Something Wicca This Way Comes
The plane was a battered, old thing with a rubber-band engine. It was encrusted with dust, mud and other, more dubious stains. Had it been a car, people would have written messages on it by now. Nevertheless, this rusting, old tin can with its unreliable mechanics was salvation.
Milton Diggory rested his head against the warm plastic of the train window. This was his third train and final leg of the journey. Life seemed to begin in this train. He could find an empty carriage and stare out the windows where he would see houses and people instead of the endless darkness of the subway. He closed his eyes and thought about his wife.
The carriage door slammed. Two raggedy tramps ambled on. They sat down at the end of the train. One slurped on a can of beer whilst the other fidgeted around, standing up and then sitting down again repeatedly.
'There's no place for us anymore,' the man sighed, sitting down again. He had dull, grey eyes hidden behind rough, sagging skin. Matted, prematurely grey hair fell in front of strong, even features.
'I want to know. I want to go back.' His companion replied, earnestly. He was no better turned out. His thick lips covered a mouth full of gold, crooked and missing teeth. He slurred as he spoke but a twinkle in his beady, black eyes suggested some conviction amongst the drunkenness.
'We've got no call.' It sounded like a conversation that had been had a thousand times.
'You're just chicken.'
The greying, anxious tramp was known amongst his friends as TJ. Outside of this circle, he just wasn't known. His friend, with beady eyes and a teasing grin, was Sebastian Sanchez. Seeming to have no more in common than the time since their last wash and early greys, they made an odd pair but anyone who has ever caught the Newark Light Rail would know they were inseparable.
The train rumbled away from the station. Milton pondered his wife's underwear.
'Surprise.' A third voice, someone Milton hadn't noticed before, stood over the two men. In contrast to them, he was tall and toned with smooth, pampered skin and neatly gelled hair. He wore a black, tailored suit that fit snugly to his body. His voice was soft but masculine with a slightly mocking ring to it.
The two tramps leapt to their feet, eyeing their companion defensively.
'Comrades.' The suited man smiled. This warmth was not reflected in the other men, who stood with clenched fists. TJ glanced across at Milton, 'he hasn't frozen.' Milton looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. He wondered what he meant.
Sebastian shrugged, 'What can I do?' TJ looked again at Milton, more intently this time. He kept his gaze for so long that Milton felt permitted to look up, alarmed by the break in etiquette. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively but there was no time for questions.
The suited man had thrown something at Sebastian. It smashed through a window, leaving air gushing in and knocking the tramps sideways. Again, the man lifted his arm to throw something.
'Hey!' Milton shouted instinctively.
The man turned, smiling wryly, 'yes?'
'Don't do that.' Milton's confidence surprised even him. With a look of disgust, the man released his hand, hurling the object straight towards Milton.
In the seconds that he had left, Milton looked at the scene in front of him; two tramps, looking on aghast and some city type turning away from him, not even bothering to watch him die. And this thing, flying across the carriage towards him. He saw nothing and something. No object, nothing solid, just a flickering ball of light – of energy.
Two feet away from destruction and the ball stopped. Without hitting Milton, it seemed to bounce against the air around him and shoot out another window.
Milton eyed his attacker who looked back, his smile subsiding. A rational voice in Milton's head told him to be afraid, to press the panic button. It told him to be irrational. But Milton could not find it in himself. He punched through a glass case on the wall and pulled out an axe – 'in case of emergencies.'
'The windows are already broken.' The suited man said. Milton stepped forward. He raised the axe above his head and swung it at the man. He ducked. Milton brought it back up and jabbed it forwards, pushing the man towards the carriage wall. Milton knew that, for all intents and purposes, 'axe-murderer' is synonymous with crazed but this man, with his strange balls of light and preened skin, did not seem to count. Somehow, Milton just did not believe it would be murder. He did not believe it would be real.
The wind rushing through the broken windows flapped Milton's hair across his face and made his eyes water but he never once lost his balance. The axe felt comfortable in his hands. He swung it to and fro, edging the man towards the automatic doors. He felt the train slowing. Just a few more seconds. The train stopped. He swung the axe one last time. 'Please mind the gap,' the tanoy voice came over the carriage's speakers. The man fell backwards onto the platform, disappearing from sight. Milton stood back into the carriage and watched as the station vanished.
TJ and Sebastian stared at Milton blankly, holding their jaws tightly closed. His mouth twitched, nearly a smile. He knew he ought to speak but he wasn't sure what to say – was he meant to ask questions or offer an explanation? Instead, he sat down, leaving them at the other end of the carriage.
As Milton stepped off the train, Sebastian Sanchez took another sip of his beer. He was singing Pink Floyd to himself. His friend sat, motionless.
'It's time to sober up,' TJ said. Sebastian looked at him sadly, a little confused. They were both alcoholics and miscreants – they knew that – but it was made bearable by their lack of aspiration. No good intentions, no disappointment. TJ was now breaking some unspoken code.
'D'you hear me? It's time to sober up.' He yanked the beer away from Sebastian who blinked uncomprehendingly. 'Wyatt's back.'
With an unexpected stab of disappointment, Sebastian murmured, 'watchoo talkin' about? Wyatt ain't back. He's dead.'
With the air of someone divulging a secret, TJ pointed to the man who had just got off the train. 'Look,' he said. 'Look.'