Werewolf the Podcast: The Witch of Sithean Blair. (Episode 192)

The Plucky Prof last week was a bit of an unlucky Prof who became a bit of a yucky Prof. He almost shit himself, and then he almost shit himself again when confronted with a vampire that annoyingly killed him. After dying again, he was properly exacerbated, so he killed, erm stopped, the said vampire with the Dagger of Amon Ra. 

Luckily for him but unluckily for the vampire, he needed a bloodsucker and was on his way to meet his faithful friend Ernest Wainright, who needed that undead thing for some dark magic to un-lycanthrope a lycanthrope.

He now meets the fabled witch of Sithean Blair and her son Garrow up in the Highlands of Scotland.

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Transcript

The Professor

I had no choice now, I had to obey the speed limits, something I'm not that used to doing, especially on such dazzling countryside roads as these. Typically, when weaving my way up hill and down dale, past slumbering estates and between endless patchworks of working farms, I would be on the limit, the very limit of what my skill and nerve could manage. It gives me a thrill, you see, always has. I used to ride horses in the same manner, back in the day.

Switching between forty, fifty and sixty mile an hour zones on the open roads, and occasionally down to thirty or even twenty as I drove through one small village after another, I couldn't help but feel as though I was tethered, held back in some way.

In hindsight, I suppose I was… held back that is. But for me, the tether was in the form of the dead vampire I had unceremoniously stuffed into the boot of my little hatchback. I simply couldn't afford to get pulled over for speeding.What if the officer asked to have a look in the back? What then? He would find, in there, a huge deceased human male,with a sparkling antique dagger protruding from his chest. I mean, it really would have been quite awkward.

The signal on my satnav became erratic, and I switched to using my phone which sat in a tiny cradle that protruded from one of the dashboard vents. That signal too came and went. It was a worry, as Ernest had told me that Sithean Blair is only noted on a single signpost on the A93, and if you miss it, you literally miss it, and you're off into the wilderness that is the Caringorms mountain range in the eponymous national park, the very largest in the United Kingdom.

I decided to stop in the old town of Braemar and ask for directions the old fashioned way, seemed like a sensible thing to do.

I pulled over at the side of the road in what appeared to be the centre of town, by which a mean there was a small concentration of old fashioned local shops on either side of the road. The rain had stopped and it had brightened up a bit, so I was surprised to see not another living soul in any direction. I resolved to pop into one of the shops and ask the shopkeeper.

As I pushed the door to the green grocer's open, an old fashioned bell rang out above my head, and just a couple of seconds later, a rather dour looking woman appeared behind the counter.

"Hello there," I said, in a rather jolly tone.

"Yes," was all she offered in return.

"Oh, um, yes, well. I'm, um, I'm not from round here,"

"Evidently," she interjected. At least I was awarded a few extra syllables.

"Quite," I said, "Yes, quite. I was wondering if you'd be able to help me with some direction. My satnav and my phone have gone a bit flaky, you see."

"Aye," she said, "there's not much signal outside the town. You'll need to know where you're going before you leave unless you're just following the main road. Where is it you're heading?"

"It's a place called… Sithean Blair," I said.

She didn't respond, not at first, anyway. Her dour expression flickered for a moment, and I was certain I saw something else behind those eyes. Was it… fear?

"And what kind of business could you have at a place like Sithean Blair?" She asked.

"Oh, you know it, then?" I ventured.

"Aye, I know it. Everybody round here knows it. Are you a friend of…" she paused as though galvanising herself, "hers?"

I smiled my most charming smile, "If you are referring to Agatha," did I see the shopkeeper flinch at the sound of Agatha's name? "then I'm yet to have the pleasure. A friend of mine is staying with her tonight and I need to touch basewith him, in person, you understand."

"No, I don't understand. I don't understand why anyone would head up to that place on a full moon."

