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Hands rolling against the crackling newspaper, Humphrey stopped outside the house of Cornelius Haughton and not for the first time. He had spoken to Cornelius, more than several times, almost become overwhelmed by anger, at least three times, to the point where he had very nearly raised his voice. Or tutted.

If that had happened, the entire fabric of the village may as well have unwound and collapsed about him. Anger, in this situation, helped no-one. Least of all against Cornelius, who had the vast and unquenchable ability to shrug away anything and everything if it did not meet with his own personal views on, well, anything.

Cornelius was, to put it mildly, headstrong. Bullish was another word that could describe him. Stubborn. Arrogant. Verbally aggressive. All very appropriate and descriptive terms for the man. Humphrey preferred 'idiot' in his quiet moments far away from the delicate sensibilities of other villagers. He even tried not to say it out loud in front of his cats who were, he often thought, far too judgmental for ersatz family members.

He felt his eye twitch and reached up a hand to stop it.

Turning away, he decided not to knock on Cornelius' door and try, once again, to talk some sense into the man. Sense that Cornelius had no more need for than the village stream needed a ferry. He thought better of it, but then found himself turning back, before turning to walk away again. By the time he had finished, he had caught himself in quite the tiz and had become more than a little dizzy.

That dizziness didn't help when he almost barrelled into the old woman that had simply appeared from nowhere with no regard for giving people a heads-up or warning of any kind. It didn't help, of course, that she stood a good head and shoulders shorter than himself. This was difficult, as Humphrey could not, under any circumstances, be ever called a tall man. Or large in any way. The woman, for all her obstructive qualities, stood far shorter still than he.

And she didn't move. At least, she didn't move until Humphrey attempted to move, at which point, she moved too. In the same direction. Causing them both to pause, apologise, and then attempt to move once more. Only for them both to mirror each others' movements and find themselves facing each other again. More apologies passed between them and, several mirrored sidesteps later, Humphrey found himself becoming a little miffed.

He laughed, throwing his head back, tapping his leg with the rolled-up newspaper, and then tried to slip by the woman while she smothered a little laugh of her own. When she, once again, infuriatingly, matched his movement, Humphrey almost growled to himself. Except, now the woman stood upon her tip-toes and glared right into his eyes. That made him feel far, far less comfortable than he could ever feel happy with.

"I know what you need to do." She squinted as she spoke, giving a very serious, knowing nod towards him before looking away to the side. Towards Cornelius' house and the offending items. "If tha likes, I can tell you. If'n tha cross me palm with silver. Or a note. I'm not fussy."

"Madam! I am hardly in the habit of crossing the palms of vagabonds and wanderers with silver or any other substance!" He gave the edges of his herringbone waistcoat a sharp tug, almost dropping his newspaper. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to step to the right, I shall step to the left and we can both be on our ways."

"Vagabonds and wanderers? I can't say as I'm either of those." She moved in front of him again as he stepped to the left, clearly and defiantly ignoring his instructions. "Though I have seen me fair share of places and folks as needs me personal attention. What does tha say? Fiver'll get thee the answers tha needs."

With a stroke of genius, Humphrey made a tactical manoeuvre worthy of Montgomery, spinning on his heel and proceeding to walk back the way he had come, passing Cornelius' house once more, replete with items that Humphrey wished he didn't have to see every single day. A dog barked in the distance, catching his attention and he made a mental note to have the committee vote on whether to enlarge all the "Dog's must be kept on a leash at all times!" signs, spotted around the village.

The woman had cut off his rear-guard action, his tactical retreat, his danse militaire. She had caught him unawares, with his pants down, so to speak, and had entrenched herself firmly in front of him. Yet again. Humphrey didn't know why he thought about the situation in military terms. It seemed appropriate, even though he had never served in the military. It also seemed that the woman proved a far better tactician than he.

"Please, I am begging you, allow me to go about my day in peace." He could hear the weaselly cringe in his voice, coughed and tried to make the voice sound deeper for the continuation of his words. "I can see, clearly, that you aren't from around here. We get sightseers and day-trippers all the time. But, please, go about your day, taking pictures of the pretty houses and the cobble stones and the little red post boxes and leave me alone. Thank you."

