It was Lady Ophelia who turned first to face whatever abomination had sneaked up behind them and seeing Peggy
Powler standing in the shadows with her finger to her lips, it took all of the tall titled woman's willpower not to castigate
the little Witch holding what might be tomorrow's breakfast.
"He's here" Peggy whispered as Father Jacobs snatched his head around at the quiet announcement. With a wary survey
of the gloom, he asked in the same tone "Where?" and took on the same pose as the woman beside him, it was state of
apprehensive fear mixed with the natural wish to stay alive. Both had their fists clenched.
Out there in the nightfall, a shape moved from the shadows and positioned itself at the edge of the clearing.
All lumps and twists, Doramus reviewed the situation with all the imagination an animal can muster. His strange head
was cocked as if struggling to comprehend why two humans were here and in such a vulnerable setting. Why...? Why?
If anything remained of Emmett Collins within the crooked beast, the scene would've screamed of a trap and certainly
a true Vampire would have avoided the open-ground altogether. But a Barguest knows only what it sees and Doramus
merely saw two opportunities to feed.
The trembling Priest crossed his heart and with a quick flick of her eyes, Lady Ophelia emulated the movement. "When
he runs, leave it until the last second before you jump out of the way" she breathed from the side of her mouth. Jacobs
just nodded and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the deformed fiend hunched among the dead leaves.
...................................................
From beneath the shadow of her hat, Peggy murmured some strange words and stepping out in front of her companions,
she knew that if this creature behaved in the manner Accam-Dey had advised, she would be the direct target due to her
size. "There are no morals, nor feelings of inadequacy or superiority within a Barguest..." the wolf's head had recounted
from behind the thumb-smudged glass of his final sarcophagus and with blazoned-eyes, the great killer smiled and added
"...but beware of its savagery, for it is man-gone-bad".
But the Great Wolf of Hexham had told her one more thing, the one instruction she'd struggled to recall until a few moments
ago. The way to defeat the flawed ghoul that wished to plague Little Compton. Now standing in the chilly dark clutching the
ugly mushroom, Accam-Dey's words came back to her and Peggy shivered -but not due to the cold.
"No rood or rabbit's foot will alarm this thing and salt over one's shoulder will only add taste to your flesh. Hear me child, for
when you meet a Barguest, the blood of the Devil's morel is the only way to bring the odious man-dog low."
As the saliva-dripping proboscis slowly emerged from the anomaly's bent muzzle, Peggy began her own type of run and
caught the Barguest off-guard. In an instinctual act, Doramus aped the oncoming floppy-hatted bantam and dug his claws
into the loose loam beneath the rotting leaves for better purchase.
Father Jacobs and the wide-eyed blue-blood beside him stared at the insane scene, a little Witch charging towards an evil
monster that was running to eat its supper. The Priest crossed himself again and Lady Ophelia placed her hands over her
eyes.
"Oh magna fesh... nunc" Peggy hissed through her teeth and with a grin that Accam-Dey would have been proud of, she slid
to a halt and watched the panting Barguest suddenly take flight.
Bound in a net of earth-smelling roots, the great elms swooped up the damaged wriggling horror and hung the squealing brute
in the air like a child's kite caught in a high wind. Adjusting her grip on the bulbous fungus they call the Devil's Bolete, Peggy
stepped closer and stared up at her catch.
"Gotcha yer' bugger" she exhaled and reached inside her satchel for her coup de grace.
As her fingers caressed the golden needle, she jumped with sudden alarm as two short arrows swooped out of the darkness
and thudded into the pelt of the trussed Doramus. There were no bestial yelps of pain and no human screams of agony as the
second bolt slammed deep into the Barguest's brain.
Mathew Jacobs and Ophelia Barque were transfixed as they witnessed Peggy Powler release the crushed remains of the fat
mushroom in her hand and the monster above her hanging dead as a doornail. Steaming liquid oozed from the Barguest's
wounds and dripped on the poisonous agaric.
"Hard-boiled" the Witch said with a grin and turned to peer into the shadows of the hawthorn bushes.
As her relieved companions warily approached her, Peggy scanned the gloom for the owner of the two carved missiles and
thought she saw a glint of metal for a moment. But she wouldn't but a hand on Father Jacobs' good book and swear on it.
"Thank you... oh thank you" the Priest sighed and with Ophelia kneeling with him, they hugged the little scruffy Witch staring
out into the darkness.
...................................................
Epilogue.
The haughty woman in the cotton dress and flowery church hat admonished the smaller female in the poncho with a verve that any
passer-by would've taken as a serious telling-off from an elite class to a lower one. "No...I will not take no for an answer, you have
earned it and the good Reverend agreed too" Lady Ophelia chided, but refused to meet Peggy's eyes in the verbal combat.
The bag of gold coins would come in handy, but the amount was more than the last Witch of Underhill deemed appropriate.
"M'lady, Ah' appreciate the coinage.. Ah' do, but a cabbage or some of yer' servant's bacon would be enough... honest Ma'am"
Peggy replied humbly and meant it. The tall refined female broke from her bogus rigidity with a smile that Sir Reginald Barque
rarely saw and with a proud movement of her swan-like neck, looked towards the waddling Carstairs passing the summer-house
with a large grease-proof parcel.
