Witches' Brew by Marcia Muller & Bill Pronzini (eds.)

Author:Marcia Muller & Bill Pronzini (eds.) [Muller, Marcia & Pronzini, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Supernatural stories
Publisher: Macmillan Publishing
Published: 1984-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

Twice he halted to shy stones at a plump robin and once he froze into a statue as there was a movement in the path before him. His quick eyes fastened on a toad squatted in the dust, its bulgy sides going in and out, in and out, in and out, like a miniature bellows. Stealthily, Pruitt broke off a twig. In and out, in and out, in and out. Pruitt eased forward. In and out, in and out, in and out. He could see its toes spread far apart, the dappling of spots on its cool, froggy skin. In and out, in and out, the leg muscles tensed as the toad prepared to make another hop. Pantherlike, Pruitt leaped, his hand descending. The toad emitted an agonized, squeaking scream.

Pruitt stood up and looked at the toad with amusement. The twig protruded from its sloping back. In and out, in and out went the toad’s sides. In—and out, in—and out. It essayed an unstable hop, leaving a darkish stain in its wake. Again it hopped. The twig remained stanchly upright. The third hop was shorter. Barely its own length. Pruitt nosed it over into the grass with his shoe. In—and—out went the toad’s sides, in-and-out, in—and—out, in-

Pruitt walked on.

The crippled man mending his fishing net on the wooden pier sensed his approaching footsteps. With as much haste as his wracked spine would permit, the man got to his feet. Pruitt heard the scrambling and quickened his pace.

“Hello,” he said innocently.

The man bobbed his head. “ ’Do, Mr. Pruitt.”

“Mending your nets?”

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt.”

“I guess the dock is a good place to do it.”

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt.” The man licked his tongue across his lips and his eyes made rapid sortees to the right and left, as if seeking a means of escape.

Pruitt scraped his shoe across the wooden planking. “Excepting that it gets fish scales all over everything,” he said softly, “and I don’t like fish scales.”

The man’s Adam’s apple jerked up and down as he swallowed thrice in rapid succession. He wiped his hands on his pants.

“I said I don’t like fish scales.”

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt, I didn’t mean to—”

“So I guess maybe I better fix it so there won’t be any fish scales any more.”

“Mr. Pruitt, please, I didn’t—” His voice petered out as the boy picked up a corner of the net.

“Not ever any more fish scales,” said Pruitt.

“Don’t pull it,” the man begged, “it’ll snag on the dock.”

“I won’t snag it,” Pruitt said; “I wouldn’t snag it for anything.” He smiled at Harry. “Because if I just snagged it, you’d just mend it again and then there’d be more fish scales, and I don’t like fish scales.” Bunching the net in his fists, he dragged it to the edge of the dock. “So I’ll just throw it in the water and then I guess there won’t ever be any more fish scales.”

Harry’s jaw went slack with shocked disbelief. “Mr. Pruitt—” he began.

“Like this,” said Pruitt. He held the net out at arm’s length over the pier and relinquished his clasp.

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