Daisy Diplock
By Rick Clarke
At thirteen minutes to midnight there was a knock on the door. Three loud thuds. In every room of the house eyes opened, but no one went to the door. Rather, the whole house held its breath.
Four minutes and twenty two and half seconds later the knocking came again. But this time the three thuds were even louder, and somehow, more menacing.
Upstairs, Mr Edmund Diplock looked rather sheepishly at his wife Daisy.
“There appears to be someone at the door”, he said.
“Yes. There does rather, doesn’t there”, she said. “Are you going to answer it, or shall I ?”
With that, Edmund took his glasses off of his bedside table, ruffled his hair and brushed off the last of a late night digestive biscuit from his blue and white stripe pajamas.
“Probably best if I pop down and see who it is”, he said.
“Good show”, said Daisy beaming, and she leant over and plonked a kiss on her husband’s cheek, “but I’ll come down too if you don’t mind”.
“Oh, okay” said Edmund “but, eerm, wouldn’t you rather stay here?”
“Nonsense” she said, “I have you to protect me”, and she lept out of bed.
“Righty oh” said Edmund looking up at his wife, who was a good foot taller than he was, and they left the bedroom to answer the door.
*
Edmund flicked the old brown Bakelite switch in the thin Victorian hallway and a series of oversized, oddly shaped Edison light bulbs, with filaments like spider webs, flickered to life. Darkness melted from the old terrace house and was replaced by a soft, warm, nostalgic yellow light. Daisy looked at her husband and smiled; this place suited him well.
By the time they had reached the door, three more unpleasant thuds had sounded in the narrow duffel coat filled vestibule. Edmund, pulled the door ajar and stuck his head around it. Impatient as always, Daisy tucked underneath Edmund’s arm and stuck her head around the door as well.
“Good evening”, she said, “May we help you.”
Standing there, as bold as brass, was a witch as tall as the door - taller even - and she did not looked pleased. Indeed, her expression was remarkably disagreeable.
“You took your time”, said the witch in a slow west country accent.
“Well, I do beg your pardon” said Edmund taken aback by her tone, “but it’s nearly midnight, and WE (indicating himself and Mrs Diplock), were in bed!”.
The witch unclenched her large boney hand to reveal, a long claw-like nail on her middle finger. Edmund and Daisy gulped as the witch lifted the claw, and then, without warning, shoved it firmly up her nose for a good rummage.
“Who goes to bed in the middle of the night anyway”, said the witch as she shifted and wobbled her claw around her snoz, “it’s unnatural!”
Edmund stared as the witch’s nose began to let off steam and whistle like an old kettle, but Daisy pulled herself together and replied rather diplomatically.
“We work daytime shifts, and we...sleep at antisocial hours.”
“Must be a killer” said the witch, who had evidently got her claw wedged in one of the deep recesses up her nose.
“Quite”, said Daisy pretending not to notice.
The witch lifted her long leg, hooked her toes around the clawed hand, and pulled with considerable effort. With a wet popping sound the claw dislodged.
“Happens sometimes” said the witch pleasantly, something to do with the wind blowing in the wrong direction.
“I’ve heard that can happen”, said Daisy smiling.
*
“So,” said Edmund slightly embarrassed, “what’s up?”
“Clearly, I needs to come in. I don’t go a knocking for fun.”
“Do you need to be invited inside before you can enter?” replied Edmund with a genuine curiosity.
“Does I looks like a bleedin’ vampire to you?”, said the witch rhetorically. “I woz being polite, so don’t be cheeky”, and her eyebrows arched considerably with a witch’s disapproval.
There was a bit of an awkward silence.
*
The witch raised her considerable nose to the air, flared her nostrils, and then sniffed a considerable sniff.
“We ain’t got too long now. Ten, maybe twelve shakes of a cat’s tail”.
“For what exactly?” enquired Daisy.
The witch bent her neck down and stuck her meaty nose far too close to Daisy’s face.
“I lost my monster in your house. If I don’t gets it back quick, you’re stuck with it.”
“Oh. I see” said Daisy.
“It’s got sharp teeth” added the witch.
“You best come in then”, said Edmund, opening the door fully and beckoning the witch to come inside.
“Best I had”, replied the witch as she lowered her head, bent her knees and squeezed herself through the narrow doorway.
*.
“Well”, whispered Daisy, as the witch made her way awkwardly up the stairs, “I’m not entirely sure how she managed to lose her monster in our house in the first place”.
“Hmmm.” replied Edmund.
“I wonder if the kids have come across it?” said Daisy.
“Ahh” said Edmund, as though remembering he had left a cake in the oven. “The kids!”
“This monster of yours” Edmund called up to the witch, “it doesn’t eat kids, right?”
“It don’t. But I do.” said the witch. “You’re making me feel peckish”.
“That’s fabulous.” said Edmund as he dashed up the stairs behind her.
*
