The Witching Hour

1
The Witching Hour follows the story of
an indie rock chick during the most recent
revolution of amazing British music,
2001-2006. Theda and her best friend,
Evelina, share the spotlight as the
frontwomen for their punk band,
The Witching Hour. The band that is
known for its drug use, mental illness,
crunching guitars, biting lyrics, lesbian flings,
and tall tales. The Witching Hour is a story
about wild women, fairies, punk, and
untimely demise.

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The Witching Hour

Inspired by riot grrrls, feminists, destruction,

and libertines everywhere.

ISBN TBA
Publisher TBA
COPYRIGHT © 2010 MINT ASHCROFT

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 1.
The Influence of Toxic Waste

“Fuck you. I have a fairy. No honestly. Why would you even

question that?!” is just one of the quotables found in Theda Methusela’s
various interviews during her time in the band The Witching Hour. This
particular quote is from November, 2000, her band’s first big interview for
Toxic Waste magazine. It is now widely accepted that Theda is just
frequently high, and you cannot trust 90% of the stories that come out of her
or her bandmate’s mouth. The Witching Hour was set up by Theda and her
best-friend, Evelina when they were 17 and 19, respectively. The two have a
penchant for mythology and storytelling, as well as hardcore partying.
There is one key difference between the two girls; while Evelina
reads folklore, Theda lives it. This is not a problem for Evelina, as she loves
“to collect crazies. They grow in my garden!” (Taken from a later interview,
20 December 2000).
(Toxic Waste, 22 November, 1999).
“You see, I have a fairy- friend called Avalon. She followed me
home from the North Yorkshire moors when I was 14. Avalon helps me write
our songs, and helps stop the depression of the real world from sinking in.
She even sings us to sleep at night!”
Theda, exactly what have you taken today?!
“Fuck you. I have a fairy. No honestly. Why would you even
question that?! She cares for Evelina and me!”
You see her too Evelina?
“Oh, I’m sure she’s there. Sprinkling fairy dust on everything we
do.”
That interview, and the fact that they accidently screwed all the
right people, cemented them a spot in the music business and the infamy
they needed to back up The Witching Hour. Well that, and their extremely
catchy melodies, crunching guitars, and vocals that ranged from soaring to
screeching. Indie, punk, grunge, garage, riot grrrl, call it what you like. It was
the start of something big.
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The Witching Hour

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1… It is the year 2001 now.

“I knew we wouldn’t fucking die. Avalon made that quite clear, and
I told you that. You’re so paranoid. The millennium didn’t kill us all, why
would you think we’d die this year?!” Theda snorts in Evelina’s direction.
“Okay, so we’re safe until 2012 then?” Theda rolls her eyes as
Evelina unwraps herself from around her friend.
“Can we go back out to the party now? If I miss The Libertines, and
the world hasn’t ended, I’ll kick your arse!”
“Fine. I just thought that if the world ended I wanted it to do so
while I was with someone I loved. But you know what? Fuck you.” Evelina
storms out of The Libertine’s makeshift dressing room and back to the
downstairs of the pub. Theda trails Evelina with her proverbial tail between
her legs. Avalon flutters around twitching as though she too is in distress.
Theda and Evelina dance to The Libertines jaunty set, on separate
sides of the room, mind you. They get trashed until 3am, also on separate
sides of the room. The two girls ignore each other the rest of the night, and
even go back to two different flats. Evelina succeeded in her wooing of the
opening band’s guitarist, and said guitarist could not have been happier
about that. For Evelina was one of the most stunning girls in England. Fair
skin, blue eyes, and ginger hair. Short, but oh so feisty.
The guitarist’s friend, however, had failed in his pursuit of Theda.
Unbeknownst to her, she too was one of the most eye-catching girls in
England. She was, however, striking in ways different to her friend. Theda
was known for her jet black sidehair, nearly shaved on one side of the head.
Her eyes too were so dark a purple they almost appeared black. The
contrast of her almost translucently milk-coloured skin and the blood red
tone of her favorite lipstick could make almost anyone weak in the knees.
She was bewitching. The two girls, together, were irresistible.
Tonight Theda has gone back to the broom-closet flat of The
Witching Hour’s own keyboardist, Liam, and guitarist, Tristan in Shoreditch.
Her new hobby is trying to make the two of them into a couple. This ranged
anywhere from taunting the two with songs about guy love to actually
getting them to kiss. If only Liam wasn’t so excruciatingly shy and awkward
in every situation. And perhaps if the two of them were not so enamored
with Theda, herself, she could get somewhere with this new project.
So completely trashed, the three of them collapse in the boys’ bed.
They sing loudly. They kiss sloppily. They drink a bit more. They finish the
packet of fags near the bedside. The threesome take turns nodding off and
nearly burning down the flat with the still-burning ashes of the cigarettes.
Heads lolling, and unable to stay awake any longer, the three of them
snuggle into bed under the covers. Theda looks up at her tiny fairy-friend,
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Avalon, as she quietly sings them to sleep.