"Oh, I'm quite aware of the challenge that might present, and I can assure you that I have no intention of being in the same county come nightfall."

"Oh, you are, are you? Then you'll also know that she's rumoured to be… that she's a…"

"A witch? Yes, so I understand. Now if you'd be kind enough to furnish me with the directions I asked for I'll trouble you no more and be on my way."

Upon returning to my car I couldn't help but check on the status of my passenger. I glanced this way and that, checking that there were no prying eyes, and although I couldn't see anyone, I had the distinct feeling that curtains were twitching and I was being regarded with resentful eyes. Nonetheless, my passenger was as I'd left him, by which I mean he appeared to be quite dead.

It was not much more than nine or ten miles from Braemar to the remote estate, high in the mountains. I felt my ears pop occasionally as we climbed higher and higher into the gloomy overhang of the darkening clouds that coloured the sky in their image. Eventually, I found the old metal five-bar gate which bridged a gap in the drystone wall. It was easily wide enough for a large tractor with harvest trailer to pass through let alone a tiny Fiesta like mine. The gate was, however, closed, it was also adorned with a barbed wired wrapper across its upper beam, and a sign which said 'Private, Keep Out' in very bold letters, a sign I intended to utterly ignore… obviously.

I applied the handbrake and approached the gate. It wasn't locked, or at least I couldn't see any padlocks or chains. A simple task it would be then, or so I thought, to swing it in and clear the way ahead. You've probably guessed, it didn't exactly work out as expected. The gate was stuck fast, and try as I might, I couldn't budge it, even a single inch. I tried pulling it out when pushing it in didn't work, but nothing. It occurred to me that pushing from the inside might afford a little extra purchase, and so I scaled the five bars with the intention of hopping over and having another go.

It was a strange sensation. I didn't really feel what happened to me, but I suddenly found myself on my arse looking at the gate and wondering what the blazes had happened. A few blinks and a shake of the head didn't provide any answers, so I tried again. 

Same result. Just as I was about to swing my leg over the top bar of the gate, I was repelled and found myself in the dirt. It did occur to me to try and use the Dagger of Amon-Ra to open the gate, but that would mean removing it from the vampire's heart, and I didn't have any intention of doing that. I scratched my head, deep in thought, and then Isuddenly heard a man's voice.

"Can I help you?" he called from inside the gate.

This man who appeared to be a natural inhabitant of the hillside, dressed in sturdy neoprene boots and a tweed suit (rather elegant, actually) had apparently driven along the trail to the gate, parked his Land Rover, alighted and taken a position with his elbows resting on the top bar without my noticing. That was a bit strange.

"Hello there," I said as I got to my feet, dusting myself off again. "I don't seem to be able to get in."

"I can see that," said the man. "And why would you be trying to do that. I assume you can read." He glanced in the direction of the sign on the gate.

"Oh, that. Yes, I did see that," I replied. "I've, um. My name is Simon, Simon de Montfort. I'm a friend of Ernest Wainwrights, is he here?"

The man squinted as he slowly inspected my form. He didn't say anything, he just seemed to be taking me all in, every detail, like he was scanning me in some way.

"I said I'm a friend of Ernest Wainwright…"

"I heard what you said!" snapped the man. "Why can't you get through my gate?" he asked, rather rudely.

"Well, I… I was rather hoping you could tell me that."

He stared at me again.

"I have placed a charm on this gate, on the whole boundary to this estate. A charm that keeps people out, or in. A special kind of people. What is it that's so special about you that you can't open my gate?"

I have to admit, he was a very impressive man. So confident. Probably in his late fifties, maybe a bit more, but hard to tell because he looked so healthy. All that mountain air I suppose. I really didn't know how to answer him, so I just paused for a moment, and then this urge sort of… well, it was as though I suddenly had no choice but to speak the truth and I just sort of blurted it out.