"Well, not as I know what a 'day-trippers' is, but I've known a fair few seers in my life. Not as I'd trust a one of them, mind, not with my future, nor anyone else's. Charlatans as like, more'n seers." The woman rubbed a wrinkled finger under her nose and Humphrey marvelled at how long and hooked that nose was. "But, I know a man befuddled when I sees one and thee, me lad, are befuddled. Maybe flummoxed, even. About them."

That wrinkled finger, removed from the vigorous rubbing of her nose, now pointed towards the house of Cornelius Haughton and the items that had caused more than a little consternation, whispered, inflammatory words, and the odd flap of hands as people passed them by, owing to the awful whiff that emanated from said items.

Two turnips. And a cucumber. Far, far past their best in the heady days of the harvest. Rotting, now. Putrid. Liquifying. The vegetables, placed in a way to give any person of vulnerable disposition a shock every time they saw them, were Cornelius' pride and joy. Prize winners, praised for their size and firmness. Though their sizes had diminished greatly and 'firm' was not a word that could describe them with any accuracy anymore.

They had become Humphrey's bête noire. His own, personal, focus of everything wrong about the village, but Cornelius had outright refused to remove the offending vegetables from pride of place outside his door. Humphrey had no idea how the man could stand the smell, or the sight of them. But he could. He did and he had made it absolutely clear he wasn't about to throw them away any time soon.

Even as he looked at them now, he noticed the visage of Cornelius himself, peering out of his window behind net curtains that did little to hide anything within the cottage. Cornelius grinned behind his thick moustache, pipe gripped between his lips. He knew. He knew very well how much Humphrey hated those squishy vegetables. He kept them there out of pure petty-mindedness.

"No. No. I'm sure Cornelius will remove them any day now. He is, after all, a member of the committee and it his duty to keep the village tidy." Humphrey shook his head several times, even though, deep inside, he knew those vegetables would never leave that doorstep. "I'm sure of it."

Not the confrontational type, Humphrey could do little else than seethe inwardly. Not much more than ask Cornelius, in a roundabout, off-hand, in passing kind of fashion to one day, if he'd be so kind, and for the greater good of the village as a whole and not at all only for Humphrey's benefit, throw those disgusting, rotting pieces of vomit-inducing garbage away. He never used those exact words. Of course.

But ...

What if he could get rid of them? What if he could, in the still of the night, wrapped in the velvet darkness of a Moon-less sky, throw them away? No-one would know that he was the one to rid the village of such a blemish. No-one would ever suspect the little man, who wouldn't say 'boo' to a ghost, who would, more likely, spend the rest of his days impotently staring at those vegetables and doing nothing, of being so bold as to steal them away. To throw them on a remote compost heap and become the village hero.

No-one would know. Except, that is, Humphrey himself. He would know and he would never forgive himself. He could never become a putrid vegetable sneak-thief. It was, quite simply, not the kind of thing he could ever envision himself doing. He was far too nice. Far too quiet. Far too meek. Or weak. Either word would be the correct one to describe him.

"Done!" That single word from the old woman snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What? No. Nothing is 'done'!" He started to protest, but couldn't see the woman anywhere. As though she had vanished at the snap of a finger. He continued, however, whispering to himself. "I never said anything that could be considered 'done', anyway."

"No, but tha thought it." The old woman hadn't vanished. She'd stepped around him and Humphrey span on his heel to see her waddling away, bent backed and using a gnarled old walking stick he hadn't seen her holding. "Bargain is a bargain, but don't say as I didn't warn thee."

"Warn me? Warn me about what?" The newspaper in his hand had become twisted and creased as he had spoken to the old woman. Now he had almost ripped it in two. "You didn't warn me about anything!"

"Consequences, my lad." The old woman chuckled and the chuckle became a hacking cough before it became a chuckle again. "There's always consequences afore the end is about."

Humphrey couldn't help but frown as the strange old woman walked away, up the cobbled street. He glanced towards the two turnips and the cucumber and then towards the window where Cornelius continued to watch the street from. Cornelius tapped his forehead with the pipe stem in some arrogant salute.

Looking at his ruined newspaper, Humphrey turned back towards the village shop to buy a new one and, before too long, he had forgotten all about the old, bent-backed woman, her strangeness and her forced bargain. After all, what could a tiny old woman do?