The Three Witches of Summerhall and the Odd Dead Man

Prologue

 

“Well…Shit. Where’d he come from?”

 

Chapter One

 

On the night of October 31st, while the rest of Britain celebrated Halloween, a group of vandals broke in and ransacked the Writer’s Museum in Edinburgh. The perpetrators not only destroyed parts of the building itself but have also defaced treasured artefacts including a portrait of Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott’s dining table. Additionally, several artefacts have been stolen, most notably Robert Louis Stevenson’s ring. If anyone has any information regarding this incident which has sorely hurt a part of Edinburgh’s rich cultural scene, please contact the number provided below. – The Scotsman, November 1st, 2015.

Two Weeks Later

 “Why is everything here so fucking expensive?” Yuki asked, running disapproving fingers over a dusty volume of a Shakespearean play, “Like, it’s just junk. Come on Cas, you can get decent rings in H&M or something.”

“I refuse to conform,” Cassie retorted, “Besides, I know perfectly well why you want to go to H&M.”

“The cute guy,” Amber piped in, fluffing her bubble pink hair as she eyed herself up in an antique mirror, “And the 60% off sale.”

“And the stripes,” Yuki conceded, “And grid prints. But still…this is some dusty ass shit.”

“That may be so but sometimes you luck out!” Cassie said, her voice rising in pitch as she pulled something out of the dusty ass shit.

“Ooh, how cute!” Amber squeaked, “What does it say?”

The three girls squinted at the little ring.

“Tusi-something.”

“Tusitala…?”

“Is it Japanese?” Amber and Cassie looked at Yuki.

“Dunno. Could be,” came the reply, “How much is this, mister?”

“Fifty pence,” came a sullen voice.

“Deal.” A bargain really.

The ring fit Cassie’s thumb perfectly.

The three girls left the antique shop.

“Let’s get a Starbucks to celebrate!”

“No. They’re a corporate evil. Cafe Nero is much better,” Yuki piped up, “Or Costa. But their coffee tastes like satan’s shit.”

“Cafe Nero it is,” Cassie agreed.

“Speaking of evil and satan, my step-dad and mum are going out on a date this Friday,” Amber said, “Wanna come over for the night? I’ve found a new spell that can apparently bring good fortune to those who  cast it.”

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

“All we need is a cauldron.”

“Where are we going to get a cauldron from?”

Friday

 “It’s a fucking casserole pot, Amber. You sure it’ll do?” Yuri asked before they began their spell.

“It’ll do.”

Everything was running smoothly until the rose hip was chucked in. That’s when all hell broke loose. A smoke started to stream out of the cauldron, formerly a casserole pot, like a snake’s tongue and then suddenly –

THUNDER

WHOOSH

PLUNK

CRASH

BING

HISS

“Well…shit. Where’d he come from?”

Where the makeshift cauldron once stood, all but thirty seconds ago, stood a man. A very odd man. A very dead looking, odd man.

He was dressed in a mouldy white shirt – Yuki had seen one very similar at the antique shop actually – loose trousers and sort of looked like –

“Is it just me, or does he look like a white Snoop Dogg?”

“I was thinking George Harrison from the Beatles.”

The odd man cleared his throat.

“I am Robert Louis Stevenson. Pray tell, who are you?”

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