"Well, you see, I am in fact that Simon de Montfort, sixth Earl of Leicester, father of British Democracy. I drank from the Holy Grail on a crusade, and Jesus Christ himself blessed me with two thousand years of immortality. I really am a friend of Ernest's and I have a dead vampire in the boot of my car…" I couldn't believe what I'd just said… how could I have said all of that to a total stranger? I slammed both my hands across my mouth to try and prevent any more truth escaping from it.

"You'd better come in," said the man as he swung the gate inwards to allow me access. "My name's Garrow, and this is my mother's land. Ernest is with her at the farmhouse. I was about to padlock that gate to keep the muggles out."

"Muggles?" I asked. "Is that a word that witches really use?" He just laughed at me and beckoned me through. It's not a familiar feeling, but  I suddenly felt like a third former who was being taken for a ride by the cool kids from upper sixth.

We drove for a while through the winding trail across the rocky and mountainous terrain, passing a fork in the road, by which stood a small wooden sign with the word 'Croft' etched into it. We continued for another mile or so before cresting a hilltop, beyond which I saw a picture perfect granite farmhouse in a dusty courtyard. The whole thing was surrounded by yet another drystone wall, and a gate very similar to the one we'd just left behind guarded the entrance.Thick smoke puffed its way into the afternoon sky from the ancient chimney pot on the farmhouse roof.

We pulled up long enough to permit Garrow to open the gate, and I followed him in, parking up as a few chickens and goats shuffled out of our way.

"Come on, let's get you inside," said Garrow as I climbed out of the car, and he led me to the farmhouse door.

Inside it was warm, so very warm. It was a kitchen and dining area like something from a bygone era. An Aga typeoven pumped heat into the air, and a large open fire near the table roared and crackled. In front of the fire, in an old wooden rocking chair, sat one of the sweetest and oldest women I have ever seen. She wore a fluffy dressing gown that covered her feet, and her long white hair was bunched into a ponytail that fell over her left shoulder. She stared into the fire as she gently rocked in her chair, she didn't seem to have noticed me at all.

"And this is Simon de Montfort," she suddenly said without looking up. "You're the sixth Earl of Leicester, are you not? Still alive and kicking and stood here in my kitchen."

I didn't know quite what to say. I mean, I'd only just met Garrow at the gate, how did she know… She turned in her chair to face me, and… those eyes, they were so… I felt like a child in her presence.

"Yes," I said, almost in a whisper. "But how did you.."

She glared at me, and raised a single ancient eyebrow before she spoke.

"Well, we've been expecting you. You were in my tealeaves this morning."

"You saw that in your tealeaves?" I asked, unable to hide my incredulity.

"Oh yes, there's not much doesn't show up in my tea. And Ernest mentioned you might drop by as well. Have you brought his wee dagger back?" She couldn't quite conceal the mirth in her tone, and I sensed a welcome warmth from her which set me at ease a little.

"Yes. Yes, I have. Is Ernest here? I asked.

"Yes, of course I am, my dear, dear boy," said Ernest as he entered the room from what transpired to be the water closet to the rear of the kitchen. He crossed the room quickly with open arms and we embraced warmly.

Garrow placed four un-matching mugs filled with strong highland tea onto the kitchen table and suggested we all take a seat and have a wee cuppa, as he put it. Garrow informed me that no matter what my business here was, he would be padlocking all of the gates within the next hour at most, as dusk was approaching and the werewolf Charlie Mortimer would soon be abroad, stalking the hillsides in search of flesh to feast upon. I asked where Charlie was at that precise moment.

"We've a wee croft on this land," said old Agatha as she stoked the fire with a cast iron rod. "He's in there, but as soon as the moon is up he'll be out 'n' about. You wouldn't want to cross his path the night, I can assure you of that. But this dagger of Ernest's, that's why you're here, is it not?"

I smiled at Agatha, while I was quite certain that either she or her son could do unthinkable harm, even to one such as myself, I had a feeling of acceptance from them both, which gave succour to my weary spirits.

