Mummy dearest meets the She devil Evelyn........

You do not live as long as I have without learning there is more than one way to skin a cat.

For me to destroy the coven, I would need to divide and conquer, silently poisoning them from within. My attempt to lure Phoenix away was simply a major clusterfuck, I underestimated them - a mistake I wouldn't be making again.

So I learnt my lesson and I did my due diligence, silently watching the ladies from afar, I knew it was too much of a risk for me to even step a few feet near their property, so I recruited a mutual friend to be my eyes - the mangy cat who I've since learnt is called Dexter (fitting name for evil, spiteful little sociopath).

After he had alerted me to their reunion, he returned to my garden the following evening, where I learnt he had previously fallen foul to Phoenix's fiery temper (no pun intended) and met his untimely end, so he was only too happy to become my familiar and do my bidding.

So he became my eyes and I was able to see all the comings and goings in their beloved safe haven, who was residing there, where they went - with this I was able to do a little digging myself about the ladies pasts.

This is why, I have found myself at this ungodly hour, here in the arse end of Kent, waiting for the doors to open at St. John's church for the Sunday service to start.

A revolted shudder ripples through my spine as I watch all the chattering congregation, bright eyed and bushy tailed, chewing at the bit to get inside like lambs to the slaughter.

"Fuck my life" I mutter as vomit bubbles away in my gut, at the hideous thought of spending hours upon hours being stuck in a stuffy church with screaming kids, swarms of pensioners that either stink of piss or lavender and the endless choir songs that penetrate your brain like a maggot devouring a rotten apple.

Finally the mighty wooden doors scream out in protest as they are swung open, the overjoyed masses flock eagerly forward as if entering the gates of heaven.

I watch the warm glow of light trickle over them as they enter, it streams down from the stained glass window that is perched above the door with the image of Christ looking down on his flock, for a second I think to myself "lucky bastards" with their pure and innocent faith and hope, I can't remember the last time I felt either of those things for anything or anyone.

But my brief moment of human emotion was interrupted when my "mark" storms past my car, she has a face so sour it could turn milk, her lips tight and clenched like a constipated arsehole, she is dressed up clearly in her Sunday best with her grandest oversized handbag and favourite pearls, while her pathetic husband trails slowly behind with his head hung down low, like a naughty school boy - I wonder to myself if she carries his testicles in that oversized bag of hers? he clearly doesn't have them.

She barks at him to hurry up and how they are going to be late, to which he meekly replies "yes dear".

I follow behind them and watch as she bustles her way to the front of the church, much to the annoyance of others and hushed disgruntled murmurs. There she sits herself directly in front, so she is looking up at the priest with gooey eyes like a teenage groupie does at a pop star in a concert, right before they scream and throw their knickers on stage.

I perch on the pews at the back of the church, so I can blend in with the masses and if necessary make a quick getaway.

As a witch over the years my kind have been about as welcome in a church as a fart in an elevator, while times have changed and people have evolved, the deep rooted fear of my true identity becoming revealed has never left me.

There I sit, silently watching like a snake in the long grass, taking in all their words of worship and devout prayers like a hidden assassin.
Long, gone are the days of fire and brimstone sermons - screaming words of the impending threat of hell and eternal damnation, instead they sing about love for the their lord, talk about upcoming bake sales and their plans for the harvest festival.

How I miss the intense theatre dramatics of church when it was ruled by fear instead of love, it was so much easier back then to rile up a whole community and convince them to slaughter a pack of innocent women (their own wife's, daughters and sisters) in the name of witchcraft. These days I have to kill them myself.

Once the service is done, they gently flow out like fish up stream into the main foyer, I creep behind them like a shadow, silently I watch as they mingle and natter whilst drinking tea and coffee in the open foyer, they chat about upcoming church events and other tediously boring things.

I spot my mark hanging around the priest like a bad smell, whilst her husband aimlessly watches on, if this man had any dignity he would leave but instead he sits on the side, whilst holding his wife's handbag - utterly pathetic.

I grab a coffee, so I can blend in with the masses but instantly regret taking a sip off it - it's the colour of a muddy puddle and taste like something you'd find in the bottom of a birdcage.

