There was a stranger who wore no shoes and a hat big enough that if fully erected, would add another two feet
to the bijou woman's stature and she was headed in Father Jacobs' direction. It seemed these days, that for a
small community like Little Compton, the lazy days of letting time tick by were long behind the exhausted Priest
and his meagre congregation.
"Good day, Ma'am..." the heedful vicar said with all the pleasantness he could muster, Martha Dinsdale had just
been put into the ground and he was hoping his day was done. "...Welcome to our little place of paradise" Jacobs
added as he watched the female walk nonchalantly across the mud-laden track towards him.
"Fair elements, me-good man, me-name is Peggy Powler and Ah' hear yer've got trouble hereabouts?" the little
Witch said lightly and curtsied to the aloof-looking ecclesiastic. She wasn't a favourite with these church-dwellers
and had many a run-in with them, so rising from her greeting, she didn't expect any difference in this God-forsaken
hamlet.
Father Jacobs' eyes narrowed as he realised who was standing before him and recalling the woman's alleged
exploits from travellers who'd tarried awhile in Little Compton, he was surprised by a physical size that failed
to live up to the reputation. "We rally together when predicaments visit" he said tersely and showed a smile
that would be at home on a scarecrow.
Peggy kept her features from her salutation and nodded an approval of collective acts, whilst gaining the notion
that this pompous jackass was out of his depth and he knew it. So the little sorceress chummed the waters to
solidify her supposition.
"So yer'll be settin' yer' stall out to kill the Barghest then?" Peggy asked and turned on her heel to set-off back
down the lane, but she heard the gasp from the highfaluting clergyman before she'd showed her back.
"You... you know?" Jacobs stammered and almost reached out to the small woman's shoulder, but stopped
himself at the last moment.
The poncho-wearing target of the question looked over the shoulder that the Priest had almost grabbed and
answered. "Aye and he's deformed, Ah' reckon" Peggy said with a tone that made Father Jacobs' soul feel
colder than a Deacon's watch-chain.
...................................................
"I think it was rude of me to not introduce myself when we first met..." he said watching the woman sitting on
a chair too-high for her and feasting on the large cheese-loaded hoagie he'd just made her. "...I am Father
Mathew Jacobs and this is my little chapel" he supplemented and managed a genuine smile this time.
The vestry was cozy and with the warmth from the small fire hearth, the last Witch of Underhill ate-up the
comfort as well as the food. "Nice te' meet yer'" she offered and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
The taking of nourishment was accompanied by a few minutes of quietude as the Priest went about doing
whatever Priests do when not saving souls and Peggy filled her mouth with the sandwich.
"I hear that you're acquainted with these types of demons?" Father Jacobs said without looking at his new
guest in his vestry. He was changing his clerical collar for a cleaner one as Evensong was just a couple of
hours away, although he suspected the chancel to be empty tonight.
Peggy sipped her goblet of water and smiled to herself as she remembered how the game was played.
It was always the same, old majick had been branded shameful and belong to a time when the ignorant knew
no better. The land became enlightened with the Good Book and so when a pious farmer's turnip won't grow
or a malignant spirit decides to terrorise some church-goers shack, a man-of-the-cloth would sprinkle water
at the predicament and then forget about it.
But when the problem really needs solving, these righteous rascals send for ol' Peggy Powler and her bag of
tricks to oust the headache. Then when she's out of earshot, the same Priest will lambaste the little woman for
her barbaric ways and lack of proper orthodoxy.
It was always the same.
"Aye, there's been things like yon beastie cross me-path before..." the Witch replied as she wiped her poncho
free of crumbs. "...Did yer' hallowed book not have any spells to kick its arse out of yer parish?" she added and
carefully climbed down from the table to display anything that might shock the tentative cleric.
Standing in front of the aloof Father Jacobs, Peggy explained the situation the best she could and apart from when
the Priest interjected the name 'Doramus' and the destruction of his lair, her chronicle of the Vampyre-cum-Barguest
went undisturbed.