The next day no one awakes before noon. This is not uncommon. It
is also not uncommon for Theda, Evelina, Tristan, and Liam’s mobiles to be
repeatedly phoned by the band’s management. Everyone rolls over. No one
answers.
However, by 12:30, it’s a different story. “Answer the bloody phone
before I toss it out the window!” Tristan half shouts/half whines.
“If you have enough energy to toss it out the window, then you
answer it!” Theda groans. Avalon sticks her tiny tongue out at the mobile
phone as it is going crazy vibrating, lighting up, and playing a distorted
ringtone version of The Smith’s ‘Bigmouth Strikes Again’.
Ever-amiable, Liam answers and fields their manager’s various
complaints. “Soundcheck. Yes. What? Of course. No, but Theda is here.
Mhmm, yes. Okay. Bye!”
Still half-dressed from yesterday, everyone puts the same trousers
back on. They all toddle into the front room and Liam makes them
breakfast. Theda desperately sucks on a cigarette she found under the
coffee table, choking on her own smoke in fairly regular intervals.
“Coffee! I need coffee! Stimulants? Anything?” Tristan tears apart
the kitchen. Liam calmly takes the coffee and coffee press down from the
one shelf that Tristan had ignored. Frequently left to care for his adult
friends, this is nothing new for Liam. He sets out three bowls of oatmeal,
each flavoured the way he knows each respective person likes it. Theda and
Tristan appreciate it really, it is just that they do not have the capacity to
inform him of their feelings at this particular (hungover) point in time. They
eat quietly and without a light on, nursing their individual headaches. It is
overcast outside. A mixed blessing, as they do not wish for the brightness of
the sun, yet will never fully wake-up at this rate. Theda watches the clouds
moving quickly and hopes it does not rain. She looks to Avalon, who shakes
her head.
The three bandmates pile into Tristan’s tiny car after breakfast,
leaving their oatmeal to crust onto the bowls. They have to pick up Evelina
on the way. Theda is in the back seat trying to understand the directions,
texted to her by Evelina, to Guitar-Boy’s flat. Somewhere in north London,
Evelina is standing on a street corner. Tristan pretends he’s not going to
stop, and then slams on the brakes at the last minute, jerking everyone
forward. Evelina gets in the car and slaps him in the face as forcefully as she
can from the back seat. “Nasty fucker!” she exclaims and nuzzles herself into
Theda, having clearly forgotten last night’s drama. The two girls nap against

