Witch Hunt

Chapter Twenty-Seven




When I got back to the hotel I lay down on the bed and tried to work it out. If I wasn’t going mad, then there was something happening to me for a reason. Rebecca had chosen to send that vision. But why? I knew how the witches were swum. And, yes, although I hadn’t experienced it like that before (had anyone lived to tell that tale?) I knew it was a horror. There had to be something else there. I didn’t know what though, so took out my notebook and tried to capture everything I’d ‘seen’.

When I finished I had just enough time to freshen up before Amelia arrived for dinner. A hot shower was just what I needed to expel the present chill I’d dredged up.

I shed my clothes and selected an exfoliating charcoal shower gel from the complimentary toiletries to elevate my dismal mood. Poor Rebecca. It was inhumane the things they subjected them to.

The power shower hit me with a force I was grateful for. I could feel the hardness of the water as it pummelled into my flesh. It did indeed seem to be taking away the unhealthy residue that surrounded me; I could almost see it disappearing down the plughole into the sewers and away from me. Thank God.

I reached up to the shelf, forgetting to shield my eyes from the water and cursed as a stream of hot liquid sprayed directly into them. I shut them tightly and groped around for the shower gel. My fingers latched onto the fat tube of body wash and squeezed hard. The top burst off and I smoothed the jelly-like liquid over my shoulders, underarms and breasts. I could feel tiny brittle flecks of the charcoal. Keeping my eyes closed, I rubbed some of it onto the pores about my nose and down around my chin.

My mood rose as I spread the lotion over my buttocks and the tops of my thighs.

Clean now, I opened my eyes. Grabbing the tube for a final scrub I pinched out another good squirt onto my hand and bent down to soap my legs. As I did so, out of the corner of my eye, I saw darkness around the plughole. I did a double take. There were scores of tiny lice-like insects crawling over each other trying to escape the water. Where the hell had they come from?

I reached my arm up to the showerhead, intending to unhook it and concentrate the spray on the bugs, but as my arm crossed in front of my face I saw that it was covered with the creatures. Indeed, as I looked down, I saw my entire body was swarming – the insects were crawling all over me, on my face, in my hair, over my belly, groin.

On the shelf above the shower, I could see the tube of gel – the creatures were swarming out of the nozzle.

I screamed out loud, and jumped from the bath, trying to rub off the lice. Grabbing a towel I stumbled into the bedroom and phoned reception.

It was only a few steps away and alerted by the shrill tone of my voice, the receptionist said he’d be up straight away. I flung on a bathrobe and a few seconds later a young man in a white shirt appeared in the doorway. Quickly I explained to him what had happened and watched him disappear into the bathroom.

Emerging minutes later he told me that he could find no lice. But there were black flecks in my gel that could perhaps be mistaken for ants.

Annoyed, I strode into the bathroom. He had tried to clear it up but there were still streaks of green liquid I had splashed on the wall whilst freaking out.

With tiny, tentative steps I went up to them. In their centre there were indeed black flecks, but they were chips of a coal-like substance.

This was not what I had seen, I told him, adamant. And offered up my towel for inspection – I had rubbed them off my body with this. As we both examined it I had to admit there was nothing there but the dull greenish stain of the scrub blended with the exfoliating material – small specks of charcoal.

‘They must have come out of the water then,’ I told him and insisted he look into the shower fittings.

The boy, evidently convinced he was dealing with a middle-aged hysteric, unscrewed the head and inspected it.

‘Nothing,’ he said calmly, though his cheeks had coloured on my behalf. ‘This place does play tricks on people who stay here,’ he said, in an attempt to make me feel better. ‘This was the Witchfinder’s room, they say. I ain’t had no problem with it. But some do. When that idea gets into your head it can make you think things I suppose.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to counter his accusation, feeling there was a vague insult attached – the notion that I might be weak minded, but I rued, this was a possibility. Instead I bit my lip and apologised.

When he left I ran the water in the sink and washed the remnants of the gel off myself. There were no lice, only the charcoal. What was it? Another sight? But why? I couldn’t understand it and went into the bedroom to put on some clothes. But the air was charged.

Something was starting to stir. I could feel it.