       |
The Story of Miss R Prim, who sold her soul to Satan for the world's biggest turnip
The gaggle of florally printed ladies shuffled and chattered like a colony of penguins in an arctic wind, those on the perimeter of the assembly endeavouring to burrow their way into the fervency of the centre and those in the middle furiously relishing their fleeting magnitude in the whirl of shortbread fingers and sherry.
The squeaks and titters echoed round the Town Hall until a booming, masculine voice quaked the twittering into silence.
“Good afternoon girls...”
An outburst of coquettish giggles and squealiing erupted momentarily, soon supplanted by an anticipatory hush. Doctor Hastings ejaculated one of his winning smiles at the horde of housewives, “The envelope please.”
A nylon, gingham, apron-clad dame dashed forwards, her eyes fixed on her shoes in concentration of the enormity of her task.
“Thank you Mavis.”
Mavis let out an indecipherable warble and scurried back into the security of the crowd.
“The winner of this year’s vegetable contest is...” A collective inhalation imploded the walls of the hall by a single molecule.
“Miss Rose Prim.”
A chorus of shrill cheeping rang out accompanied by the patter of fairyliquid-soft palms applauding. Miss Prim felt her heart frolic around her ribcage, she stroked down her petticoats and advanced towards the stage in a flurry of florid finery, her cheeks blazing and heart pounding under the gaze of the Doctor as he held out his hand to assist her.
Suddenly, an explosion of white flame, sulphurous smoke and soot particles engulfed the podium and the neighbouring vegetable table.
There stood Satan, his marvellous crimson, hairy, scaly epidermis emerging from the swirling mists of purgatory. He grinned a wicked grin at his audience and swished his serpents tail rakishly.
“Good afternoon ladies.”
The ladies squealed, Satan cackled and leapt through the air like a gruesome and terrifying Billy goat.
Scooping up Miss Prim with one bulging arm and throwing her over his shoulder in a fanfare of petticoats and bloomers, he turned and leapt back through the portal in a single bound. With a gurgling and a crackling it closed, leaving only a small round scorch mark on the varnished boards.
“In that case, first prize goes to first runner up, Mrs Hyacinth Lovell. Congratulations!”