6
The Witching Hour

each other in the back while Tristan and Liam navigate their way to Oxford
for tonight’s gig in support of their soon-to-be released first single.
An hour and a half later, albeit two hours late, the group arrives at
the venue. The band’s irate manager, Clarette, is being tuned out by all of
them as they walk inside. Incensed, she is wondering why they already reek
of fags and booze. The group wave to their drummer, Brandon. He is a
strange little man with coke-bottle glasses and greasy hair. Brandon is a bit
of a creeper. It is because of this that they all have only a working
relationship with Brandon, neither party having initiated any real form of
friendship.
Headaches are improving, just in time for soundcheck. Their
equipment is already set up on stage, one of the bonuses of being late. Each
bandmate moves towards an instrument, confusion as usual as instrument
duties are ever-changing. In fact, the band lineup differs from time to time
as well. No bass player tonight, so Theda and Evelina will share that duty.
“Check one, check two.” And everything is fine.
By now, the hangovers have worn off, and everyone is wide awake.
This is in spite of the fact that the weather has finally turned on them.
“Starving! To death! Someone take me for a curry?” Evelina is
hungry. Theda joins in, begging for some sustenance of her own.
“It’s pissing down outside! I’m not driving you anywhere. I’ve not
got my umbrella,” replies Tristan.
Clarette stands in the corner, pretending not to hear and thinking
that they could all do to stand in a rain shower. Liam quietly leaves the room
to find one of the venue’s staff and comes back a few minutes later to
elevated shouting. He hands his bandmates the menu of a nearby take-away
that delivers. He rolls his eyes. Children.
Having not yet starved to death, everyone attacks the rider’s
provisions, which consists mainly of beer and whiskey. Perhaps not the best
idea on empty stomachs, as many of them manage to become slightly tipsy
in the 20 minutes before the curries arrive. Everyone shovels down their
food when it delivered. Theda doesn’t even like curries, but this has slipped
her mind and past her taste buds.
Soon after the curries arrive, their opening band, Lunar Landing is
also delivered. Having just come over from Abingdon, only 15 minutes away,
they too have managed to show up significantly late. The singer of Lunar
Landing is highly apologetic, while offering no real reason for their delay, and
flirting her way out of trouble with the venue’s manager. Hypocritically,
Theda finds herself agitated by this girl’s behavior and grouses about her
manners in hushed tones to her fairy-friend, drawing a few confused glances,
and a full-out stare from Lunar Landing’s singer, Alyssa, as she gestures
7
towards what appears to be nothingness.
Theda is bored and in a foul mood. Evelina knows to stay away.
She busies herself on their new laptop while chatting to the various
members of Lunar Landing.
Theda ignores the rain and stomps outside and into the equipment
van that houses a small suitcase of her clothes, in search of quiet and
cleanliness. She reaches into the back and carelessly tosses her suitcase on
the floor in front of her. “Everything is wrinkled and horrible,” she complains
to Avalon immediately after popping it open. She removes her muddy doc
martins and sets them in the corner. Angrily fighting every other item of
clothing as she takes it off, she is eventually naked, sitting amongst the
clutter of dirty laundry and empty cases. Still no closer to finding any
clothes, Theda sighs and leans back against the inside of the van. She moves
a hand between her legs, thinking masturbation might improve the doldrums
of today. It does not. She is not in the mood, and fails in her attempts to get
off.
Drawing herself to her knees, Theda leans over the suitcase and
takes out some pants and a bra. She eyes Liam’s beat-up shorts that he’d
made out of some old jeans. Meh, why not? She slides the shorts on just as
the back door of the van flies open. It’s just Liam. He peeks over some
equipment and Theda stares back, unapologetically. Therefore, Liam feels
the need to apologise; although for what, he is not sure. He closes the back
and enters the van from the side.
“Moping around?” he questions.
“Yes, what of it? I can’t find a shirt and…” Theda trails off into
mumbles of problems she’s only just now inventing to validate her mood.
Liam listens patiently and cuddles her close. Not understanding the concept
of friendship with men, Theda acquiesces to what she perceives as a sexual
request, and begins unbuttoning Liam’s trousers. Confused, but obviously
not rejecting (as usual) Liam wonders why this happens every time he
attempts to comfort Theda. Perhaps one day he will say something, but not
today.
Theda moves to take off the shorts she just put on, which is an
awkward task at best, in a van. Liam helps pull his own shorts out from
under her. “I could go for a bit of car sex, actually,” Theda gasps, back in his
arms. Theda has worked herself up as she straddles his lap, practically
devouring his face. Once Liam has managed to calm her a bit, they have sex,
right there in the bloody white builders’ van. Avalon averts her eyes and tuts
from her vantage point, sitting on the steering wheel.
She did not find cleanliness in the van, but did find some intense
angry sex. This only causes slight emotional scarring to poor Liam. And yet,

