Worm felt nervous walking down the aisle towards the altar. He was following an old woman and wasn’t really concentrating on where he was going. This was why he walked into and knocked over the old dear when she genuflected in front of the altar.
“I’m so sorry, love” He said, then remembered who he was and his status, “I mean, take heed old crone, for the spirits guide you!”. That sounded like something the wizard would say. He looked around. He had never been to church, the parochial house said that Father Mullen was hearing confession, so he should be here. He looked around but couldn’t see him anywhere. How long was this going to take? He needed a wee. To the left he saw the toilets. He thought they were toilets. The old woman who yelled at him to ‘wait his turn’ as he opened the door made him realise that this was the confession callbox.
When the old woman left he walked in and sat down. He waited. About two minutes passed and nothing happened. This isn’t right, he thought. Last time he stayed in a cubicle was in the Wizards Against Necromancy Knowledge booth that the wizard took him to in Amstardam. He never understood why as the wizard only had enough wizard gold to operate the one booth. At least this confessional booth was dry and didn’t smell funny. In the end he knocked on the door. Twice.
“Er. Who’s there?”
“Worm”
“Worm who?”
“Worm the wizards slave”
“Are taking the Michael son?”
“Whos Michael?”
“What?”
“I am not taking anyone anywhere, if Michael is missing then the Master knows nothing, and if master knows nothing then I know less.”
“Is Master a priest son?”
“Of sorts”
“Arent we all, are’nt we all. Tell me more of your master.”
Worm thought and knew he had to extoll the Masters vitrues. “Well, master wears no colour but black”
“Indeed”
“The master has nurtured me from childhood and kept me well”
“A wise man indeed.”
“The master works miracles and his powers are unsurpassed. He protects the vulnerable from the depravity of those who would debase the true word.”
“Allehluya my son. Your master and I may have met online but know a meeting of the mind is in order. Could you arrange that my son?.”
“Why yes. He shall be in the local hostelry this very evening from the hour of dusk. I trust that will suffice?”
“Why that is ideal my son, and 1 last question if I may; what age are you?”
Next on Worm’s agenda was to find the priest’s brother, Lucy’s husband. This proved difficult as he initially lied to the priest, telling him he was a mere child, thinking his innocence would hide any probing questions. He thought that a small man wearing lederhosen would assist in this lie. However the priest seemed reluctant to give away any details of his brother. This confounded and confused Worm. The wizard was always keen to impart his knowledge, especially if useful. Yet the priest said he was ‘of the same cloth’. He recalled how the wizard once predicted that ‘lucky jack’ would win the 16.40 at ascot and that worm should put all his money on the outcome. The horse lost but this was, obviously, a lesson from the wizard in the fickle ways of chance.
So worm was surprised, when he stood in the middle of the church wearing his lederhosen asking the priest where his brother was, that the priest said “For fucks sake, all my life he always gets picked before me!” A strange thing indeed to say and worthy of further thought and investigation. Knowing that the wizard would be preparing for the task at the campsite worm knew he had some time. “Trousers” he thought and set off for the high street. On arrival confusion engulfed him as he had never bought trousers on his own before, the wizard had always dressed him and long trousers were a mystery. The thought of smooth cloth rubbing against his lower limbs brought a strange sensation to Worm and he instantly leaked what the wizard called the cream of life, which he seemed to need more often nowadays as age took its toll. Feeling light headed he entered the nearest shop and asked for a pair of long trousers. The shop keeper looked at him askew and said,”dear boy this is not a shop for pantaloons, here we have only the finest vegetables for your delectation,not camoflauge for your filthy oozage”. Something about this statement worried Worm, it was the phraseology and tone in which it was delivered,so familiar, so much like………the Enlightened one. “Are you involved in the Art sir?” he asked, “Do you follow the path?” Are you a member of the Circle?”. “What the hell are you on about you dirty little man? I am a greengrocer; as to art, paths and circles I have no idea what you are on about but can only assume that the priest has something to do with it, get out of my shop you filthy little shite!”.
So the priest again seemed to have an influence over another individual. Firstly the fair young maiden. whom the master seemed extremely anxious to meet, and now this purveyor of vegetables. Was there a connection? Could this be the brother? Or was the priest more than what he seemed? He looked at the greengrocer, examining his face, he couldn’t see any familiarity to the priest.
“The local priest here, do you know him?” asked Worm.
“Of course I fucking know him, I live here, grown up here and he has been the priest here for twenty years. What the fuck do you want?” The Greengrocer slowly reached under the shop counter as he was talking.
“Well you see sir, I’m not what I seem, I represent a higher power. I’m here to investigate certain occurences that involve the local priest. He may seem to you that he is a spiritual leader of the community but I am coming to believe that he is actually a practitioner of darker arts, if you get my meaning”.
