Torment (2 page)

It was customary for mothers to leave their babies
outside of the cramped, narrow shops in their prams. This was especially true
on a gorgeous sunny spring day like this. Any respite from the crowded
conditions of Council housing in London’s East End was welcome.

With Hitler’s long shadow ten years gone, there was an
optimistic air among the people. They’d survived a great, horrible war. Now was
the time to thrive and move forward, to bring England into a new era of
prosperity.

The neat row of baby carriages was a testament to
this. Most were nearly new, bought on hire purchase to hold a family’s future.
Some children slept. Others goggled up at the bright blue sky. One chattered
joyfully, sitting up and enthusiastically shaking a well-loved rattle.

Smiles, even on the hardest, weariest faces, came to
those who looked upon these jolly cherubs. As a rule, no one stopped longer
than it took to wave and coo. Any mother in full on protection mode was a
fearsome sight.

Which is why the hunched woman hobbling to the prams
drew some nervous glances. She limped along the uneven cobblestones on a
gnarled blackthorn walking stick, dressed in a heavy old man’s overcoat and
battered black work boots. A ragged hole was hacked into the right shoe to
relieve a bunion. A small, dirty canvas drawstring bag was clutched to her bony
chest. Unruly black hair stuck out from an absurdly large, wide brimmed grey
hat. Wires stuck out from the front where flowers or perhaps fake fruit once
decorated it. Hanging around the crone was a thick stink of mildew and urine.

Filth crusted the creases in her arthritic knuckles.
The deep wrinkles of her face were equally highlighted with muck. Her smile was
craggy, teeth nearly green with poor hygiene. Two large moles decorated the
witch’s chin. White hairs grew rampant from them.

Disgust showed when anyone came within five meters.
Many had seen the destitute. It was impossible not to encounter them in a
slightly rough area like this. Few, even the former drinkers who were on the
meths, matched the level of utter grubbiness hanging around the woman like
heavy fog over the Thames.

Croaking out a sound that no one, save for a daft
seagull, might call singing, the foul lady approached the leftmost pram. She
licked a gnarled finger with a yellowed tongue and dipped it into the canvas
bag. Gently, the witch touched the baby’s forehead, simultaneously blowing an
assuredly nasty smelling kiss into the little boy’s face.

“Oi!” A large butcher yelled over at her, rushing over
from his stall. “You there! Stop that! Get away from those babbies!”

The hag turned towards him, hissed, and then moved defiantly
over to the next carriage, repeating the unsettling blessing. She kept glancing
over her shoulder at the butcher as she did so. Her gaze was wild. It dared the
man to come closer. He stopped, a little fear worming into his gut. For a
moment, he considered going back to his stall to grab a knife.

Finally, he resumed his course. As the crone was
reaching out to mark a third child, the butcher grabbed her by the shoulder.
She squawked, turning quickly to lash out. Her sturdy cane smashed across his shins.
He yelped, relinquishing his grip. The hag took advantage and smacked him
smartly in the face.  The butcher stumbled back over his own feet, rump
connecting painfully with the road. Blood streamed out a large cut on the man’s
forehead. It took the fight out of him. He scrambled away.

Scuttling sideways like a crab, the crone returned to
her task. An uneasy crowd was beginning to gather at the scene. Several were
yelling for a bobby. No one else came close to the old woman. Not even the
babies horrified mothers, who shouted obscenities from a safe distance.

The witch woman finished. She regarded the group
briefly, a wicked grin cracking her grotesque visage, then turned and sped off
down the street. Her movements were unnaturally fluid for such an ancient
creature. No one in the mob prevented the hag’s flight. In fact, they jumped
out of her way, like the healthy avoiding the touch of a leprous beggar.
  

Police whistles split the air. A young constable,
billy in hand, weaved through the throng to give chase. The nightmare lady
didn’t even so much as glance back at him over her shoulder. She cut nimbly
around the corner. The policeman knew he had her. This narrow street dead ended
into a loading dock.