8
The Witching Hour

he still fancies her, in the most uncontrollable way. After the two of them
re-dress, Liam follows Theda back inside.
Pink and temporarily tired, Theda finds herself backstage and
collapses on a couch against Evelina. Evelina turns her head down to give
Theda a knowing look and plants a friendly kiss on the top of her head.
“Tristan or Liam?” Evelina enquires.
“Liam.”
“You fuck a lot of guys, for someone primarily interested in girls.”
“Yes, well, you fuck a lot of girls for someone primarily interested in
guys. Plus, I don’t see any girls throwing themselves at me at this point in
time,” Theda shoots back.
“Mhmm. Well, he’s lovesick you know, don’t you think that’s a bit
cruel?”
“It’s the only way I know how to repay kindheartedness.”
“I’m kindhearted to you.”
Theda raises an eyebrow, “Mmm, so kind!”
More suggestive conversation follows. It is a dependable time-
killer, though never amounting to more than a fleeting kiss or a quick grope.

The rest of the afternoon remains uneventful. Evelina changes into

a tattered babydoll dress. Battle-scarred and permanently stained from past
onstage insanity. She’s currently going through a Courtney Love/Hole phase.
Theda rinses the mud off her Doc Martin boots. Still wearing Liam’s shorts,
she pulls at the loose strings hanging from the bottom while her boots dry.
She takes her dad’s old flannel-print shirt off the back of a chair, puts it on,
and ties the bottom above her navel. The shirt is a good-luck charm. Theda
looks in the mirror and notices the shorts sagging obscenely low on her hips.
She nicks a belt from Evelina’s stuff and turns back to the mirror. Her hair
has dried curly from being in the rain. She swipes on her signature red
lipstick and puckers her lips at Evelina in the mirror. Evelina puckers back
and then goes back to attaching the clasps on her delicate flesh-colored high
heels.
Evelina stands next to Theda and the two of them look in the
mirror. Theda towers over her friend, despite her high heels. They both look
a bit washed out. Oh well. Evelina takes Theda’s hand and they walk to the
side of the stage to watch Lunar Landing.
“Do you ever just hate someone for no tangible reason?” Theda
whispers to Evelina in the wings.
“Everyday!”
“I’m going to murder that band’s singer.”
“Alyssa? It’d be really cool if you stopped threatening to murder
9
people. Maybe just spit in her face a bit.”
“I hate people.”
The two of them cackle, perhaps a bit too loudly, until they are
joined by Liam, Tristan, and Brandon just before the end of Lunar Landing’s
set. Theda takes extra care to snub Lunar Landing as they file offstage,
adding a seething stare for Alyssa in particular.
Tristan has been double-fisting two cans of cheap lager behind
them. Pleasantly pissed, as usual, he creeps onstage to push his keyboard
closer to the front while Clarette plugs in the guitars. This is the point in
which the band make the audience wait. Five minutes between band sets is
pathetic. Liam lights a small spliff, though he keeps it to himself. Theda and
Evelina chase down some last-minute drinks. “NO SMOKING!” Clarette
screeches from under the drum kit. But of course no one hears her.
After kisses, hugs, more cheap lager, and half an hour, the band
head onstage. Theda’s foul mood, that had never quite simmered, only
makes her performance more intense. She screams louder and plays harder,
giving the audience goosepimples with her vocal range and shocking shrieks.
Her fairy-friend sits on her disused microphone stand, flailing along with the
onstage insanity. Not wanting to be outdone by Theda, Evelina swears more
than the songs require and tells obscene stories between songs. She rolls
around the floor, completely wrapped up in the songs.
The last encore of the show is ‘Sudden Sex’, always a crowd pleaser.
Having whipped the crowd into a messy and sexed-up frenzy, the band leave
the stage as the audience run to the nearest toilet, car, or flat, to fuck each
other’s brains out. This concept is always a delight to Evelina and Theda,
finally snapping Theda back to her normal level of antipathy for the world.
The exhausted band collapse backstage. The Witching Hour are all smiles
and heavy breathing. Drinks are had as Evelina, Theda, and Tristan sweat
themselves stuck to a beaten-up leather couch.
Having fully intended to find some clean clothes 20 minutes ago,
Evelina, Theda, and Tristan eventually manage to peel themselves off the
couch to change in the adjacent bathroom. Evelina marvels at how pretty
Theda looks in one of her own dresses.
Later, after the crowd had filed out and the floor had been swept-
over once, Theda and Evelina take off their shoes and dance around the
empty crowd area to Liam’s dramatic keyboard playing. Both girls took
dance as children and into their early teens. While not professional by any
means, they would certainly catch your attention. They twirl around
elegantly to the haunting melody Liam creates with his piano. Evelina leaps
across the beer-sticky wooden floor while Theda balances and extends her
long leg in front of her, quickly swinging it behind, and then parallel to the

