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1 AN OLD LAND ROVER
STORY 8 WITCHERY PART 1
There is an ongoing problem in the Foggydave household. It all started a few months ago. As I have said; my wife has the ability to scry, read bones, and work many of the other dark arts including knowing whenever I have done, or not done something, (although that may be just a wife thing). This comes from her time on the island where many Gods were worshipped, and the witch doctor was all powerful. My wife seems to have inherited many of the abilities of these Shaman or witch doctors. Had I not taken her off the island she would no doubt have risen in the ranks, not washed for ten years, be covered in ash, prophesying doom and gloom to all those willing to pay, and sticking pins in effigies of those who didnít. Now living in Britain and having gas central heating she couldnít do the ash thing, so concentrated on not washing, and the doom and gloom came in bucketfuls. For a few months she had been on about using her talents in this field and taking up fortune telling, pestering me to use the garden shed to practice it in.
Thinking this would get her out of the house and therefore give me a bit of peace and quiet, and also having been put under pressure (her foot on my head). I acquiesced and let her have half the shed, the other half I needed to store what men store in sheds i.e. junk, junk, and more junk. So adorning some stacked up jerry cans with an old shawl and installing two plastic garden chairs she opened for business. I had to draw the line at the red light bulb she was using for ambiance, as it would give the neighbours the wrong impression.
The first few weeks she had a lot of visits, the problem was they were the same two people, a pair of very old ladies who always went in stooped and decrepit and came out positively glowing. I put this down to the wife letting them contact their deceased husbands, so that they may again nag them about the things they did not do before they popped their clogs. I got involved when on returning home one evening I found the pet Gerbil missing, my wife had bought it a few months ago but seemed to be overfeeding it as it was a little on the obese side. I thought it best to let her know, because even though I had nothing to do with the disappearance, I would be blamed for some reason. So to get it over with I went down to the shed, discreetly knocking on the door, no one answered, so I quietly opened it to reveal the weirdest thing. Three naked women bent over a table upon which was strapped a struggling Gerbil, my wife the best kitchen knife in hand was I thought, about to plunge it into the poor creature whilst the other two were chanting some dirge, on the wall were black drapes, the light was supplied by black candles. I shouted for them to stop and my wife abruptly raised her head, scrying eye aglow in the spluttering light. What dark deeds were being done here? What awful depths was she plumbing? What loathsome creatures was she summoning up from the charnel houses of hell? What was for tea? Oh that our family had been bought to this ignominy. My wife turned and in a very calm voice asked what I wanted whilst nonchalantly cleaning her nails with the knife, the other two ladies looking very sheepish dived for some clothes, their bodies reminding me of two very dry wrinkled prunes. She then went on to explain that the gerbil had a splinter in its foot and they were trying to extract it. (With a twelve inch knife?)The nakedness she said was for hygienic reasons, the straps because it was struggling so. The black drapes being attributed to the soot from the candles. I did not have time to argue, because in their haste to get dressed one of the ladies knocked a candle over and it set light to the shawl covering the jerry cans. During the last fuel strike I had stocked up with forty gallons of petrol which I kept in jerry cans, the very same cans that were under the burning shawl. Pointing to them I shouted PETROL, my wife; mind acute as ever, quick as a flash bustled the two semi nude ladies out of the shed as with a mighty WHOOMP, the petrol ignited and the shed roof was lifted on a sheet of flame high into the air. We were protected somewhat from the blast by the walls of the shed which remained intact. We can only hope the poor Gerbil did not suffer but is now in Gerbil heaven copulating with all the Gerbils. (We each have our own idea on what activities will be available inside the pearly gates, my wifeís include not washing and hitting people, mine is eternal sex).
The incident was blamed on an unknown arsonist or possible secret pipe smoker, and no further enquiries were made by the authorities. This did not stop me later asking questions of my wife, a delicate task that had to be performed with all the skill of a master negotiator, coaxing a bull out of a china shop. It transpired that my wife wanted to expand on her psychic and dark powers by becoming a witch, she also admitted to latent tendencies of becoming a vampire. I found this last revelation far more disturbing and have since taken to wearing at night one of those spiky dog collars much used by rubber clad fetishists. It plays havoc with the pillows, but I sleep that much sounder. Being a very broadminded person and again giving in to much pressure (this time a severe squeezing of the scrotum) I said I would have no objection to her practicing whatever she liked, not that saying no would have made any difference, but we do live in a democracy. There are just different methods of squeezing. So my wife along with her two acolytes as she called the old ladies went forth into the community and hired the village hall for Thursday night.
To be continued