The Witches Page #4

- That's Linda's doll.

- It's got no head!

Ooh!

- Look!

- Look at that!

I'll give it back to you later, Linda.

But look at this -

stuck full of pins and its head missing.

- What do you think it could possibly be?

- Witchcraft?

- Hmmm

- Somebody having a little dabble?

Yes, I would think so.

Or did you think I was going to say,

"No, no, no, it can't happen here?"

I bet there are lots of remote spots where

remnants of witchcraft are still practised.

Places like Heddaby in fact.

I've often wondered.

- What are we going to do?

- Do? Ah...

Well, I'd like to start

by removing those pins.

Yes, we could...

Oh, no. Emphatically not.

Do you see why?

Well, that would mean admitting

belief in it - to ourselves, I mean.

- Oh, I see.

- I did some articles on witches once.

No, not witches - damn them -

people who thought they were witches.

The psychology of it.

It's a sex thing deep down of course.

Mostly women go in for it-

older women.

Like er... Mrs Rigg for instance?

Yes. They relish the idea

of a secret power,

especially when their

normal powers are failing.

Now, they may believe in it.

The point is do we ?

What are we giving in to

if we admit the possibility

that a healthy young kid

can be put in hospital by mere ill will?

- That's where it gets fascinating.

- I see.

What we admit we believe

and what we believe, I suppose,

could destroy us.

Oh, beautifully put.

Did you ever write anything?

- Well, I...

- I've got it.

Why don't we collaborate

on an article together?

- You... Oh, I couldn't.

- You could!

Nobody better.

About these very things.

Fetish men in Africa,

witchcraft in England.

There may be more in common

than people think.

It's very good

for a Sunday magazine, too.

- Oh, I'd love to!

- Good. It's settled. We'll split the fee.

Really, we could help each other.

Writing's good, you know. It heals.

And right now Ronnie Dowsetfs

probably responding fast to penicillin.

But we'll hang on to this

for the illustrations.

Miss Mayfield!

- That thing... how did it get here?

- What thing?

Oh, this little duster?

I've been wondering

where I put it.

Kind of a feather duster...

Did you buy it?

No, it's one of the things

Mr Bax had sent.

Oh. Took a pill, did you?

No wonder.

I had a cousin of mine

who used to take pills -

made her walk in her sleep.

Fancy!

Nowjust you wait -

I'll get you a nice cup of tea.

Oh, Mr Dowsett.

I didn't expect you this morning.

I just thought I'd do a bit...

keep my mind off things.

- Any news?

- Just the same.

It's three days now.

They're making tests, they say.

Yes, I know,

Miss Benson's been calling.

His mum's been up the hospital

all the hours that's in.

I went there yesterday myself.

Did you see him?

He didn't know me.

Mr Dowsett...

Well, these things take time.

He's in good hands.

They're bound to find the trouble.

- Er, Valerie...

- Yes, Ma'am?

Could you make Mr Dowsett

some tea and some breakfast?

Thank you.

- Oh, I took him that bat.

- Good.

- Mrs Dowsett.

- What do you want?

I was going to the hospital

to see how Ronnie was.

They won't let you -

only me, because I'm his mother.

- I only wanted to know how he was.

- They won't tell you anything.

They don't know anything.

Them and their tests.

- He just lies there.

- ls he worse?

He's as well as can be expected.

That's what they say.

Expect!

What do you expect then?

He'd be sitting up,

laughing and chatting...

God, I wish I knew.

- Let me give you a lift home.

- No, I can go by bus.

Oh no, the car's just here.

You'll be home in a minute.

Come along.

What do you think

is the trouble with Ronnie?

How would I know?

But you're his mother.

You must have an instinct.

Perhaps.

Do you think

it's a natural illness?

I always took good care of him.

Always.

Why shouldn't it be?

Mrs Dowsett, I don't know

if this means anything to you,

but yesterday

I found a doll in the fork of a tree.

- Doll?

- Hmm.

It was stuck full of pins,

and the head was missing.

I... I don't know what you mean -

talking about dolls.

What...

what kind of silly talk is that?

Well, last year

you had the shingles.

- Shingles? I don't remember.

- Your husband told me.

Shingles. Dolls.

You're just trying to mix me up, that's all.

You're trying to upset me.

- Put me down.

- But I...

Just put me down here.

But I'm only thinking

what's best for Ronnie.

You only want to interfere.

He could have gone away to that school.

He'd have been out of it by this.

But oh no, you had to butt in

and do things your way.

- Believe me, it's for Ronnie's good.

- His good?

Do you call it his good

where he is now?

Who's that?

Oh, Mr Dowsett.

I... I seen your light.

- Can I come in?

- Please do.

You've heard?

About Ronnie?

Yes, isn't it wonderful news?

Hmm.

You've been celebrating.

When is he coming home?

- They've gone.

- What?

Both of them.

She packed up her things.

Said she was taking the boy

straight off to her folks in Wales. See?

Your wife said that?

The boy must never

come back here, she said.

It'd finish him, she said.

So, that was it.

She said to me, she said,

you can come with us or stay,

just as you like, but we're off.

- It means his life, that's what she said.

- Of course.

I... I can't just go like that.

All my life I lived here.

- I didn't forbid her. Should I have?

- No.

What can have happened?

I... think I can tell you.

What?

Well, go on then... go on!

Last evening

your wife went to visit old Mrs Rigg.

- Did you know that?

- No.

And together, lthink,

some sort of bargain was struck.

What bargain?

I don't know. I'm not sure.

- Where are you going?

- I'm going to find out.

I'm going to see old Granny Rigg.

- I'm going to find out!

- Mr Dowsett...

Let me past.

I got to phone the police.

- It's West Dowsett. He's dead.

- Mr Dowsett?

Yeah, I found him up in the sheep field

there, in the pond. Drowned.

Drowned?

But I saw him last night.

He must have fell in drunk.

- Did you see him in here last night?

- He was well away.

Where did you see him?

He came by the school house last night.

We had a word.

That must have been late.

Didn't he come to see you?

Me, Miss? Come to see me?

Oh, I only wish he had, poor soul.

I'd have helped him.

Sent him home sober -

not like some people.

Gwen, my dear.

Dodo! Thatcher! Come here!

Come here at once!

You bad dogs. Sit!

They broke away and wouldn't answer -

they've never done it before. Are you hurt?

- No, it's nothing. I'm glad you came.

- Let me help you.

No, there's something

I wanted to show you.

- Oh, what?

- Well, there were footprints.

Oh, the sheep...

They're gone.

Well, the man who found

poor Dowsett probably left marks.

N0, there were others.

Bare feet.

Mr Dowsett

wasn't here alone last night.

He went from me to old Mrs Rigg.

Suppose he interrupted something,

and they...

They brought him here to the pond

and drowned him.

- They? Who?

- There were lots of them there.

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