Book one, Typical Witch Billionaire
a collection of small stories & descriptions
It started slowly one summer. An occasional older woman, past retirement, who hadnât kept up the usual preservations; dishevelled, unkempt. Walking through town, looking purposeful... no one thought anything much of it, at first. It happened everywhere. Small, medium towns and city centres. Always busy places. The occasional dishevelled older woman and the dress sense just slightly off somehow. A hint eccentric. Most people were un aware. But the youths who hung out on the streets were just a little weary now. A tiny bit unsure of themselves. It was the looks the women gave, just now and then, looks like they knew what you were up to.
Younger people joked about it, curious, it was funny. The odd woman in town who looked frail but walked with purpose. The almost goth ladies someone joked.
It was deep into summer when those who had noticed saw the occasional Almost Goth Women, in pairs now. They are making friends with each other someone said. It was still funny. worrying that these older women might be perhaps homeless, but still just a quirk. Maybe they came out for the food banks, some people said.
I think theyâre turfing them out of the Homes, someone joked. The looks the Almost Goth pairs gave each other were conspiratorial.
It was only occasionally that they were seen in town, though often a little hunched, always walking stridently. Look thereâs one, someone said. We should follow her. Look thereâs another across the street. The first Almost Goth noticed the other across the street, and had a slight look of concern as she grabbed something inside her grubby plastic bag. The other across the road walked faster and they both carried on their way. What the fuck was that about, the someone said.
The kids who populated the parks and streets were now congregating inside their homes. And in the middle of summer. They didnât like the feeling that someone might know what they are up to, so they decided not to be up to any of it anyway.
Drink meant the someoneâs often forgot about the sightings. Carried on as normal enjoying the summer until they were reminded, the older dishevelled ladies were not as funny now. Still amusing though. The people who noticed discussed where and when they had seen Them. The people who hadnât noticed couldnât understand, until they did notice. The first time always dismissive. Just some older lady. The ones who never seemed to see them always in disbelief or totally unaware.
The eccentric women were never seen in shops, never seen in restaurants. In fact no one knew any of them personally. Not one person could say they had any personal knowledge of Them. At house parties with a stranger, the subject of the Almost Goths would come up. And either, one of the new couple would dismiss the enquiry as drunken nonsense... or a slight sobering would occur between the two, or three, and an exchange of anecdotes and Theories occurred. Sometimes forgotten the next bleary day, but sometimes half remembered and then passed on to the others who had noticed. They are always on their way somewhere, some people said.
Near the end of summer the Women were seen, in bigger numbers. Sometimes passing on their way, and then another Woman on a next street, on her way... in opposite directions. The clothing choices a little darker now and often more eccentric; bolder or with antique spectacles.
Three were seen, someone said... Arguing and smiling. This anecdote was spreading... in broad daylight, midday. Three eccentric ladies arguing but with smiles. One with a hat on, a little dust on the rim. IT'S WITCHES, some people had said. I swear the one I saw had two warts or boils. I heard one had a frog on her shoulder. It wasnât a frog on her shoulder, it was a frog patch stitched to a pocket on her chest. One had giant red comedy sunglasses I heard.
It sounds like hoards of people were discussing the eccentric women. But most people were un aware and had never seen any strange homeless ladies. Many people had heard murmurings. Some people were worried, but most of the ones who had noticed, loved the oddity of it all.
Someone swears they saw a whole minibus of them. No they didnât, rubbish. In London. Hahaha rubbish, a drunk someone said. I saw one at a match, for a second, in the crowds; taking notes in a black notebook. Rubbish!
It was turning into autumn when the Almost Goths were seen, occasionally, in hotel corridors. Cheap hotels. Looking pleased with themselves. Some of the ones who noticed took holidays... abroad. Itâs like a convention, a bloody witches convention. All over Britain. Thereâs thousands of them. In hiding. Hidden everywhere. Planning... something, some people said.
It was Halloween. Some people looked nervous. Some people were taking an interest in every pointy black hat that they saw. A slight caution to their searching expression. Witches were not a popular choice of costume this Halloween. IN FACT the shelves still had plenty. People got drunker this year, at the parties. They had intended to take it easy, but you always have a bigger night when you donât intend to. The day after Halloween the people who noticed met, still drunk. Expecting something. Still in costumes, all over Britain the occasional band of vampires and cats walks in the streets. Some with bottles of wine in hand, still drinking but strangely sober. These small bands of trolls and zombies walking somewhere, expecting something. But from that day on, no more eccentric older ladies were seen again.
CHAPTER 2
A call back, she hadnât had much hope since reaching retirement age, of much more work. But a call back. They wanted to see her. She hadnât even tried at the audition, in fact she acted annoyed.
As she entered the little office. No one else there except the familiar face of the assistant from the audition. Itâs a bit of a secret mission the assistant said... I'm sorry this isnât going to be what youâre used to. But if youâre intrigued theirâs someone Iâd like you to meet. They walked to the next room, on a small couch was the young woman she was vaguely aware of from the news and in general. The young billionaire. With a small novel, called The Trillionaires Handbook.
By Peter Stringer
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