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"They're the worst. I keep on wondering... if they're trying to set me up with confrontations with tv people."

"Wouldn't surprise me.. at least I'm not followed about the shops so much, now."
"Do you think its....?"
"It's?..."
"Early Dementia... Like a few years ago they were saying more and more young women were going to be affected. And the ones that are after me are so hyped up. Squeaky and a bit twitchy."
"Could be. A horrid thought. I saw a bit of that in Sharon. She squeaked and twitched."

I stood up straight and smoothed down my new jeggings. Darker blue, and trimmed with a line of diamond studs at each side.
They snuck into my ankle boots snuggly. Not bad, I thought happily. Not bad....

Then she jolted me out of my happy moment. "You know," she said unhappily, "They even blog this story that you're putting together out of this experience somewhere. Or do it on radio, papers etc... They're so eager to see a new bit."

"No, they don't." I informed her straight out. "This is under copyright on this site. So don't let them worry you or get you paranoid. Just giggle at them.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Giggle. I'll be able to do them for damages..."

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The next day Kitty felt more adventuous than usual and went for a stroll to the top of the village where she waited for the bus.
It was a beautiful day, the air fine and fresh, and the world was full of colour and light. It was as if the air was expectant. A sense of purpose fillled her up. She leaned back onto the lamp-post, and counted her blessings.

Two minutes later loud voices came accross from the old services centre, where once the Naafi had handed out teas and coffees to men fresh from missions flown overseas and who were grateful to be back in civvi street.

It was one of the Tripod. A tall angular figure seen against light. Almost pop-art. She was thin, and her joints stuck out at awkward angles. Her voice was strident, uncaring, arrogant and cruel.

God made word, and the word was made light, (see John) and for a few moments the light centred around her oddly ungainly alien shape. It split her apart at the joints. Her true face was seeable. A long tongue dangled lazily between lips that were centred above her eyes. She had no nose.
:
A second voice warned her away from me. She took no notice and continued to scream that she didn't want that, and what could I do about it anyway...
"We've had our meeting," said the other, not coming into view.
"I don't care." she said grimly glaring at me. She was totally unashamed. She had nothing. She didn't care about right or wrong. She had become a Satanist - and her only interest was in serving her own wants.

Kitty watched them sadly. She knew not to invite an argument. It had to be left to the law. Three laws in action; that of God, which she'd seen just now. The removal of the priviledge of Christians, the right to eternal life. Talk to Jesus of forgiveness she thought, only with your attitude you can't. Without real feeling, how can you confess your sins to God? When you are blinded by hatred, how can you seek him out?

Satanistic laws say that failure is Death... a case of you might get power - and Lucifer gets you if you get it wrong...

Human laws are perhaps easier to understand. You pay for what you do.

The light having done it's work left her. She was undone. I wondered if she had been previously buried under the crossroads, which might have been there once. What walked away wasn't alive. It had the jerky movments of the Zombie.
"She can't have anything, anyway," she continued twice as nastily, "There's the curse to consider... People have been doing it wrong for years..."

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