The Witch
“The devil is alive within you, witch!” announced the vicar ominously. Looks between congregation members, along with the obligatory whispers, peppered the chapel in response.
“I command you to reject the sexy advances of Satan into your life!”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” replied the Widow Goodwoman, “I’m just here to sing some hymns and praise Jesus.”
“Liar,” screamed Vicar Manning, “you are here to tempt me with your sexy wiles!”
“That’s twice you’ve said the word sexy in the last minute or so,” noted the widow, “maybe you’re the one possessed by a sexy devil.”
The vicar fell silent. It was a telling few seconds before he managed to regather his ire.
“When you question me, you question the Lord,” he bellowed as some of the young children began to whimper, while others put their hands up to their ears. The high-pitched squeal emanating from the clergyman echoed around the church.
“That’s not quite true,” replied the Widow Goodwoman, “when I question you, it’s because you speak with an idiot’s tongue. The Lord has nothing to do with it.”
Again, Vicar Manning fell completely silent. This time, because of apoplectic rage. How dare this woman, this woman, question his authority in this house of Jehovah. There was only one course of action. He grabbed the large bible resting upon his pulpit and leaped down dramatically to bash the insolence out of her.
Unfortunately for Vicar Manning, his long flowing robes, robes he had purchased using a large chunk of the £42 roof endowment, got tangled in his feet. In his rage, the vicar was unable to maintain his footing. He tumbled violently forward, smacking his temple on the corner of the large marble altar. Slumping to the ground on top of the large book, blood oozed from his temple, down over the bible, and onto the stone floor. There were audible sighs of relief from the congregation.
“Sorry about that, everyone,” said Mrs Goodwoman as she surveyed the carnage, “I didn’t much care for his style, anyway.”