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The Witching Hour

floor. The girls move in and hold each other close, almost in a waltz. Theda
looks up to watch Avalon twirling on an invisible dance floor just above
them. She then looks down and dips Evelina.
Clarette, Tristan, and one of the venue’s staff stop dismantling the
stage, momentarily, and watch the girls. Clarette smiles to herself and
Tristan gazes at Theda. In all her twirling glory, she appears to be floating,
her dress billowing out as she jumps, spins, and lands. He blinks and turns
towards Liam. His eyes are closed as he plays, yet he is only half-heartedly
stroking the keys. Tristan ponders the various things his friend might be
thinking about. He turns his attention back to the girls, whose movements
grow heavier by the minute, as is the cruelty of gravity. He loses all focus,
and begins pondering issues of his own.
Growing weary, Theda is the first to stop her twirling. Looking
around for a place to sit that is not sticky, she finds herself on Tristan’s lap.
She kisses his cheek. Tristan turns his head to capture her lips. Theda pulls
away a few seconds later when Tristan’s tongue takes interest. Everyone
notes Evelina’s expression as she notices and immediately stops dancing.
Her misdirected jealousy is a lot more transparent than she realizes as she
moves herself onto Liam’s lap. He falters in his attempts to carry on playing
around the small girl. Everyone else busies themselves, back to dismantling
the stage. Tristan gingerly sets his guitar in its bedazzled case. Theda carries
it to their beat-up tour van out back while he moves to help Liam take apart
his keyboard.
With no flat of their own, Theda and Evelina climb into the backseat
of Tristan’s car once again, heading back to their flat. Home by 2am, ready
for sleep by 3, everyone jostles for a place in the bed. Poor Tristan, being a
big lad and over six foot has failed him again, as he is cast out to the sofa in a
fashion reminiscent of previous nights. Theda sends Avalon over to sing him
to sleep.