"Well, yes, but I'm rather hoping I can help the situation with your friend Charlie while I'm here, too." This caught everyone's interest, with the possible exception of Garrow, whom I found to be quite inscrutable. "You see, Ernest informs me that the best way to cure Charlie of his lycanthropy, required the exploitation of a vampire, and… well… I've brought you one. He's locked in the boot of my car."

"What? That wee thing?" gasped Agatha. "He must be a tiny wee vampire to fit in the boot of one of those little waggons."

"Well," I said, a dash of rouge appearing upon my warming cheeks, "I did have to stuff him in there, somewhat. He may be a little bit broken, but… why don't we pop outside and take a look, see if you can use him?"

It took a few minutes for Agatha to rise from her chair and shuffle across the kitchen, assisted by an old walking stick made of ash, which she grasped in her gnarled arthritic hand. Garrow wrapped one of his waxed jackets around his mother's shoulders as we stepped out of the warmth of the kitchen and crunched our way across the grit of the courtyard to where I had left my car.

I clicked the fob to unlock the doors, and clicked the tailgate button, opening the trunk remotely. As the lid lifted, a pair of white lights came on automatically, illuminating the hitherto obfuscated offering.

His corpse was twisted and very rudely stuffed in, in a rather uncaring manner, the way a teenager might pack a suitcase for a holiday in Mallorca. Ostensibly, he was on his back, but I'd had to break his legs to fit them in properly, and they were stuffed in behind him, which had the effect of presenting his chest in a skyward manner. I'd had to punch him repeatedly in the face to get his head to fit under the back parcel shelf, and I'm afraid I'd made rather a mess of his features, but any degree of care in that matter did strike me as being somewhat superfluous. The dagger of Amun-Ra twinkled in the electric interior light at the side of the trunk, it was sunk to the hilt.

"Ta daa!" I said in a theatrical manner as I gestured towards the dead human in my car. "One dagger, which I until recently thought was a fake, and one dead vampire!"

Garrow, Ernest and Agatha exchanged furtive looks, not the overwhelm of joy and gratitude I had imagined, truth be told.

"What?" I asked. "What is it? Do you know him or something?"

"Oh, no, Simon," said Ernest. "No, it's not that at all. The truth is that I may not have furnished you with all of the necessary attributes of the vampire we require to help with Charlie's predicament."

"Attributes?" I asked. "What attributes."

"Well, I really hadn't expected you to just pop out and get me one, Simon, or I might have mentioned that they would need to be alive when they got here." Ernest spoke with kindness, as he always did, but Garrow snorted a derisive laugh under his breath. Agatha sort of had a mischievous look in her eye, she seemed to be enjoying the moment.

"Well, why didn't you say," I said. I reached for the dagger of Amun-Ra, and with a flourish, I grabbed the handle and pulled it out of the languishing creature's unmoving chest. Instantly, the vampire gasped for air as previously inanimate flesh became animated once more.

Garrow snatched the dagger from my hand and thrust it unceremoniously back into the vampire's heart, causing him to die again… I genuinely felt a little sympathy for him at this point.

"This vampire's no good to us," said Garrow, coldly. "We need a healthy vampire that's willing to assist. Not one in this wretched condition. You've turned him into a bloody zombie!"

"What? Have I? And precisely how is it that you can state with such confidence that I have done such a thing. I'm an immortal human, not a practicer of black magic or voodoo or any of that nonsense."

Agatha looked at Ernest and said, "Ooh, he's a funny one, isn't he? Did he just say black magic is nonsense?" Ernest winced slightly but nodded at Agatha with an air of shared mirth.

"You stabbed him with the dagger of Amun-Ra, did you not?" said Garrow.

"Yes, yes I did. But I didn't have much of an option, I mean, he'd already bloody killed me once. And in any case, how would that cheap trinket have turned him into a zombie, I thought it was a fake, as I said earlier. I stabbed Wil the werewolf in the back with the bloody thing and he just laughed it off. What's the bloody deal here?"

