The Witch's Blood

Chapter 1 – Christmas

Soft, feathery flakes of snow had fallen overnight, leaving a carpet of white to greet the villagers of Lower Turgle that Christmas morning. Inside the Tucker home the atmosphere had been electric with excitement and anticipation for the day ahead; welcoming and a haven of cosiness.

“Ah Christmas. I do love Christmas,” Maisie Tucker swooned as she gazed happily at the festive scene beyond the frost covered window pane. She turned her attention back to her family, her eyes straying longingly towards the enormous tin of chocolate covered biscuits sitting open on the rug. With its contents poised to tempt and tantalise the taste buds of the sweet toothed amongst them, it was a never-to-be-missed Christmas treat. After sneaking one of the delectable delights for herself, Maisie quickly licked the evidence from her fingers, hoping that no-one had noticed. After all, she had announced to the family that, despite all the goodies that would be on offer over the festive season, she was determined not to over indulge. Confident her misdemeanour had not been spotted she looked over at Lottie and Grace and watched contentedly as her precious girls eagerly began distributing gifts from the generous heap piled haphazardly beneath the splendid tree.

After what had seemed like an impossibly long wait for all, Christmas was under way at last.

“Oh look, here’s one for you, Dad,” Lottie cried as she handed Freddie Tucker the first gift of the day. “And it’s from Alfie.”

“Thanks son. Oh dear, it looks suspiciously like a book,” he said less than enthusiastically. He glanced at his son, wondering why the boy would buy him a book when he knew full well he had little interest in them.

“You’re not wrong there. Yes, it is a book. But this one’s special Dad. I know you’ll like it,” Alfie said as he watched with eager anticipation as the present was hastily ripped open.

“That’s odd. It hasn’t got a title?”

“Of course it has. Look again and look inside,” Alfie responded, certain that his father would be thrilled with what he’d chosen for him.

“Is this your idea of a joke,” Freddie Tucker roared as he threw the book across the room at his bewildered son.

“What do you mean,” Alfie exclaimed, catching it mid flight.

“Well look at it. There’s hardly anything written on the pages. They’re virtually blank. And what’s more, the few words that are there just keep coming and going! It’s of no use to me if there’s nothing to read.”

With the family looking on in horror, Alfie opened the book.

Freddie Tucker was right.

The room fell silent; everyone staring at Alfie in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you would play such a cruel trick on Dad, Alfie,” Grace hissed at him, “and at Christmas, too.”

“But I didn’t,” he protested. “When I wrapped it up, it did have a title and what’s more, I know exactly what the title was. It was there I promise! There was absolutely nothing wrong with the book, I swear.”

Alfie was devastated. After months of effort, he’d only recently managed to get on the right side of his father. The last thing he wanted to do, today of all days, was jeopardise his still fragile relationship with the man.

“Look, never mind Alfie dear,” Maisie Tucker sympathised. “I’m sure we can sort it all out later. But now here’s my very special present to you. I do hope you like it.”

Alfie could tell by the shape that it was books - the great love of his life – and full of anticipation, tore the wrapping from the package in a trice.

“Wow. Wicked - and all seven volumes, too. Thanks Mum. How cool is that,” he returned, hardly able to contain his excitement. But as he started to flip through the pages, he too was in for a shock.

“I don’t understand it. What’s going on? There’s hardly a word to be seen. These pages keep going blank too,” Alfie exclaimed.

“What’s happening,” Lottie screamed as she picked up gift after gift, each bearing a partly written tag. “You silly lot have forgotten to write the labels properly so how can I dish out the presents when I don’t know who they’re for?”

“What are you talking about,” Maisie cried as she rifled feverishly through the heap. “I’m positive I wrote on all of mine?”

“Me too,” the girls cried in unison as they searched frantically for tags from the gifts already handed out.

“That’s odd,” a confused Lottie cried waving them aloft. “These have to be the right labels, but look, they’re all blank! What’s more, they must have had names on them otherwise how would we have known who to give them to?”

“Dad,” Alfie appeased, “the book was all about famous footballers. I know how much you love football and it took ages to find a copy. I have no idea what’s happened.”

But the man wasn’t listening and, leaping to his feet, announced that Christmas was turning into a farce and disappeared into the kitchen demanding his breakfast be served.

Alfie was beside himself. Unbelieving at what had just happened he raced up to his bedroom and, once through the door, collapsed to the floor, his head gripped by a piercing pain. He rolled around screaming in agony as a torrent of uninvited recollections bombarded his brain. The pressure of the overload was so great, he felt his head was about to explode. It was only once the influx had stopped that he realised not only what was going on, but also what he was going to have to do to sort the problem out.

As if the day hadn’t got off to a bad enough start already, an urgent hammering on the Tucker’s front door brought a torrent of frustrated cries from the already jittery family

“Doesn’t anyone around here realise it’s Christmas Day,” Freddie Tucker growled as he stomped to the door, more than ready to tell whoever it was to get lost.

But the two shivering figures standing on the doorstep were the last he’d expected to see.

“What do you two want? Don’t you know what day it is,” the grumpy man demanded, surprised to see Ludo and Persephone sheltering beneath the snow covered porch.

“Of course we do Mr Tucker,” Ludo returned, wishing the man a Happy Christmas. “We wouldn’t have bothered you if it hadn’t have been urgent. So please can we see Alfie for a minute. Something’s very wrong and we think Alfie’s the only person who can put it right.”

“So you think my son’s to blame for all the disappearing words do you? I don’t see how and I certainly don’t understand why you think he’s going to be able to miraculously fix whatever it is that’s going on,” the man grumbled, begrudgingly reciprocating the festive wish.

“Please, you have to believe us. We think he can help, really we do,” they pleaded.