The group awakes to Theda’s mobile freaking out with calls from
Clarette, as usual. However, this morning’s fare is different. Only slightly
hungover, which is as good as it ever gets, really, the band manage to pull
themselves out of their slumber just before 11am. The foursome fall over
each other, all trying to use the bathroom at once. Fed up, Tristan picks
through a bag of rotting oranges for the last remotely-healthy one at the
bottom. He amuses himself with the bathroom commotion. Liam’s head
emerges from the doorway as he hears Tristan snickering to himself. “Why
do you even bother trying to use the bath? It’s impossible with those two
hens clucking away.” Tristan chuckles as Liam furrows his brow in response.
Theda is, literally, pulled out of the bath after ten minutes. She can
11
hear tiny soap bubbles still popping in her hair and attempts to rinse them
away as Evelina refills the tub. Theda wraps herself in an old towel and
hobbles out of the bathroom, dripping on the wood floor. She reaches back
in the bathroom for the dress and knickers she was wearing, as she realizes
there are no other clothes for her in their flat.
Theda dresses quickly and pops over to the corner shop for some
food while the others get ready, discussing the ins and outs of Buddhist
philosophy with Avalon as she walks into the store. Taking no interest in
anything around her besides her sac of fruit and sweets, she walks back to
the flat, pretending she’s on a red carpet, wiggling her hips as she walks and
giving phony smiles to passersby.
Theda enters the flat and tosses an apple to Liam, which he catches
with fumbling hands. Evelina digs through the sac for sweets. Theda
unpeels a banana and digs all the stringy bits off with her nail. She amuses
Evelina and Liam with a suggestive display as she tongues the phallic fruit.
Avalon does not approve. Tristan emerges from the bathroom just in time to
catch the end of her show. “Cheeky.” He grins and roots through the sac,
transferring three oranges to his bag for later.
“What else do we need for a road trip?” Evelina asks. The Witching
Hour are performing in Peterborough tonight, and have a four hour drive
ahead of them.
“I dunno, um, get Tristan’s CD holder and put it in his bag,” Theda
replies. Evelina complies, dutifully. As soon as Tristan is dressed, the
foursome run out of the house. They are late, as usual, despite actually
waking up before noon.
The ride to Peterborough consists of sing-alongs to an advanced
copy of their own single, The Smiths’ The Queen Is Dead, Jeff Buckley’s
Sketches for (My Sweetheart The Drunk), and Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger
album. Evelina declares that there is no good new music. “Music is dead!”
she cries and flails dramatically against the window. Theda signs the cross.
“Rest in peace.”
Eventually, the band arrives in Peterborough. They’re playing in a
small stage area above a pub tonight. They are rushed through sound check.
However, there are still three hours until the show. “Shopping? Dinner?”
Evelina offers suggestions to fill the gap. The foursome wander the streets
by themselves, having lost Clarette, Brandon, and random bar staff to a
cheap tapas restaurant. Evelina drags them into a record shop.
“Independent record shop!” she squeals in delight. The four of them
furiously paw through records. Theda looks for a copy of Christophe Cryer’s
new album while everybody else searches for rarities.