And at the end of the sorceress' sermon, Peggy was sure the haughtiness would have left him.
At some point in Little Compton's history, a person became infected with the curse of the vampire. It seemed that
Doramus was this particular victim. The evil diablo who made him this way -either fled for pastures new or came to
an untimely end.
This left Doramus without his mentor to show him the way of the blood-sucking fiend and as his unharnessed powers
manifested, the delinquent monster began to operate out of character for a vampire. In essence, his behaviour steered
Doramus towards being a Vampyre.
The difference is paltry, but it has a bearing. Having the ability to loosely mimic other creatures, Doramus developed a
dependency on animals that surround Little Compton for his sustenance. Vampires preyed on humans, Vampyres prey
on anything containing blood.
At this juncture in her account, Peggy suggested that the listening Curate should ask surrounding farms if any of their
livestock had been attacked by what could be considered a wild dog or a marked change in their animals' manner.
Jacobs was almost bent over with his need to concentrate on what the small raconteur was saying and almost fell onto
the woman as he nodded that he would do as she proposed at the most convenient moment.
"Yer' say yer' cornered the brute...?" Peggy said, but her words weren't in the form of a question. "Aye, well this'll be the
time when he passed ower' from his primitive life of a lost vampire to the bugger who's been snoopin' aroond yer' village"
she explained as she walked back to retrieve her drink.
The Priest seemed to struggle from his mesmerism and gathering himself back to his full height, described how Doramus'
cave was turned into a pyre and the confidence the hunters had that the Vampyre had been consumed in flames.
With a quick swig of her Adam's ale, she told Jacobs that she'd need to see this burnt-out grotto at some point and again,
his vigorous nodding assured the bare-footed shaman that such a venture was also on the menu.
"He's a Barguest all-reet and Ah' wouldn't be surprised if he's darin' himself to attack someone from Little Compton" Peggy
warned and felt the Priest's mood change. Father Jacobs gulped and pulled at the collar he'd just put on for a probable empty
ceremony. "Er... there's s-something I need to tell you" he stuttered.
to the bijou woman's stature and she was headed in Father Jacobs' direction. It seemed these days, that for a
small community like Little Compton, the lazy days of letting time tick by were long behind the exhausted Priest
and his meagre congregation.
"Good day, Ma'am..." the heedful vicar said with all the pleasantness he could muster, Martha Dinsdale had just
been put into the ground and he was hoping his day was done. "...Welcome to our little place of paradise" Jacobs
added as he watched the female walk nonchalantly across the mud-laden track towards him.
"Fair elements, me-good man, me-name is Peggy Powler and Ah' hear yer've got trouble hereabouts?" the little
Witch said lightly and curtsied to the aloof-looking ecclesiastic. She wasn't a favourite with these church-dwellers
and had many a run-in with them, so rising from her greeting, she didn't expect any difference in this God-forsaken
hamlet.
Father Jacobs' eyes narrowed as he realised who was standing before him and recalling the woman's alleged
exploits from travellers who'd tarried awhile in Little Compton, he was surprised by a physical size that failed
to live up to the reputation. "We rally together when predicaments visit" he said tersely and showed a smile
that would be at home on a scarecrow.
Peggy kept her features from her salutation and nodded an approval of collective acts, whilst gaining the notion
that this pompous jackass was out of his depth and he knew it. So the little sorceress chummed the waters to
solidify her supposition.
"So yer'll be settin' yer' stall out to kill the Barghest then?" Peggy asked and turned on her heel to set-off back
down the lane, but she heard the gasp from the highfaluting clergyman before she'd showed her back.
"You... you know?" Jacobs stammered and almost reached out to the small woman's shoulder, but stopped
himself at the last moment.
The poncho-wearing target of the question looked over the shoulder that the Priest had almost grabbed and
answered. "Aye and he's deformed, Ah' reckon" Peggy said with a tone that made Father Jacobs' soul feel
colder than a Deacon's watch-chain.
...................................................
