“THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL is heard in our land!” –Parson Nathaniel, “
The Spirit of Man”,
Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of the War of the Worlds
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Chapter Three: The Voice of a Legion
My heart skipped a few beats as I spun around to find a woman, dark skinned with brown hair, standing at the crest of the hill, not far from where we had stopped. Her cloak had been pulled back, revealing a tangled mop of frizzy hair that seemed to crackle with energy, which occasionally sent green and blue sparks to skitter about the scraggly strands. Trimmed fingernails, which were painted black, protruded from a thick mesh of blackened and copper rings. Her coat sleeves were wrapped with copper bracelets, which were in turn covered with weird sigils and marks, and she had a necklace of small bones—which may or may not have been human—around her neck.
The smell of burnt hair mixed with wet dog was strong, and I would’ve coughed if I'd had any air in my lungs.
“Hello,” Hisao said, cutting the silence as though he were greeting a guest for afternoon tea, “Doctor Witch, I presume?”
There was a pause, during which the Doctor Witch—or Witch Doctor—narrowed her eyes coolly, peering at Hisao for a moment, then toward me. It felt like I was being assessed, like a ham at a meat market. While I felt my insides twisting in knots during the inspection, Hisao seemed surreally nonchalant, standing akimbo and even smirking. It could just have been the alcohol making him brave, but I'd seen that kind of cocky demeanor in court, usually from lawyers who thought they had a trick up their sleeve.
For once, I was hoping that was the case.
“The reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” she stated, then grinned terribly, revealing two rows of blackened teeth behind her charcoal lips.
Her voice had the forced polish of someone who had worked hard to prevent an accent in their second language; it reminded me of Lilly’s use of English, in a weird way. And, maybe it was the absurdity of the situation, but I found myself comparing her neutral, controlled, unaccented accent to the more pronounced rolling accent of Hisao, who had never been on good terms with the English language.
“That joke never gets old,” Hisao drolled, chuckling for a bit before adding, “Nor do you, I imagine.”
The Witch shrugged and sent a glance up over the snowfield, toward the house, then stated, “I take it you live in that house over there.”
“Visiting relatives—long story,” Hisao corrected, keeping his focus on the Witch, “Speaking of, I don’t suppose you could stop your little Revelation impression? We had planned on having a nice weekend, you see.”
The Witch rubbed her chin in false contemplation, then flashed her blackened grin and sighed, “Sorry, no... That storm gave me a lot of power, and these sorts of things have a time limit, you see.”
“Understandable,” Hisao said, sounding entirely too good-humored, “So, did you summon the storm, too, or did you just get lucky?”
“Lucky,” the Witch replied, crossing her arms and making her bracelets rattle, “I thought I'd be here for another month or two, but that storm was just what I needed to put my plans into motion.”
“Good for you!” Hisao cheered, followed by a sympathetic wince, “Which makes this part really awkward, because I am going to have to insist you stop.”
He sounded so convincing that, for a moment, I thought she might actually comply, but then the Witch laughed. “Sorry, but no,” she replied evenly, “I will not stop until I have bathed this world in its own blood,” she began raising her arms emphatically, “...and harnessed that blood-”
The Witch’s speech was cut off by a snowball to her face, thrown by Hisao.
Horrified, eyes wide with shock, I snapped a glare at Hisao and hissed, “Are you insane?”
Hisao shrugged, still eying Witch as he calmly stated, “I have a rule about monologuing.”
The Witch snarled and wiped her face with one hand, her steel-eyed glare aimed directly at Hisao. Calm demeanor gone, a scowl replaced her cocky grin and she looked royally hacked off, which I thought was about the worst result possible. “You insolent fool!” she snarled, “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Some schizophrenic nut with delusions of grandeur?” Hisao guessed, completely unaffected by the Witch's bluster.
A few sparks shot off the Witch's hair, then, growling, her hands clenched and nostrils flaring, she scoffed, “Tch! I wish it was that easy! Then all the years of forced drug use and shock therapy would’ve been worth it.”
Hisao raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious as he asked, “The shock therapy didn’t work?”