12
The Witching Hour

Nearly 40 minutes later, they have all made their purchases. They
pop around the corner and into the H&M shop next door. Theda drags her
feet and whines as Evelina leads her through the racks of women’s clothes.
“I’m sick of you wearing my shit! You have no clothes of your own!” Evelina
complains. Theda is growing more agitated. She is readying herself to spit
on the cardigan Evelina had been holding up to her when Tristan pushes
Liam in front of them. “What do you reckon? I think tight trousers are due
for a comeback.” The two men are stood in the middle of the women’s
department in what are clearly women’s jeans.
“Where did you even get ones that long?!” Theda questions
Tristan, stifling laughter while simultaneously finding them quite
aesthetically pleasing.
“Yes or no ladies?”
“No,” Evelina laughs.
“Yes!” Theda replies, defiantly.
“Fine fine, let’s take our ladyboys to dinner then. We have to be
back soon.” Evelina pushes them back into the changing room.
They stop at a chippie and load up on food before returning to the
venue. They eat backstage as a crowd accumulates. There’s no support
band, they’re on at eight’o’clock.
But then again, 8pm comes and goes, and the crowd does not get
much bigger. They wait until 8:45 and rush onstage, numb to the small
crowd-size. Perhaps there is a bit less electricity to tonight’s performance,
but it stuns those who show up.
After the show, all of The Witching Hour hang out in the pub
downstairs, talking amongst themselves and with those who had been in the
audience. Evelina works her magic and blags a place for her and Theda to
stay the night. The bloke claims there’s no room for Tristan, Liam, Clarette,
and Brandon. The prospect of going back to some bloke’s house she’s never
met would have made her nervous at one point in time, but she’s invincible
with Evelina.
“Do not leave Peterborough without us tomorrow. It will be your
head if you ever do that again!” Evelina stresses to Tristan. She kisses Liam
goodbye, hugs Clarette, and waves to Brandon. Theda repeats this
sequence.
“Thanks for letting us crash at your’s. What are you called, again?”
Theda asks.
“John.”
“Oh right, and what do you do Johnny?”
“I’m a student at uni, but I’m in a band too.”
“Everyone’s in a band, Johnny. Are you any good?”
13
 “He can’t answer that, it wouldn’t be objective,” Evelina cuts in.
“I’m not thick, I’m just bored,” Theda shoots back, “You know
you’re not getting a threesome tonight, right Johnny? And we’ve got no
money, it’s all been spent. We’ve been chucked off the dole, failure to
report and all.”
John shakes his head, having second thoughts.
Theda ignores Avalon’s requests that she be nice to the boy until
there is reason not to be. But the little fairy buzzes about Theda’s head,
annoying her. “I am being nice!” Theda shouts.
John looks confused.
“Just stop talking,” Evelina requests in a harsh, but quieted tone.
“Why? Because you fancy him? You fancy everyone!” Theda says,
louder than Evelina would have liked. John perks up.
“Have you taken something?” Evelina asks, only half-concerned.
“I don’t think so, no no no no… Are we almost there Johnny?”
“Sort of, on the other side of that hill,” he replies. Theda groans.
Evelina links arms with him and everyone walks in a tense silence.
Once they’re over the hill the group must conquer three flights of
steps. Out of breath, the fall into John’s bedsit. “What a wretched place.
You poor thing, how do you live like this? Everything is so cramped! There’s
no room to move!” Theda pushes herself against him to make a point. “See,
I’m being nice, I’m taking pity,” Theda says, this time directing her thoughts
towards Avalon.
“It is a bit small…” John trails off as Theda makes herself
comfortable on an upright futon. She begins squinting and drops her head
into her hands. Avalon strokes her hair.
“Erm, do you want to sleep there? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Theda slides down and curls up into the fetal
position.
“Tea?” he offers. Theda ignores him, half-asleep.
“Yeah, please,” Evelina says, gratefully.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Yes, and two.”
Evelina lets her hair down. Trying not to stare, John watches his
kettle, willing it to boil. “Is she asleep?” he asks. Evelina gives Theda a solid
poke.
“Oh yes. Passed out is more like it. I don’t fancy apologising for her
behaviour, if that’s alright. She’s not usually like this though. You will see
tomorrow. I dunno what the fuck she took; I was with her almost all night.
Keeping it all to herself, I guess. How strange.” Evelina sighs.

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The Witching Hour

“Yeah, no, I mean that’s fine,” John replies as he drops a teabag in

each of the two cups he set out. He adds the sugars and the milk. Evelina
watches the milk swirl around in the black tea before ruining the effect with
her spoon. “Do you want to see what’s on telly? I don’t suppose anything is
on at this time really… Do you want me to try and push the futon down so
you can fit? Or I could carry her to my bed and you two could share that,” he
offers.
“I can’t sleep with you?” Evelina gives him puppy eyes.
“In a one-night-stand kind of way? Or literally sleeping?” he laughs
uncomfortably at his piss-poor attempt at humour.
“Well, that’s up to you,” she replies. Perhaps not the best
statement, as now neither of them are sure whether the other is joking
around or if they are, indeed, going to get laid tonight.
John laughs uncomfortably, once again. “You’re a bit forward,
aren’t you?”
“Guys can be, but I cannot?”
“Oh no, you certainly can!”
“I know what I want.” Evelina sets down her tea.

15