The Hawthorn Tree - Number 4
Sweet screams are made of these...
Hawthorn 1 Hawthorn 2 Hawthorn 3
You know you’re pretty low when even a fourteen-year-old notices you’re struggling. Poppy had come into her mother's bedroom, which used to be our old front room, and announced, “Dad, you needed to get out!” It was plain to see that both of them had made their decision, so there was no point in arguing.
Carol promised she was fine, and after I made Poppy promise that if anything happened, she would call me immediately. My daughter ordered me to put on my coat and walk down two houses to Suzie’s, where she was running a community event in her front garden.
Happy life, happy wife – I did what I was told. Still, as I stood in the crowd attentively listening to Suzie talk about the idea behind the wishing bottles and how she intended to decorate her Hawthorn Tree with them, I felt uncomfortably alone …and jealous.
I would have done anything for Carol and Poppy to stand beside me, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I watched Suzie and was struck by how emotionally light she seemed. She’s a widow with the freedom to move to a new village, be creative, and do anything she wants. My big adventure, in comparison, is walking two houses down the street to her garden.
Envy pretty much held my heart in its cold hands as it murmured tainted thoughts into my mind. The moment Carol had a stroke, you lost your job, your freedom and your friends. You’ve lost everything that made you… you!
It was hard to watch Suzie after that little thought blossomed.
We were all given a bottle in the shape of a Christmas bauble, and as I walked around the garden, I tried to think of something I could whisper into it that wouldn’t make me a selfish, childish bastard. Looking around at everyone else, they all seemed happy with their lot in life. All this ‘fairy’ and ‘wishes’ was just bull-shite ‘cause no amount of wish’n was gonna make my life any better. …Why not just get it off my chest, shove it in a bottle and be done with it?
“I wish I wasn’t married to Carol anymore.”
The cork slipped slowly into the neck of the bottle, and as it did, I felt like a complete shite. Mr Smitty, who was close enough for me to overhear him, whispered loudly, “I wish I could see my wife again.”
I don’t think she’ll come back. She’s better off wherever she is without hav’n to live with him. He’s a bloody creep!
Carol and I have this wacko theory that he murdered her and shoved her body into the deep freezer under the stairs, and every Halloween, he pulls her out and has a dance with her in the back room.
It’s not true, but it gives us a laugh. Yeah… our humour matches our life - pretty dark.
*
“Here you go, Suzie!” Guilt built up inside as I blurted, “Dae you mind if A tak one o yer wee bottles home for Carol?”
“Of course, Malcolm.” Suzie smiled brightly, and her blue eyes made me feel uncomfortable with the amount of empathy they held. “When she whispers, bring it back, and I’ll hang it up. Or if I’m not here, feel free to do it yourself.”
“Ay, thank ye very much.” Mr Smitty watched me with stony eyes. “Evening, Mr Smitty.” He was taken aback that I’d noticed him and replied curtly. “Aye, Connolly, good evening.”
*
“Here, Dad, let me!” Poppy shooed me out of the room. “Mam and I already decided what she’s gonna wish for.”
The bedroom door was firmly closed. “Right!” I called out, “Shall I make us a wee cuppa tea then?” There was no answer, so I went and did it anyway.
Once the tea was made, the precious bottle was handed to me with Poppy beaming. Just lately, I hadn’t seen enough of that grin on my daughter’s face. Another wave of guilt about my wish washed over me.
“Shall A go hang it now, Dad?”
“Och noo, it’s a wee bit dark, lass.” I looked out the kitchen window to where the stars were already making their presence known. “I’ll go. Here, take ya mother’s beaker,\ tae her; the tea’s just the right temperature.”
And with that, I had my second sojourn into freedom for the day.
*
The Hawthorn tree looked bonny, all covered in twinkling wish bottles. It was as if Christmas had arrived early. I placed Carol’s wish at the heart of them all, hoping I wouldn’t mess up Suzie’s design. Pity, I hadn’t put my name on my own bottle; otherwise, I would have taken it off.
An echoing scream rang out into the night’s crisp air, “WHAT the Bloody HELL!” belted out ta my gob. Hard listening held my attention for a minute or two, that and rapid heartbeats. I’d never heard such a blood-curdling cry before. Not one to show my fear, I called out, “Bugga off, ya bloody fox. Go ‘n scream at someone’s hens, ya dunderheaded sod.”
“Mr Connolly?”
“Shite! Whit dae ye think ye're doin’ sneakin’ up on a man like that?”
A young, tall woman dressed in black stepped out from the cobbled market square’s shadows. I wouldn’t call her beautiful because her features were so perfect, they looked odd an’ her smile was too… hungry.
“Come noo, Mr Connolly; how come dinna ye just keep walking? No one wull ken where ye are!”
“Why are ye talkin’ like ma granddad? That’s weird, that!”
She smiled like a joke was being played on me. “That's fur Connolly; I'm older than yer great great grand faither.”
The blond woman turned her head left and right as if checking we were alone.