However, though he was only seconds behind the crone,
there was no sign of her. Only two large double doors locked up tight. No
alleys led off the street. There were no fire escapes to climb. He did a quick
sweep of the street anyway, breath burning in his chest. Nothing.

Unnerved, the constable went back out to the crowded
market to wait for his sergeant to arrive. Cold hands tickled the back of his
neck. He jumped, picking up his pace. Had anyone asked, he would have
vehemently denied that his step was quick out of fear and not the need to begin
taking statements.

Two hours later, all four mothers sat in the slightly
shabby office of Dr. Neville Cort. Each clutched their charged to their bosoms,
whispering among each other in worry of the multitude of diseases the withered
old beast was sure to have passed along. The babies were quiet, either sleeping
or blinking tiredly at the framed seascapes littering the walls.

Mrs. Root, Dr. Cort’s matronly secretary, was thankful
for the calm. When the women had entered the office initially, nothing would
soothe them. It took the sight of the battered butcher being led in by his
apprentice to quiet the clucking. Blood often did that to a person. It reminded
them that while the crone had touched the children, at least she hadn’t injured
them bodily.

Once silence reigned, Mrs. Root gently swabbed the
dust the hag had used off the babies’ foreheads with alcohol soaked cotton
balls, storing them in a steel container for the Doctor’s later examination.
Coffee which had been laced with a generous dollop of brandy was distributed.
That further relaxed the mothers.

The door to Dr. Cort’s exam room opened. He walked the
neatly stitched up butcher out before beckoning the oldest of the four women,
Dolly, into the area next. She began chattering a mile a minute. His theory was
that the most senior lady would be the most sensible. In one second flat, she
proved him wrong, chattering about the bevy of plagues the witch had beset her
poor little Julia with.

“Now, now, now,” he said, holding up his hands in an
attempt to quiet her. “Let me perform an exam before we jump to any
conclusions.”

“All right,” Dolly took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. This whole thing has me all wound up.”

“Completely understandable, my dear.”

Eyes, ears, nose, and throat looked normal. Heartbeat
and breathing were unlabored. Dr. Cort carefully examined baby Julia’s brow
with a large wood handled magnifying glass, looking for even the smallest cut
or irritation. A main concern was the dust rubbed into the children’s forehead.
He would look over the swabs collected by Mrs. Root later. For now he would be
satisfied no obvious chemical agent had been applied.

Julia was good as gold during the physical. She
watched the middle aged Doctor’s ruddy face, making the occasional sleepy grab
at his watch chain. He was surprised and extremely grateful to the child. Less
crying on the first case would make the other three go much easier.

“Things look very good, Dolly,” Dr. Cort said
confidently. “Whatever the old witch was up to, it did no harm. I prescribe a
bath, meal, and a good night’s sleep for her and a bottle of ale for you.”

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Dolly exclaimed. “I was so very
worried! Thank you so much!”

“If a rash or a cough show up in the next few days,
bring her back in. I have a little worry about the powder the hag used, but
hopefully it was nothing but ashes.”

Rushing out to the waiting area to share her good
news, Dolly was all smiles. New chatter started, but this Mrs. Root didn’t
mind. It would help them all remain calm to know that the first check had gone
well.

The following three exams were much the same. Only one
minor, yet potentially helpful discovery was found; a small, hard grey fragment
that was stuck to one child’s wooly mini cardigan. Dr. Cort plucked it off with
tweezers. He immediately put it under the lens of his microscope, making a
harmless, yet disturbing discovery. Putting on a poker face, he placated the
baby’s mother by assuring her that it was a biscuit fragment.

When the last mother had been seen out by Mrs. Root,
she joined the Doctor in his exam room. “I hope we never have another day like
this one!”

“Indeed,” Dr. Cort was hunched over his microscope.
“I’m just thankful that that final parent didn’t press me on the identity of
this little speck.”

“Why? What is it?”

“A bone fragment. Human or animal, I can’t tell, but
it’s definitely a bone.”