More furtive looks were exchanged, but I was sure I caught a hint of accusation about the way Garrow stared at Ernest.

"Simon, I think there may have been some level of misunderstanding on this matter of the dagger of Amun-Ra. Oh dear. When we were discussing your recent encounter with Giggio Voston Harundakind Fultonian Brusk, andcongratulations again on killing him, by the way."

Ernest nodded at me in approval as he said this, and Garrow muttered the word 'impressive' under his breath.

"Yes," I said, "what of it."

"Well, I'm reasonably certain I said to you that it was a shame you didn't have the dagger of Amun-Ra with you at that time, as that would have stopped him in his tracks. I believe I described to you how this dagger, this very dagger, has the power to separate a human soul from that which binds it to the wicked spirit that fuses with it to create the vampire.It essentially allows the human to die… 

completely."

"Did you?" I asked.

"Yes, Simon, I'm afraid I did."

"Vampires?"

"Yes, vampires."

"Not… werewolves then?"

"No, Simon. Not werewolves. I actually had no idea what this dagger would do to a werewolf, but I think we've found that out now, haven't we?"

Agatha hooted with laughter, "It did bugger all to his bloody werewolf, anyway!"

I smiled at her, still a little confused, "then why did I…"

"Oh, Simon," said Ernest. 

"I'm afraid you were sailing at the very least three sheets to the wind. I know you'd just come out of The Priory and all that, but that didn't seem to stop you from working your way through three bottles of very good Claret at the dinner table. I think you may have got things a trifle mixed up."

An instant tide of humiliation rose within me, splashing a combination of dread and embarrassment up through my sinking guts and into my contorting countenance.

"Oh shit." I said.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Ernest.

"So, why does this thing keep coming back to life when you pull the dagger out?" I asked.

"Quite simple, really," said Garrow. "When the blade is in that body it dies completely and the human soul that's been trapped within it is released, which is a good thing, and it's conclusive. But the death of the body, that's just a process, not a conclusion. If you pull the blade out, then the process is reversed and you're back to square one, just without the human soul, which has moved on. So you're left with an animated corpse, a zombie, which is also a vampire. I mean, it's far worse than what you started off with if I'm being brutally honest."

Silence fell for a few moments as this information sank in to me.

"Then… then what do we do?" I asked the group as a whole.

"Oh it's quite simple really. You help me drag this lump round the back of the farmhouse and we'll douse it in petrol and set the bastard on fire. Once it's burned to cinders it'll be safe to remove the dagger and I'll give it back to Ernest."

"You'll give it back?" I asked.

"Oh aye," said Garrow. "Once we've got this thing into the trench for burning, you're free to leave. In fact I insist upon it. Darkness will be falling before you know it, and in case it's escaped your attention we've a lycanthrope on this property to take care of. And while that's a tricky enough task on its own merit, you're proving to be something of a liability if you don't mind me saying."

I absolutely and utterly did mind his saying, but I didn't say anything. Sometimes in life it is wise for one to choose one's battles judiciously, and I really didn't fancy getting into it with Garrow quite literally in his own back yard if I'm honest. Instead, I thanked him, which drew from him what appeared to be the distant cousin of a smile.

"This trench of yours," I asked Garrow as we set about our task with Ernest watching on and Agatha cackling away somewhere nearby like an excited child on Christmas morning. He nodded for me to continue, "Have you..? Is this something you just permanently have, all dug out and ready to go, just in case you need to burn a corpse or two to cinders?"

"Aye," he said, without looking up.

"And have you… have you ever had to use it before? In anger, as it were?" I ventured.

Garrow glanced at his mother, and Ernest, a definite twinkle manifesting in his steely green eye, "Och aye," he said,"you'd be surprised. You'd be very, very surprised!"