"I think it was rude of me to not introduce myself when we first met..." he said watching the woman sitting on
a chair too-high for her and feasting on the large cheese-loaded hoagie he'd just made her. "...I am Father
Mathew Jacobs and this is my little chapel" he supplemented and managed a genuine smile this time.
The vestry was cozy and with the warmth from the small fire hearth, the last Witch of Underhill ate-up the
comfort as well as the food. "Nice te' meet yer'" she offered and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
The taking of nourishment was accompanied by a few minutes of quietude as the Priest went about doing
whatever Priests do when not saving souls and Peggy filled her mouth with the sandwich.
"I hear that you're acquainted with these types of demons?" Father Jacobs said without looking at his new
guest in his vestry. He was changing his clerical collar for a cleaner one as Evensong was just a couple of
hours away, although he suspected the chancel to be empty tonight.
Peggy sipped her goblet of water and smiled to herself as she remembered how the game was played.
It was always the same, old majick had been branded shameful and belong to a time when the ignorant knew
no better. The land became enlightened with the Good Book and so when a pious farmer's turnip won't grow
or a malignant spirit decides to terrorise some church-goers shack, a man-of-the-cloth would sprinkle water
at the predicament and then forget about it.
But when the problem really needs solving, these righteous rascals send for ol' Peggy Powler and her bag of
tricks to oust the headache. Then when she's out of earshot, the same Priest will lambaste the little woman for
her barbaric ways and lack of proper orthodoxy.
It was always the same.
"Aye, there's been things like yon beastie cross me-path before..." the Witch replied as she wiped her poncho
free of crumbs. "...Did yer' hallowed book not have any spells to kick its arse out of yer parish?" she added and
carefully climbed down from the table to display anything that might shock the tentative cleric.
Standing in front of the aloof Father Jacobs, Peggy explained the situation the best she could and apart from when
the Priest interjected the name 'Doramus' and the destruction of his lair, her chronicle of the Vampyre-cum-Barguest
went undisturbed.
And at the end of the sorceress' sermon, Peggy was sure the haughtiness would have left him.
At some point in Little Compton's history, a person became infected with the curse of the vampire. It seemed that
Doramus was this particular victim. The evil diablo who made him this way -either fled for pastures new or came to
an untimely end.
This left Doramus without his mentor to show him the way of the blood-sucking fiend and as his unharnessed powers
manifested, the delinquent monster began to operate out of character for a vampire. In essence, his behaviour steered
Doramus towards being a Vampyre.
The difference is paltry, but it has a bearing. Having the ability to loosely mimic other creatures, Doramus developed a
dependency on animals that surround Little Compton for his sustenance. Vampires preyed on humans, Vampyres prey
on anything containing blood.
At this juncture in her account, Peggy suggested that the listening Curate should ask surrounding farms if any of their
livestock had been attacked by what could be considered a wild dog or a marked change in their animals' manner.
Jacobs was almost bent over with his need to concentrate on what the small raconteur was saying and almost fell onto
the woman as he nodded that he would do as she proposed at the most convenient moment.
"Yer' say yer' cornered the brute...?" Peggy said, but her words weren't in the form of a question. "Aye, well this'll be the
time when he passed ower' from his primitive life of a lost vampire to the bugger who's been snoopin' aroond yer' village"
she explained as she walked back to retrieve her drink.
The Priest seemed to struggle from his mesmerism and gathering himself back to his full height, described how Doramus'
cave was turned into a pyre and the confidence the hunters had that the Vampyre had been consumed in flames.
With a quick swig of her Adam's ale, she told Jacobs that she'd need to see this burnt-out grotto at some point and again,
his vigorous nodding assured the bare-footed shaman that such a venture was also on the menu.
"He's a Barguest all-reet and Ah' wouldn't be surprised if he's darin' himself to attack someone from Little Compton" Peggy
warned and felt the Priest's mood change. Father Jacobs gulped and pulled at the collar he'd just put on for a probable empty
ceremony. "Er... there's s-something I need to tell you" he stuttered.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.