The Greengrocers jaw slowly dropped, he looked at worm, his brow furrowed “He said I was the only one, the bastard”. His hand remained out of sight under the counter and seemed to develop an isolated Grand Mal type fit, shaking vigorously and uncontrolably below that hard wooden worktop. Eventually a look of absolute desperation and fear overcame the grocers face and he sank below the counter groaning. It was now obvious to worm that there was powerful magic at work in this nondescript backwater. “As the grocers groans faded, Worm ran from the shop and did not stop until he reached the campsite, anxious to tell his tale to the Wizard. Panting and out of the breath the Wizard did not look well. He was stooped and shaking, his breath coming in short gasps and a strange whining noise emanating from deep within. Oh bloody hell thought Worm, there must be vampires abroad on this dark night.
Worm ran to his pack, knowing what to do, he started throwing the contents onto the camp floor. His hand made contact and with a flourish pulled out the frying pan and placed it on the camp fire. The master would need bacon. He knew he had just two rashers left. He told the master as such that morning. He specifically told him that there was only the two paltry rashers left and that was why they both had to go hungry until supplies could be replenished. Yet when he went to the food box the bacon was missing. The tomato sauce bottle was empty now too. Those vampire bastards. Worm was used to going hungry, but the master needed regular sustenance.
He looked to the Great One, the whining had stopped but he was wiping what looked like ectoplasm from his hand down the front of his gown. The Wizard looked at Worm and smiled, a red stain spreading from his lips to his cheek, “Worm what do you have to report, I have just been pondering upon this young maiden and her problem”
At that the witch jumped to his feet and ran from the fires’ glow to huddle in the shadows whimpering. “Aha” thought Worm, “the master never rests, wherever he sees evil he vanquishes it”. So much had happened in so short a time. Where would he start his explanation? With the Priest who knew magic/ Perhaps the Grocer who was possessed? Unable to decide Worm took in his surroundings. The master was lying comfortably on the ground smoking and looking contented. The witch was in the shadows whimpering. On closer inspection the witch looked broken, his powers driven from him like the trail of goo slowly making its way down his legs. That would be the evil leaving his body, the Wizard had told him how it worked and how the boy witches needed the most purging as they were the most evil. Apparently even the Church agreed and it was taught in all the Seminaries. Looking over to the master Worm realised what a struggle it must have been for the Masters struggle with the evil one had necessitated the wrapping of the last two rashers round his vulnerable areas to protect him from the cunning malice of the depraved cauldron toting witch.
The wizard looked at worm, worm was gazing at the boy witch who had now started running away into the darkness. “Worm, I feel fatigued”.
This broke worm from his reverie, “Oh master, I am sorry to say that I have not had the chance to replenish our supplies” Worm looked downcast and ashamed as he said this.
The Wizard place a stick hand upon worms head, “worry not Worm, I’m sure I can use some magic to ease our hunger pains”
Worm stood and grasped the wizards hands, “No master, you have worked hard enough today, the witch, the flying and that transcendental battle you had to fight in the astral plane when I asked you to help me dig the latrine!”
The Wizard smiled benevolently, “Very well Worm, maybe a light snack then.” The Wizard raised his hands “Ricardo Montalban!”. He then reached into a bundle of clothes that was near him and produced half a packet of smarties.
“Don’t eat the red ones”, said the wizard. “They are satan’s nipples” and with that he slumped into his cloak and fell into a deep and contented sleep.
Looking at Satans nipples Worm felt temptation sneak up on him. To distract himself he decided to go in search of provisions and so set off down the lane. In no time he found himself on the outskirts of the village close to the church. From the corner of his eye he saw the Priest leave the Church and hurry towards the village green and decided to follow him. Entering a small wooden hut the Priest disappeared from sight so Worm carefully crept to the only window and peeked inside. For someone used to fighting evil on a daily basis the sight he beheld shocked even worm. Inside the hut a large table stood laden with the finest foods and lit by candles. At the far end some scouts were huddled in deep conversation whilst at the near end the Priest could just be made out in his dark robes, on all fours crawling under the table. Gently pushing the window open Worm strained to hear what was happening. The group of scouts were not in fact in conversation but a state of complete apprehension. The Priest was meanwhile making a loud Meowing noise and clawing at the scouts repeatedly, far from cassock and cape he was smothered in Marmite, the stench of which pulsed from the window like the aroma of corpses decaying in the hot summer sun. With a speed which belied his age the Priest raised himself onto his haunches and leapt at the assembled scouts letting out an almighty roar. The poor boys had nowhere to go as the dark yeasty mass descended upon them. What then transpired was beyond the descriptive powers of the greatest sage. A howling, screaming and in the end futile resistance was met with merciless anger and bum breaking violence. Gravy, Jelly, Humous and Tarasamalata flew into the air and in no time all were covered. As a sixer sprinted for the door the Yeasty mass descended upon him and let out a cry. It was too much, Worm was starving. He crawled through the window and started to fill his pockets with whatever came to hand. One Frankfurter proved particularly difficult. No matter how hard he tried to force it into his pocket the damned thing would slip from his grasp. After repeated attempts the heat of the exchange had obviously cooked the German meat and it started to ooze its fat. Simultaneously one of the scouts collapsed to the ground and the sausage disappeared. Worm, realising that his time in such chaos was short jumped back through the window and sprinted for the campsite.