This was not a conversation I wanted to get into. “Right. Okay. Well, I'm no intae takin whit yer intae taking, sae I’ll just take myself home ‘cause it’s cold out here. Guid night.” And with that, I started walking as fast as a six-foot-one beefy man is allowed to walk away from a tall blond.
“Connolly, ye wished nae tae be married any mair. Ah, kin make yer wish come true!”
Calling back over my shoulder, “Na offence, love, A probably wad have taken ye up on yer offer twenty years ago, but A'm happily married wi a family. A'm na longer young, dumb, an’ full of...
A searing pain exploded in my right shoulder, then another as something ragged and sharp was pulled out of me. Bellowing like a wounded bull, I twisted to find the blond standing right behind me, a black twisted and curled spike in her hand. My blood dripped down onto the pavement, creating little red blossoms on the pavement. “What have ya done?”
The psycho laughed, “A'm given' ye yer wish!” Her eyes sparkled with delight as the curved spike was thrust into my stomach.”
The market square muffled my quiet groan as she pulled the spike out and the burning agony took hold.
Her joyous voice screeched out from her vicious features as she watched me attempt to stem the flow of blood. “Come, Connolly. Th' best way tae nay be married is tae be dead!” Laughter from the devil himself filled her throat as the twisted dark blade was licked, showing her long, blackened tongue curl around it in the process.
Punching that psycho bitch broke every rule that’d ever been beaten into me as a lad. Down she went like a sack of tatties! Holding my stomach, I lurched home, hollering out in terror. “Poppy!” Blood smeared over the front door’s white paint and lock. “Poppy, help me!” echoed up our passageway.
Bewildered, she poked her head out of the doorway of the front room. “What’s got inta ya?”
“Dinnae open this bloody door for anthin’ or anyone, ye understand?” My hands were shaking like leaves. “A’ ve just been stabbed by a psycho! I’m bleed’n everywhere! Call the ambulance!”
“Whit dae ye mean Dad? Ye're okay! Ye're okay!” She grabbed my hands and showed me how clean they were. Pulling up my jumper and shirt, my skin was whole and unpunctured.
A scream came from Carol’s room, sending a terrifying jolt through me. Bolting into her room, I yelled ferociously, “Dinnae ye fuckin dare! Get away from her.”
The psycho with her cheek bruised by my punch stood by Carol, holding up her arm, pulling my poor wife off her bed, ready to thrust her curved spike into her heart. Carol could do nothing as only her paralysed side was free of that mad bitches grip.
“Whit say ah end yer good wife 'ere 'n' noo, 'n' set ye free?” The black dagger plunged up to its hilt in Carol’s chest. Her eyes widened as she screamed out in agony to me. Fresh blood began spurting out of her chest, dressing gown and white linen.
Adrenaline took over as I barrelled into the psycho, pushing her off and onto the floor. She turned laughing, teeth looking like they belonged to a shark.
“Poppy, call an ambulance, NOW!”
“Why Dad? There’s nothing wrong!” Poppy pulled at my hands as I held them tightly to Carol’s chest. “You're just seeing things. Mam’s alright. Please stop it. Stop it, Dad, she's fine, you’re hurting her!"
Carol weakly grasped my hand and slurred, “Mal, I’m fine.”
And there again, my hands were clean. No blood, no spike and no blond witch on the floor. Looking into their stunned faces, I could only stammer, “A dunno whit's happenin’. A saw her on the street. She stabbed me an’ A was bleed’n, an’ when you screamed Carol, A saw her here.” I pointed to the floor where the witch had laid but moments ago. “An’ she just stabbed ye, Carol! Right in the chest. I swear it’s the truth!”
A laugh as cold as the devil’s grin echoed up from the passageway.
“Listen. Dinnae ye hear tha’?” Rapid running footsteps announced the witch was now sprinting up the passageway. “Poppy!” Lunging forward, I grabbed my daughter and swung her behind me as she screamed out in fright.
An’ then there was no sound. Nothing but the quiet, suffocating night and my family behind me as I peered out into the empty, well-lit passageway.
“Mal, you alright?” The concern in Carol’s voice was only damped by her fear of what I was doing.
“A swear tae ye both; A'm no mad. A seen her twice before, an A heard her runnin’ towards us just then. A swear tae ye!”
Both my girls looked bewildered and frightened at my behaviour.
From outside, a shadow passed across the front room’s big bay window, and there the witch stood, her smiling cold face illuminated like resurrected death. Her mouth parted, showing needle teeth and eyes as black as shining coal.
“Come noo, Malcolm. Mak' yer decision. Stay inside 'n' ah promise ah will send ye mad, 'n' ye murdurr yer guidwife 'n' daughter. Or ye kin come ootdoors 'n' play wit’ me!”
Poppy stepped closer to her mother, holding Carol’s hand. She sought comfort as I asked them both desperately, pointing to the monster outside the window. “Can ye not see her?”
Poppy leaned over her mother and stared right into the witch’s face, with only a pane of glass separating them. “Na, Dad. There’s nobody there!”