My patience is starting to fade fast, I need to get her on her own but she is stuck to the priest's side like a bloody Limpet. I cannot wait a moment more or be further inflicted with this dirty dishwater masquerading as coffee, I need to take matters into my own hands.

As a witch you are born with individual gift that is fully developed by puberty, since my alliance with old Red, I had been granted other powers that I was not born with and my initial power was also heightened. My gift is the ability to control the weather elements.

As a child I was dissatisfied by this power, it felt too weak compared to my sister's abilities. But today I think it's just what is needed to conjure up some good Old Testament fear in these fine homely people.

I sneak outside, making sure I'm alone. Once there, I ground myself so I can be connected with Mother Nature. It starts like a gentle pull, my feet become firmly stuck to the ground, it spreads up my body like vines growing up a tree, growing stronger as it spreads throughout my veins, connecting me to the earth. My body violently shakes with every spark that ignites within me, my head lunges back as my eyes roll like dice at a roulette table in my skull.

The wind stops blowing, the bright sun's strong rays dampen, the air becomes thicker. The hushed words trickle from my lips as I call out to them - in the distance I hear the low hum approaching, they hear my words. Like a gentle drill at first, the hum is almost hypnotic, as it gets nearer it becomes stronger and more aggressive as the hum penetrates and vibrates within your brain.

Over the houses, from every garden, fields and woods, an angry swarm of buzzing bees unite as they fly directly at the church - their fury growing as they get closer.

I walk over to my car, lock the doors as I watch from a safe seat as the chaos begins to unfold.

You see animals are simple creatures with very simplistic survival instincts but one thing they all have in common, is that their behaviours are dictated by the weather, for example in a unusual brisk morning you may see a robin, on a hot day in autumn you may see a butterfly - you control the weather, you control them.

Like a pulsating black cloud they charge at the church, their buzzing vibrating in the air. The open doors and windows that are meant to entice the spirit of Christ has become a gateway for these vicious flying arseholes. The silence is now broken with mass panic and hysterical piercing screams, the congregation charge out of the house of god as if the Devil himself is chasing them, desperation etched on their faces as they try to flee from their relentless tormentors.

Howling children hide under their mothers skirts, people stagger deliriously as others fall to the ground, frothing and swelling as allergic reactions to the angry stings start to kick in. Mass hysteria spreads from person to person as they try to leave and reach their cars, some drop to the ground as they roll frantically, it's as if they were on fire, trying to get the bees off them.

A joyous smile creeps upon my face, now this is how I remember church to be - Fear not love.

There in the carnage I see the priest and my mark huddled together in the doorway (I can only assume they've left her husband inside,to save their own skins). Desperately she clings to him as if he is a life preserver and she is lost at sea.

As much fun this has been, all good things must come to an end unfortunately, as quick as it started I stop it, I conjure up large black angry rumbling clouds, to travel and float above the church, they unleash furious heavy rain, pouring down upon them to disperse the bees and nudge them back to where they belong.

Most of the congregation have fled by this point, the odd straggler is here and there, dazed and confused. I start up my car, slowly drive up to the open church doors, where the two wet, confused puddles for people shakily cling to each other. I lower my window, sweetly smile to get their attention.

"26:25, when Israel falls into covenant violations, God says, "I will send pestilence among you." In II Chronicles 6:28, Solomon says if there is pestilence, famine or blight, may God hear from the temple the prayers of the people".

"Aaaaa plague upon our house" he mumbles nervously as he unceremoniously shirks off his companion, my mark.

"It would seem some of your flock have strayed" I hold her gaze "Sins are being committed, you need to right these wrongs before you all pay the price - get your house in order".

Wildly, panic stricken he turns to her "Your son, he turned his back on god, he affronted our lord, he did the unthinkable to live sinfully as a female - your child has brought this punishment upon us all".

"No lord, no lord" she howls to heavens as if she really thinks he gives a shit  "Why punish us, punish him".

"Fuck me" I mumble, I honestly can't take a moment more of this backwards stupidity, these people will honestly believe anything. I chuck a piece of paper with Lola's address out the window, it lands down at their feet.

"The Devil is coming knocking, get your affairs in order and your flock" with that I raise up the passenger window and speed off- I have a nail appointment that I just can't miss, I'm thinking oxblood red.