“Ok. I guess you’d better come in then. He’s in his bedroom. He’s probably having a sulk but there’s so much noise coming from up there, I haven’t a clue what he’s up to,” the man agreed as the pair rushed roughly by him and thundered up the stairs, leaving the bewildered Tuckers to wonder how many more calamities would befall them on a day that was already promising to be one to remember.

“Freddie my dear, it’s not only the presents that are affected. I’ve just checked yesterday’s Daily Read. That’s the same and so is my calendar. In fact, anything that had writing on it is now, for the most part, blank – even my diary! It’s a real mystery,” a worried Maisie declared.

“An unbelievable one if you ask me, although I find it hard to believe that you would count the loss of the scribblings in your diary as any great catastrophe,” Freddie Tucker snarled.

“Anyway dear, who was that banging on the door? Doesn’t anyone realise what day it is?” his usually unruffled wife called back as she scurried through to the kitchen.

“Alfie’s friends, Ludo and Persephone! Can you believe that? They seem to think that this mess has something to do with Alfie. Of course I don’t believe a word of it. Load of rubbish if you ask me.”

Choosing to ignore her husband’s moanings, and desperate to take her own mind off the disastrous start to the day, Maisie set about conjuring up the most amazing Christmas breakfast ever in a bid to appease the disgruntled man. The last thing she wanted was for him to have one of his ‘bah humbug’ days – well, not on Christmas Day anyway!

The sound of his parents’ bickerings had already reached the top of the stairs by the time Ludo and Persephone arrived at Alfie’s door; the impatient pair bursting into the room uninvited.

“What’s going on Alfie? There’s not a book in my house that’s unaffected?” Ludo blurted out.

“The same in mine,” Persephone echoed.

“Come on in, why don’t you,” Alfie sarcastically invited as he searched their worried faces for answers. But in his own mind he already had an inkling what had caused the catastrophe unfolding before their eyes.

“Have either of you two had any unexpected recollections in the last half hour?” he asked.

“Odd you should say that,” Persephone answered. “I definitely have and I’ve still got the headache to prove it,” she complained, cradling her head in her hands, over-dramatising as usual.

“Me too,” Ludo recalled. “But some of them were really odd.”

Alfie confessed that he’d received so many he didn’t quite know what to make of half of them. It was all so confusing. But after a short discussion, the trio decided that perhaps they should just sit down, pool all the information they suddenly found themselves in possession of, and see what sense they could make of it.

As each in turn revealed the memories that by then had become crystal clear, it quickly became apparent that the common denominator was a relic called The Gilded Lexicon.

“Look,” Alfie said, “from what we are saying, it’s obvious to me that all that happened to us in the past, had to have occurred over quite a long period of time and that, one way or another, we were all involved. Now that we know where we’ve been and what we’ve done, I think we can understand what’s going on and why. Agreed?”

“It’s that awful Bletherwytch, isn’t it?” Persephone squeaked. “Something tells me that I had a feeling at the time she hadn’t been destroyed.”

“You’re not the only one. I had a sneaking suspicion as well,” Alfie admitted, “especially when I discovered a small heap of black dust lurking amongst some books just now – most of them blank by the way. What’s more, I think that what’s been uncovered today points to just one thing. The Witch’s Blood must have been removed from The Gilded Lexicon!”

“So what do we do now?” Persephone asked.

“Go back of course. If The Bletherwytch did survive – and I have to say that does seem likely - then we have to track her down. I also think that once we’ve found her, she’ll lead us to The Witch’s Blood. If we’re to believe what we’ve always been told, returning it to The Lexicon is the only way to make things right again. Do you agree?” Alfie said, hoping they would share the same opinions.

“But that old house - it’s gone, hasn’t it? There’s a load of houses there now. So how are we expected to find our way back?” Ludo asked.

“I guess we just return to where we think it was, and see what happens. We have no other choice,” Alfie told them thoughtfully.

So, decision made, the three trooped back downstairs, Alfie grabbing his rucksack on the way. Once at the bottom, and much to the shock of the family, the trio announced they would be going out.

“But you can’t. Not today, Alfie. Besides, you’ve still got presents to open,” a furious Maisie pleaded, hoping that, outwardly at least, it would appear that she was attempting to persuade her son and his friends to see reason.

“Look, I’m sorry everything’s so messed up. But trust me. There’s no point in opening any more presents until what needs to be done has been done. And to do that, I need Ludo and Persephone. There’s no other way to put things right, I promise you. We won’t be long,” Alfie assured her. “Besides, there’s no way I’m going to miss my Christmas dinner and who knows, I might even get to find the silver sixpence in the Christmas pudding this year. Now that really would be something. It’s usually Lottie or Grace who grab that little nugget.”

Shaken by the unscheduled Christmas exodus, all the family could do was watch from the doorstep. Even a bemused Goliath, with Dolly perched on his head, looked on in disbelief. Still hoping to stop them leaving, Alfie’s bewildered parents pleaded with the fleeing trio; their cries falling on deaf ears as the three disappeared down the street at a run.

“You just wait until that boy gets back,” Freddie Tucker fumed as he stormed back indoors, the sight of neighbouring twitching curtains irking him even further. It seemed that the cosy Christmas at number ten, Ditchmanor Crescent, Lower Turgle, wasn’t the only one ruined by the extraordinary goings on that day.

And so it was that, harbouring secrets known only to herself, all Maisie Tucker could do was look on in nervous contemplation as the figures hurtled into the snowy distance, growing smaller and smaller until they were and finally out of sight.

“Good luck, Alfie dear,” his mother whispered; she alone aware of the dangers that lay ahead for the plucky threesome as they set off on a mission to right a devastating wrong.