For a moment, Chester Caldwell looked up from the gloaming in his mind and felt the slight shift in the air around him.
Was it his beloved Lillian coming to torment him again with her false visions or could it be that strange zephyr that blew
pictures of his past into his dreams? He never knew what to think these days, his head ached and the world he'd once
believed in had transmuted into this cracked creation that held no reasoning.
Even as his clothes had began to burn when he'd been rejected by the magical curtain to The Wool-Pit, his heart had felt the
loss of his dear wife as he knew she had also followed his fate. Somewhere out there in the abyss of absurdity, Lillian cowered
in her own pocket of delirium and the devils that had conjured this dismay, now tortured him with flimflam mirages of the woman
he loved.
The God of Inquisition whispered again regarding Chester's failing to join his family and misplace his wife. The menu of questions
unfurled into eternity and for every answer, the grandfather's sanity accepted another bruise for his deficiency as a man.
Where had he gone wrong...? What evil had he performed to be weighed so poorly and why was Lillian punished for his unknown
crime? Did she know he was still alive...? Could his pulse of life still be able to reach out and touch her own to comfort her sorrow?
Tugging up the dirty rag that hid his modesty, the scarecrow-of-a-man went back to the one thing he'd foiled them from taking.
His memories.
...................................................
She could see him, he'd lost weight and still sported the grimy underwear, but Lillian Aldwych could actually see him. He was there
right in front of her and if he would only turn around, maybe Chester could reach a hand out and ... "Stand still Missus Aldwych..."
Peggy Powler barked and quickly stepped over to be beside the frustrated woman in rags. "...Take it easy and breath slowly" the
little Witch advised and checking that her words had been heard, peered into the dark opaque bubble that was Chester Caldwell's
world.
Lillian suddenly flinched and for a moment, Peggy believed she was going to jump into the illusory hollow floating above the line
of Calcite Spar. "He's right in front of us, he's right there" she repeated and reached for the smaller woman's hand. Then out of
the blue, Lillian whispered "...and it's Missus Caldwell, I'm Lillian Caldwell again". Peggy nodded without taking her eyes of the
vision before them and replied in a hushed tone. "Aye well, whatever happens Missus Caldwell, just remember there's a plan...
there's always a plan".
Then recognising an object in the shadowy background she'd been looking for -just to the left of the almost naked man, the little
sorceress did something that left her gown-ripped companion speechless. Slowly stepping a few feet sideways, the Last Witch
of Underhill dived across the boundary of crushed crystal and disappeared.
...................................................
In Chester's swirling continuance of chaos, there was an anchor and it wasn't much, but it was his anchor. The paranormal visitations
had battered his mind and left furrows of craziness in his psyche, but like an embrace from his cherished wife, he'd hung on to it for
all he was worth.
It was a feeble lanyard bound with hope and a slender filament of prospect that his mind refused to let go of due to being what we
all really are. It is in all humans and has walked with us since the Great Herne called us from the sloughs of ignorance to abide with
him in the deep forests.
We cannot ignore its murmurs and we take great delight when we unbox it from it cage. Squatting like a grinning Bogle on the back
-breaking burden of Chester's anguish was revenge. A selfish need to punish those responsible for what had happened to his son
and his son's children, a thirst that only destruction can quench.
In his more-lucid moments, Chester would recall the landscape he'd glimpsed at The Wool-Pit in the moment he'd been judged
and found wanting by the enchanting veil that protected the strangely-lit kingdom. That other realm wasn't the Wonderland that
Godwin had promised and seeing the twilight sky and the demons who inhabited the horror of a world, Chester's vengeance
simmered in a plan to bring a cleansing blaze to the morass known as The Wool-Pit.
...................................................
Lillian Caldwell fulfilled a rumour that Ma Gurnard had truly believed because her husband had told her so. As the evening had
wrapped itself around the small clearing in the woods and bore witness to a little Fae vanishing into thin air, the other observer
to the marvel began to empty her bladder onto the dried earth beneath her dress.
However, that damp material had another duty to perform than just absorb Lillian Caldwell's urine, it was also the landing spot
of several people who fell through from the wraithlike egress that Peggy had leapt through only seconds before.
First came Milton Penrose and then his wife Beatrice, both breathing like the Old Scratch was hot on their heels. Next, Florence
Goddard tumbled to the ground and narrowly avoided being crushed by her husband Herman and the two Caldwell children.
Any dirt from the Penrose's contact with the ground was fleeting as they both rose as one and set-off towards their home, maybe
the Ship Chandlery needed to be opened early.
Forgetting the involuntary jettisoning of her body waste, Lillian rushed to her grandchildren and with thanks to the Gods, drew more
water in the form of jubilant tears. Mathew and Eva were already sobbing, but this was due to the shock of being shoved back through
the unnatural aperture into the cold night of a reality they'd thought they'd lost.
Now, holding their blubbering grandmother, the children's crying was also in the name of joy.
A grunt of pain introduced the falling bodies of Mathew and Nell Caldwell, who were quickly gathered-up to enlarge the huddled troop
of the Caldwell clan. Lillian's bawling continued as they all embraced each other. The trembling Goddards stood beside the far post and
hugged each other, their eyes never leaving the air they'd just passed through.
Lillian's head was nestled on the shoulder of her son and facing the same area the owners of the Dry Goods Store were staring
at as the final person to ever use the doorway to The Wool-Pit came through. Lifting her dirt-smudged face from her fall, Peggy
Powler bellowed two words towards the exuberant woman in the dark-blue gown. "Red light!".