“No,” the Witch snarled, “but none of that matters, now. Now's my chance to get revenge on all of them, to make them pay for-”
Splat. Another snowball landed squarely on her nose.
“Stop doing that!” I moaned.
“I’ll stop when she stops monologuing,” Hisao retorted, sounding less like an inebriated teacher and more a petulant schoolboy.
The Witch growled again and wiped the snow from her face once more, seeming to peel away another layer of pleasantness. As her hair began crackling and smoking, arcs of blue and green electricity pulsing off the frayed ends, she howled, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”
“Who am I?” Hisao repeated. Then, glancing at me with a look of perfect sobriety, he requested, “Translate exactly what I say word for word, understand? My English is already at its limits....”
Swallowing hard, and driven by instinct more than intellect, I nodded. Whatever was going on, it was out of my depth and in Hisao’s realm. What that meant or said about him or the crazy-bad-hair-lady, I had no idea, but, at least he seemed to know what he was doing—or, at the very least, he was faking it well.
“Sure, fine,” I said quickly, “whatever gets us out of here faster.”
Turning a condescending glance toward me, the Witch remarked, “How delightfully naïve,”
She didn’t quite meet my eyes, but her expression had the look of a person forced to acknowledge something beneath their notice. At the time, I wasn't really sure why she thought I didn't matter, but it was really starting to piss me off.
“Ready?” Hisao asked.
As I nodded, he returned the nod and turned toward the Witch.
“You asked me who I am, so, as a courtesy, I’m going to tell you,” he began, slowly and deliberately, “Not to stoop to your level, but to warn you; it's the gentlemanly thing to do. Bear in mind that this will be your only warning, Wych:
“Though I may not crackle like a Wimshurst machine, and I probably don't look all that terrifying without a horde of undead infantry backing me up, I am someone who has walked the tightrope of doom between darkness and light, revealed that which clings to the shadows, and forced it to submit... or be destroyed. I have faced the personification of death, stared it down, and been declared it's equal.
“I've witnessed the very worst humanity has to offer. I've fought the denizens of mankind's nightmares... I've seen far worse things than you! Great horrors you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and, if you did, you'd go insane from the revelation! Don't let the plainness of my appearance fool you, Wych... You have no idea who you’re messing with!”
As I translated, I honestly thought he was just talking himself up for the Witch. However, the conviction in his tone eventually convinced me that he meant every word—even the crazy stuff that didn't seem to make sense. Meanwhile, the Witch never looked toward me as I spoke, instead seeming transfixed on Hisao, her expression slowly going from contemptuous to contemplative, and finally reaching wary; whatever bravado and bluster might have been in Hisao's speech, she seemed to believe every word.
And by the end, so did I.
Finally, Hisao's glare hardened defiantly, and his voice rose slightly as he declared, “I am a high school science teacher! If you were sixteen and on your period, then you might impress me. But, all I see now is a kook with a bad hair day, a few paltry parlor tricks... and horrendous dental hygiene.”
When I was done translating that last bit, the Witch leaned her head forward slightly and locked eyes with Hisao. Even though she wasn't looking at me, I still felt unnerved, and I thought Hisao would feel the same. Oddly enough, though, Hisao, despite being raised by tradition and culture to avoid eye contact, defiantly glared up at the Witch atop the hill. What followed was a strange staring contest that made the bridge of my nose tingle for some reason.
Something was going on between the two, a battle of wills that seemed to transcend mere eye contact. Hisao's brown eyes, bright and full of life, contrasted starkly with the Witch's dark and soulless orbs, which seemed to blaze with the lust for power; it reminded me of the corporate world, and not in any of the good ways. In retrospect, after everything else I had seen that night, watching as they glared into each other's souls seemed like the least outrageous thing that occurred.
For several seconds, which seemed to last an hour, neither one of them moved or blinked, and it looked like neither one would. Neither one seemed to have an advantage, and the strain of what they were doing was obvious as they kept glaring at each other. Cold as it was, sweat was beading on Hisao's brow, and the corner of his mouth was trembling. Meanwhile, the Witch's rasping breaths left clouds of mist hanging in the still air, and she started to slouch, seemingly in pain. Suddenly, she grit her teeth in disgust.
