“It must be the wind.”

“The wind?!” Daryl replied incredulously, for he considered himself quite the amateur meteorologist. “How would the wind have done that?”

“I don’t know. Blown it or something.” John shrugged his shoulders, as if it was impossible to embellish this explanation any further.

“You think the _wind_, picked up old Gregory’s house, and put it on top of a cliff, undamaged?”

“Well I don’t know, do I? What do you think happened then?”

“Something strange. Something witchy. You know I heard him arguing with that _woman_? The one who’s always carting those bags around- you noticed how she’s always got a gang of cats following her around?”

He pointed accusingly at the house dangling precariously above them; “I reckon _she’s_ got something to do with this bollocks!”

John looked around uncomfortably. Disagreeing with Daryl never worked out for him.

“Well… alright then boss, what do you want us to do?”

Daryl looked at the house with glee; “Call the gang. We’ve got a job to finish.”