Was it his beloved Lillian coming to torment him again with her false visions or could it be that strange zephyr that blew
pictures of his past into his dreams? He never knew what to think these days, his head ached and the world he'd once
believed in had transmuted into this cracked creation that held no reasoning.
Even as his clothes had began to burn when he'd been rejected by the magical curtain to The Wool-Pit, his heart had felt the
loss of his dear wife as he knew she had also followed his fate. Somewhere out there in the abyss of absurdity, Lillian cowered
in her own pocket of delirium and the devils that had conjured this dismay, now tortured him with flimflam mirages of the woman
he loved.
The God of Inquisition whispered again regarding Chester's failing to join his family and misplace his wife. The menu of questions
unfurled into eternity and for every answer, the grandfather's sanity accepted another bruise for his deficiency as a man.
Where had he gone wrong...? What evil had he performed to be weighed so poorly and why was Lillian punished for his unknown
crime? Did she know he was still alive...? Could his pulse of life still be able to reach out and touch her own to comfort her sorrow?
Tugging up the dirty rag that hid his modesty, the scarecrow-of-a-man went back to the one thing he'd foiled them from taking.
His memories.
...................................................
She could see him, he'd lost weight and still sported the grimy underwear, but Lillian Aldwych could actually see him. He was there
right in front of her and if he would only turn around, maybe Chester could reach a hand out and ... "Stand still Missus Aldwych..."
Peggy Powler barked and quickly stepped over to be beside the frustrated woman in rags. "...Take it easy and breath slowly" the
little Witch advised and checking that her words had been heard, peered into the dark opaque bubble that was Chester Caldwell's
world.
Lillian suddenly flinched and for a moment, Peggy believed she was going to jump into the illusory hollow floating above the line
of Calcite Spar. "He's right in front of us, he's right there" she repeated and reached for the smaller woman's hand. Then out of
the blue, Lillian whispered "...and it's Missus Caldwell, I'm Lillian Caldwell again". Peggy nodded without taking her eyes of the
vision before them and replied in a hushed tone. "Aye well, whatever happens Missus Caldwell, just remember there's a plan...
there's always a plan".
Then recognising an object in the shadowy background she'd been looking for -just to the left of the almost naked man, the little
sorceress did something that left her gown-ripped companion speechless. Slowly stepping a few feet sideways, the Last Witch
of Underhill dived across the boundary of crushed crystal and disappeared.
...................................................
In Chester's swirling continuance of chaos, there was an anchor and it wasn't much, but it was his anchor. The paranormal visitations
had battered his mind and left furrows of craziness in his psyche, but like an embrace from his cherished wife, he'd hung on to it for
all he was worth.
It was a feeble lanyard bound with hope and a slender filament of prospect that his mind refused to let go of due to being what we
all really are. It is in all humans and has walked with us since the Great Herne called us from the sloughs of ignorance to abide with
him in the deep forests.
We cannot ignore its murmurs and we take great delight when we unbox it from it cage. Squatting like a grinning Bogle on the back
-breaking burden of Chester's anguish was revenge. A selfish need to punish those responsible for what had happened to his son
and his son's children, a thirst that only destruction can quench.
In his more-lucid moments, Chester would recall the landscape he'd glimpsed at The Wool-Pit in the moment he'd been judged
and found wanting by the enchanting veil that protected the strangely-lit kingdom. That other realm wasn't the Wonderland that
Godwin had promised and seeing the twilight sky and the demons who inhabited the horror of a world, Chester's vengeance
simmered in a plan to bring a cleansing blaze to the morass known as The Wool-Pit.
...................................................
Lillian Caldwell fulfilled a rumour that Ma Gurnard had truly believed because her husband had told her so. As the evening had
wrapped itself around the small clearing in the woods and bore witness to a little Fae vanishing into thin air, the other observer
to the marvel began to empty her bladder onto the dried earth beneath her dress.
However, that damp material had another duty to perform than just absorb Lillian Caldwell's urine, it was also the landing spot
of several people who fell through from the wraithlike egress that Peggy had leapt through only seconds before.
First came Milton Penrose and then his wife Beatrice, both breathing like the Old Scratch was hot on their heels. Next, Florence
Goddard tumbled to the ground and narrowly avoided being crushed by her husband Herman and the two Caldwell children.
Any dirt from the Penrose's contact with the ground was fleeting as they both rose as one and set-off towards their home, maybe
the Ship Chandlery needed to be opened early.
Forgetting the involuntary jettisoning of her body waste, Lillian rushed to her grandchildren and with thanks to the Gods, drew more
water in the form of jubilant tears. Mathew and Eva were already sobbing, but this was due to the shock of being shoved back through
the unnatural aperture into the cold night of a reality they'd thought they'd lost.
Now, holding their blubbering grandmother, the children's crying was also in the name of joy.
A grunt of pain introduced the falling bodies of Mathew and Nell Caldwell, who were quickly gathered-up to enlarge the huddled troop
of the Caldwell clan. Lillian's bawling continued as they all embraced each other. The trembling Goddards stood beside the far post and
hugged each other, their eyes never leaving the air they'd just passed through.
Lillian's head was nestled on the shoulder of her son and facing the same area the owners of the Dry Goods Store were staring
at as the final person to ever use the doorway to The Wool-Pit came through. Lifting her dirt-smudged face from her fall, Peggy
Powler bellowed two words towards the exuberant woman in the dark-blue gown. "Red light!".
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.