The Witch blinked first.
The corners of her eyes had begun to twitch and water before she growled and tore her eyes from Hisao’s gaze, snarling as her hair started to smoke and crackle. Between her fingers I saw little dancing jolts of electricity, and my spine tingled like someone had dumped ice water on my head. Hisao, though clearly worn out by the experience, was smirking and looking oddly pleased with himself.
“Told you so,” he remarked, switching back to English.
The Witch growled and spat at Hisao’s feet. The spit melted the snow where it landed, more like acid than saliva. Her shoulders hunched and teeth bared, she reminded me of a predator about to pounce.
“You have just become a major kink in my plans, Fool,” the Witch snarled, “I was just going to play around with your minds so you wouldn’t remember me, but now I’m not going to take any-” she stopped, her eyes flashing wildly as she shrieked, “Put that down!”
Sighing, Hisao dropped the partially formed snowball he was making and declared, “You’re no fun!”
“You arrogant, smug, slant-eyed, spoiled little prick!” she snapped.
“Really, that's just hurtful,” Hisao said, then turned to me. “I do believe this woman has slandered my good name,” he stated, narrowing his gaze and turning toward the Witch,
“Any chance you could write up a lawsuit for me?”
“Please leave me out of this,” I moaned.
“That's no longer an option, Blondie!” the Witch snarled. “You, and him, and all your precious family shall soon join my army!”
Hisao's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. His mouth a thin line, he spoke with forced calm, “Leave them out of this. It’s me you want.”
The Witch scoffed, “Tch! Please, how can I resist more bodies when you hand them to me on a plate? Zombie children are so much fun, too!” her eyes flashed evilly, “And I bet that wife of yours-”
Hisao didn’t bother with a snowball. This time he punched her. Jabbing as hard as he could with his right arm, he slammed his fist square on her nose. The crunch of breaking bones cut the night air as the Witch shrieked and staggered backward. Hair crackling wildly, her stagger became a stumble, and then a trip as she started rolling down the other side of the hill, like a strange snowy tumbleweed.
Before she was out of sight I felt Hisao grab my arm and pull me back toward the house.
“Time to go,” he declared, “Before she can send her pets to say hi.”
Hisao had to physically pull me several paces before I regained my senses. Finally, fight or flight kicked in, and I ran for it, keeping pace with Hisao as we bolted back to the house.
Despite my somewhat inactive lifestyle and Hisao's ever-present heart condition, we easily outpaced our pursuers. We were maybe halfway back when I felt a breeze behind us, and as it passed I heard the Witch’s voice whispering as if she was right next to my ear:
“I’ll be waiting for you, Fools. And when you are crumpled and defeated, I’ll take your family as my pets right before your eyes, then you'll join them.”
Hisao snarled and skidded to a halt. A pace later I followed, watching as he turned around and shouted, “We'll see how cocky you are when I bash in your skull, Wych!”
Then he resumed his run back to the house, and I followed, expecting a horde of undead to crest the hill at any moment. Whenever I looked over my shoulder, there was nothing except our tracks in the snow and the starry sky. It was a relief, but it seemed eerie; I expected a more rash response considering how Hisao had left her. That she was apparently taking her time made me feel uneasy, to say the least.
With that sense of dread fueling my strides, I reached the house first. With Hisao following close behind, I shoved the back door open and clambered inside. As he sprinted through the opening, I pushed the door closed with as much restraint as my adrenaline rush allowed. Locking the door quickly, and half expecting a tide of zombies to start crashing against it, I turned around to lean against the jamb.
“Werewolves!? And now zombies!?” I blurted, gasping between words.
“Just another Tuesday,” he replied, the picture of calm—aside from the heavy breathing.
It hardly seemed like something to chuckle at, but that's what I found myself doing; I was still in full panic mode, of course, but Hisao's confidence—unfounded or not—made me feel like we weren't completely out of our depth. Even though we were essentially under siege, we were relatively safe from the biting cold, and whatever else might be biting.
How long would that last, though? I had no idea.
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Next Chapter
Don't fuck with Hisao's family. It makes him angry. You wouldn't like him when he's angry.
.