“Goodness!” Mrs. Root’s hands fluttered in disgust.
“Oh, those poor dears! Are you going to tell the mothers?”

Dr. Cort sighed, considering. “I’ll check my texts,
but I cannot think of a single disease brought on by external exposure to bone.
If nothing shows, I see no point in further upsetting them.”

“Very good, Doctor. I’m not sure I’d want to know
meself
.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Meanwhile. Dolly was serving up a steak and kidney pie
to her husband, who sat listening half-heartedly to his wife’s much embellished
recounting of the horrific incident. Once hearing that Julia wasn’t harmed by
the trauma, the exhausted carpenter turned one ear off. He expressed anger and
asked questions in all the appropriate places.

Julia herself sat quietly in her playpen. She blinked
over her toys and hadn’t so much as touched her dinnertime bottle. Both parents
chalked it up to the disruptions of the day. The baby would eat after a few
hours sleep. They placed her in her crib, kissed Julia goodnight, and retired
soon after.

******

The clock in the living room bonged Midnight softly.
Baby Julia woke at the sound. It was still dark outside, not time for Mama or
Papa to be up. She was very hungry. Normally, this sensation could be remedied
by crying out. Milk or water came soon after. This time, something in her mind
said to be patient.
Wait and be quiet,
it whispered
. Your appetite
will be sated soon.

Moments later, the window near her crib unlatched. It
slid open quietly. Outside, a beautiful maiden reached through for Julia. She
went willingly into the warm, pink hands. She toyed with the woman’s long red
hair, enjoying the silky coils and the orange scent coming off it.

They flew unseen over the rooftops. Julia shrieked
with joy the entire trip. She was disappointed when they stopped, but happy to
see three other tots waiting for them on a plush yellow blanket in the alley
below.

“See your friends?” the lovely lady said, voice gentle
as a lullaby. “I’ve gathered you all up for a picnic! A grand feast!”

After settling Julia on the blanket next to a jolly
boy who yammered excitedly, the elegant woman waved one arm. Before their eyes
emerged a meal of truly epic proportions. Mashed potatoes, mushy peas, mince,
and best of all, a steaming, gooey pile of iced buns.

“Eat up, my sweet little ones!”

No further encouragement was needed. Greedy hands
plunged into the repast. They scooped handful after handful into their mouths.
Lack of teeth did not hinder their progress. The food was soft enough to slide
down. It tasted wonderful, much better than the milk that awaited them at home.

Whistling came to the woman’s ears. Her beaming smile
at the children died away, replaced with a grimace of annoyance. The babies
were oblivious to it. She stepped back into the shadows, eyes bright.

A policeman walking the night beat passed by the
alley’s mouth. One of the babies picked this inopportune time to belch loudly.
The lady cursed, then grinned. This could serve her purpose. She whispered an
incomprehensible word. Flesh rippled. Her finger bones extended, sharp talons
pushing through her skin.

“Who’s that?” the constable called, clicking on a
flashlight. The beam fell onto the four feasting kiddies. “Well, what’s all
this then? Where are your Mummies?”

He’d caught a glimpse of the red stains on their hands
and faces when someone powerful grabbed his neck from behind. The bobby
struggled, pounding on the thin forearm to no result. A long, delicate hand
reached around his body to his stomach. He was ripped just below the navel,
eviscerated up to his gullet.

Goggle eyed, the babies watched their benefactor set
down a bone white platter laden with a dark red cherry pudding. They salivated.
Chubby paws opened and closed in anticipation.

The maiden smiled. “Go on, my lovelies. Dig in.”

******

After the children had picked the fine dish clean of
every last scrap, the lady gathered her charges up. They were returned to their
unaware parents clean, full, and sleeping. No evidence of the nocturnal buffet
was present.

The woman could hear, even though it was blocks away,
a crowd gathering at the picnic site. She was glad they had fled. Two mobs in
one day was too much for even a creature such as
she
.
Hopefully the police would find enough to keep them busy until after tomorrow
night.