Shouting loudly for them to hear the truth, tears rolled down my face, “She's right there, smilin’ like the devil!”
Carol reached out for me, “Mal, it’s been hard for ye. Here, sit wit’ me. Poppy gae call an ambulance.”
“Come oot 'n' play, Connolly! Come afore ah na longer want tae play wit ye 'n' turn mah eyes tae yer daughter.”
The woman’s face was so elongated there was no longer any doubt as to what she was.
“Ah promise ye, Conolly, mah wee boys wull have so much fun play’n wit her fur days 'n' days.” The Fae’s face turned dark as her evil thoughts blossomed on her features. “Come oot, Conolly, before I come in!”
And then I caught sight of her ears, and I knew… I didn’t have a choice.
With our stupidity and ignorance, we’d woke a Sluagh Sidhe with our wishes on the Hawthorn tree, and she’d come for us. There was no way to protect my wife and child without sacrifice. It was my wish that caused this. I was the reason they might die if I didn’t act.
Carol smelt so wonderful as I embraced her for the last time. “Na love, A'm alricht. A love ya. A love ya both so much.” Nervous shivering ran through Poppy’s arms as she hugged me back. “But A'v gotta go outside and check a few things. Ye stay here, an’ dinnae open the door for nothin’. No even me!”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, “Dinnae go, just sit down here wi Mam an A'll go make us a cuppa.”
“Na lass, A'v got tae go.”
Peeling my daughter off my arm and ignoring my wife’s pleas was agony itself. Nothing this Sluagh Sidhe could do to me would hurt as much.
*
The front door’s lock clicked into place as the cold night air frosted my breath. Smashing glass from over the market square and screams from up the road echoed into the still night. My wish wasn’t the only one being granted.
The dark elf stood outside the front window, grinning, ensuring I could see Carol and Poppy had front-row seats to my death.
“Why canae they see ye?” If talking to this monster delayed the inevitable, then so be it.
The Sluagh revelled in having her demands met and trilled her elated response. “Ah will fur it tae be this way. Just as ah now will it for them tae see you die!” She closed her eyes and released a breath.
Poppy screamed first while Carol’s eyes widened in disbelief before she turned her pale, petrified face to me and yelled, “Run Mal, RUN!”
“Och please dae Mal, please dae. Ah love tae hunt!” Vicious delight blossomed over the Fae’s cold, narrow features as she drew the curled, wicked stake out from her dark clothing. “Let me introduce ye tae mah devil’s horn fur real this time.” She looked at Carol and Poppy, who were now banging on the window’s glass, screaming at me to run. “Or wull ye save yersel' 'n' ah use my horn to skewer ye poorly wife?” A sigh was taken as the nightmare elf looked at my family and their agony and whispered dreamily. “So many games to play!”
“Ye can gae shove yer stake up yer arse. A'm no runnin’ for no one!” My feet planted themselves firmly.
Poppy and Carol’s screeches and cries almost drowned out the look of utter evil delight that embraced the dark fairy's features before she raised her arm to swing down the stake into me.
Yelling, “Don’t look.” was the only thing I could do to try to spare my family the pain of seeing me slaughtered.
Laughter, as cold as a winter’s gale, swept out into the night, taking all my hope with it. The fae’s arm swung down, “I’m so sorry, I love ye!”
The laughter stopped abruptly. As if a guillotine had fallen, cutting all sound to silence. Looking up into the wide eyes of the confused fairy, her arm frozen in mid-swing, black gooey blood bubbling out of her mouth. The elf coughed and choked before the spike was dropped, and with a shaking hand, she held the tip of a wooden spike covered in black blood poking out of her chest.
“Don’t just stand thare gaupin like a bloody goldfish, help me drive the other willow stake intae her heart, an we can finish her.”
“Jimmy Clarkson!” Reality twisted and turned as I looked over the dark fairy’s shoulder and into the rough face of our local rubbish bin man.
“Ay, dae ye need a bloody written invitation tae help me?” His blue eyes blazed out from underneath a black beanie. He pushed the Sluagh against the front window and shoved a sharpened stake of willow still attached to its cricket bat handle into my hand.
“Willow's the only thin tha’ ends 'em. Shove it intae her heart, young Mal, whilst we've still got the chance.”
The nightmare fae spat blackened spittle to the ground and snarled at me.
“NOW, Mel, NOW! Before she sets herself free!”
As I raised the stake, the elf looked on as I yelled desperately. “Slaugh, if A let ye gae, will ye leave us alone?”
“NO! Ah will rip ye a' tae pieces! An’ dine on all ya hearts.” Her fingers gained purchase on the stake in her chest, allowing it to be pulled and tugged at. She laughed as her efforts slid it further out of her chest wall.
“So be it!”
Down came the willow stake directly into her heart. Her eyes widened in disbelief as I leaned in and whispered into her long ear.
“I hate fuck’n games!”
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The Dark Elf gets it in the end.