Alice could hear Hariman banging about in her front room; pushing and kicking the furniture about, cursing, fizzing and spitting with rage.
“No! You certainly may NOT phone me back later! You need to get your more than ample backside round here straight away! Hariman's on the warpath and if things aren't sorted out to his satisfaction, fast, then we are all going to suffer for it – and most terribly!”
Liz was still not convinced by the need for such of urgency. Was Alice sure it was that serious, and not just a petty tantrum - or simple indigestion, perhaps?
The explosion from the front room sounded loud, even on the opposite end of a phone line, and convinced Liz at once:
“I'll be there directly.”
The phone disconnected, and no more than an instant later Liz Devises was standing in Alice Nutter's cottage.
“I thought I'd use an instant teleportation spell, given the circumstances. They're a bit risky when it comes to steering, obviously. Can’t always guarantee where you’ll end up. Remember that time we wanted to nip down to ASDA in Radcliffe and we ended up in Koovshinova? That tiny village in Russia? Nice people, good vodka, lots of chickens, I recall; very rural. Bit embarrassing though, and they didn't have any of the shopping we wanted either. Anyway, I thought it would be worth a go even so, since things are so urgent. Needs must, and all that...”
“Stop wittering for pity's sake!” pleaded Alice.
She reminded Liz that the Devil was indeed driving and, if they didn't placate him and do his bidding immediately, if not sooner, then he would almost certainly be dragging them both off straight to hell, without even the comfort of a hand cart to ride in.
They stood in Alice's kitchen listening to the tornado of noise and destruction taking place in the front room. Bangs and clatters and thuds; clashing and crashing, clattering and shattering.
Finally, Alice took a deep breath, and the pair went to investigate. They were just about to open the living room door, when something slammed into it with great force, and they opted instead to take a peek through the keyhole first.
Alice gasped at what she saw. Books, jugs, bottles, baubles, magazines and all the other periphery of a witch’s normal existence were whirling around; smashing into one another, dashing into countless pieces, hitting the walls, the furniture and each other.
In the centre of the psychic storm stood Hariman; his rage the evident cause of the chaos.
“That is not a happy doctor,” remarked Alice, waiting for a lull in the storm so she could open the door without too much fear of being battered to death by an erratically flying book or tea pot.
“Maybe we should let him burn himself out?” Liz offered tentatively, as another crash underlined the doctor's great displeasure.
“Where are my menials!!?” Hariman roared. “Soon all shall know me as I should be; my true form, not this worm in a shrivelled, pale, pink casing!”
He stood in the centre of the whistling, whirling, self-created hurricane, his voice blending perfectly with the cacophony caused by flying household objects.
The noise was enough to shake the very walls of the cottage. Plaster and age-old dust was being stirred up throughout the house, covering the two cowering witches in a pale layer of greyish, whitish powder, making them look like extras from a low budget film from the silent era.
Blinking the grit from their eyes and coughing it up from their throats, Liz and Alice grasped the door handle and turned it. Neither of them had been this scared or nervous since the time they asked Beelzebub for his autograph (He was the D.J. at an evil witches’ all night sabbat and rave party a couple of years ago).
The door swung open. As it did so, the maelstrom within abruptly stopped. All of the objects that were in mid-air fell unceremoniously to the floor with an almighty clatter, creating an unholy pile of wreckage that not even a world-class jigsaw expert would be able to piece together.
Hariman snapped his head round towards the door – and the two terrified witches. His appearance had changed, but neither Alice nor Liz could put their fingers on exactly how. He had just... changed, it was as simple as that. He had changed in appearance, kind of, and demeanour, most definitely.
He smiled warmly at them. It was the warmth of a poker that has just been taken, red hot from a glowing furnace; radiant, but still very, very dangerous to be near.
“Ahh, ladies. Good afternoon to you both. So glad you could join me at such short notice.” The Doctor's voice was all sweetness and light. He flashed the pair an alligator smile. “Please forgive the mess…” He indicated the wreckage around him with a backwards toss of his hand. “It is so difficult these days to find reliable and conscientious domestic staff. Speaking of which... we need to have a quiet little 'chat'. Alice, fix some tea would you? There's a good girl. Could you also please be so kind as to bring me some cake or some other such sweet morsel to go with it?”
He simpered, over-acting shamelessly, delicately placing his fingertips on his forehead.
“I'm feeling a little... depleted. Prolonged rages have a way of using up one's natural body sugars and leaving one with such dreadful headaches, don't you find?”
“They certainly do, they certainly do,” Alice agreed, hastily.
Hariman's change of mood once the door was open had taken her completely on the back foot, but obviously a genial Doctor was infinitely more agreeable than a ragingly destructive one, and so provoking him again would not be the wisest of moves.
Smiling sweetly, she glided back into the kitchen to carry out his wishes.
“The man ought to be in a straight jacket!” she hissed under her breath at Liz as she passed.
Liz nodded, and eyed the Doctor warily from the doorway.
“Elizabeth, do come into
