept in the dark,” mumbled Rosie.

“What’s that, my dear? Of course I’m not! Now I can tell you a thing or two about that skeleton, I can. Poor boy, so confused and muddle-headed,”

“You knew him?” asked Sheila.

“Of him, dearest, of him,” smiled Griselda, “I tell you what, if you need to save a bit of time you could do worse than pop in here with me and have a nice cup of tea while I tell you what I know. You won’t have to stay long and if your nice Inspector doesn’t want to enter the den of a wicked old witch then she doesn’t have to.”

Sheila glanced at her frowning DL “I think I should,” she said, “it might end up saving us quite a lot of time.”

“Do as you please,” replied Rosie grumpily, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you if she casts a spell on you and you turn into a frog!”

“Not a frog, dear,” smiled Griselda, who clearly had perfect hearing, “I do toads!”

“I’m coming then,” called Sheila.

“It’s the perfect time for a nice cup of tea. And don’t forget your umbrella. You don’t want to get wet, now, do you?”

“It’s not raining though,” pointed out Sheila.

“Isn’t it?” asked Griselda as a large spot splashed on the windscreen, followed by a shower of others, “come on, dear, you’ll have to hurry.”

Sheila, umbrella in hand, followed the elderly lady into her cottage. Inside it was dark and shadowed, with most of the windows three-quarters covered with heavy curtains. She followed Griselda into her kitchen, which was as cosy as a witch’s kitchen could be, she thought, when she spotted a huge cauldron bubbling away, hanging over a fire in its grate as if that’s what everyone had in their kitchens.

There were plenty of fire irons on the stone grate, but what took Sheila’s breath away and made her wonder if her boss knew more than she did was the sight of a weathered besom broom in one corner.

Griselda made two mugs of tea in less time than it normally takes to fill a kettle and invited Sheila to sit down.

“He was a poor lost soul,” she said sadly.

“Who was?” asked Sheila.

“The boy. Or man I suppose you’d say he was, the skeleton. He was muddled, you see. He’d fallen foul of his father, who was a bully and expected all of his sons to do brilliant things with their lives, but who can do anything brilliant if he’s under that kind of pressure?”

“It can’t be easy,” said Sheila hesitantly.

“Anyway, he called on me after he’d written his excuse for s book. He showed me it, and, you know, I actually read it. All turgid nonsense, of course, but not as nonsensical as what was really rolling round in his mind. You might be able to fool yourself, my dear, but nobody can fool old Griselda! And I told him so! He said he was going to have to think things out before the crows got him. I told him that crows are quite harmless and even intelligent birds. Some of them, I said, number among my fondest friends! He said he was going to visit the Prime Minister and ask his advice, or hers if there’s a change between him setting out and a woman taking over the reigns currently held by a bumbling idiot who sits where I once sat. I was the Prime Minister for a while, you know, and simplified quite a few complex things.”

“So Mr Skellington decided to consult the actual Prime Minister?” asked a surprised Sheila.

“Oh yes, my dear. In fact I told him he’d be a fool if he didn’t! So if I were you I’d tell that gorgeous bronzed boss of yours that you’re off to Downing Street to call on, what’s his name, a buffoon if ever there was one! And when you get to see him, as you will, my dear, give him my regards and tell him he’s only keeping the seat warm for old Griselda.”

“I’ll tell Rosie,” stammered Sheila, “thanks for the tea, it was really nice, and I’ll get back to my boss and see what she has to say.”

“She’ll agree, my dear, just you see if she doesn’t,” Griselda told her, and followed her to the cottage door, and when she opened it the rain started falling afresh.

“Umbrella dear,” she cooed, smiling.

© Peter Rogerson, 09.02.21

*For more about my favourite witch see my novel Spellbound, available from the POD publisher Lulu.com