"Oh, I know" Lady Ophelia sighed and waited for her man-servant to push the wrapped bundle of bacon into the hands of the
grateful sorceress before sneakily shoving the sack of money into Peggy's bag. "Gotcha, yer bugger!" she added and received
flabbergasted looks from both her guest and her domestic.
...................................................
The terrified man with his shovel propped against the chapel's newly-painted lychgate remained silent as he watched the good vicar
of Little Compton embrace the small heathen warlock who couldn't afford shoes. To Benedict Coombs, the scene was something he
couldn't even conjure-up if he'd drank a month's worth of his moonshine.
"Where next?" Father Jacobs asked when he finally released the grinning Witch from his hug and straightened his smock with a glance
towards his seemingly-distressed grave-digger. Patting her satchel, Peggy said "Wiv' me payment fur'..." she too looked at the old man
who crossed his heart from the observance and changed her tack. "...Bein' well in mind n' body, Ah' felt it time te' visit Salterhead and
wet me-feet in the waters of the Great Sea" she replied.
After a bow and a reciprocal curtsy, Peggy Powler turned and stepped gaily along the lane that would bring her out onto Calder's Way.
Father Mathew Jacobs watched the strange woman -who walked a different path than his, but sought similar results, amble out of his
life and Little Compton too.
"Eeeh, there's something yer' don't see everyday" Coombs said watching the Witch receding behind the bare trees. His comment was
two-fold and the grinning Priest knew it. "Aye..." Father Jacobs replied "...and no mistake".
...................................................
Brape Faraday tutted to himself when he failed to see the hare that had just darted from the track he was using and watching the fleeing
animal, his eyes were met by the figure of Peggy Powler walking along the sea-cobbled highway favoured by humans. Seeing the jack's
tail disappear down a delve in the moor, Brape's usual blank features gave away his attitude as he reckoned a fine coney would certainly
impress Myra Gold when he got to Lever's Cove.
"Thank thee" a faint voice came on the western breeze and coming out of his thoughts, Brape peered over where the Witch was waving.
Grim-Figgs don't wave and they rarely respond to gratitude, you never know who is watching. Adjusting his bulging backpack, he carried
on along the track beside the deep crevice and ignored the woman in the floppy hat.
I mean, why not...? he never got his arrows back.
Hard-boiled.
The End.
Powler standing in the shadows with her finger to her lips, it took all of the tall titled woman's willpower not to castigate
the little Witch holding what might be tomorrow's breakfast.
"He's here" Peggy whispered as Father Jacobs snatched his head around at the quiet announcement. With a wary survey
of the gloom, he asked in the same tone "Where?" and took on the same pose as the woman beside him, it was state of
apprehensive fear mixed with the natural wish to stay alive. Both had their fists clenched.
Out there in the nightfall, a shape moved from the shadows and positioned itself at the edge of the clearing.
All lumps and twists, Doramus reviewed the situation with all the imagination an animal can muster. His strange head
was cocked as if struggling to comprehend why two humans were here and in such a vulnerable setting. Why...? Why?
If anything remained of Emmett Collins within the crooked beast, the scene would've screamed of a trap and certainly
a true Vampire would have avoided the open-ground altogether. But a Barguest knows only what it sees and Doramus
merely saw two opportunities to feed.
The trembling Priest crossed his heart and with a quick flick of her eyes, Lady Ophelia emulated the movement. "When
he runs, leave it until the last second before you jump out of the way" she breathed from the side of her mouth. Jacobs
just nodded and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the deformed fiend hunched among the dead leaves.
...................................................
From beneath the shadow of her hat, Peggy murmured some strange words and stepping out in front of her companions,
she knew that if this creature behaved in the manner Accam-Dey had advised, she would be the direct target due to her
size. "There are no morals, nor feelings of inadequacy or superiority within a Barguest..." the wolf's head had recounted
from behind the thumb-smudged glass of his final sarcophagus and with blazoned-eyes, the great killer smiled and added
"...but beware of its savagery, for it is man-gone-bad".
But the Great Wolf of Hexham had told her one more thing, the one instruction she'd struggled to recall until a few moments
ago. The way to defeat the flawed ghoul that wished to plague Little Compton. Now standing in the chilly dark clutching the
ugly mushroom, Accam-Dey's words came back to her and Peggy shivered -but not due to the cold.
"No rood or rabbit's foot will alarm this thing and salt over one's shoulder will only add taste to your flesh. Hear me child, for
when you meet a Barguest, the blood of the Devil's morel is the only way to bring the odious man-dog low."
As the saliva-dripping proboscis slowly emerged from the anomaly's bent muzzle, Peggy began her own type of run and
caught the Barguest off-guard. In an instinctual act, Doramus aped the oncoming floppy-hatted bantam and dug his claws
into the loose loam beneath the rotting leaves for better purchase.
Father Jacobs and the wide-eyed blue-blood beside him stared at the insane scene, a little Witch charging towards an evil
monster that was running to eat its supper. The Priest crossed himself again and Lady Ophelia placed her hands over her
eyes.
"Oh magna fesh... nunc" Peggy hissed through her teeth and with a grin that Accam-Dey would have been proud of, she slid
to a halt and watched the panting Barguest suddenly take flight.
Bound in a net of earth-smelling roots, the great elms swooped up the damaged wriggling horror and hung the squealing brute
in the air like a child's kite caught in a high wind. Adjusting her grip on the bulbous fungus they call the Devil's Bolete, Peggy
stepped closer and stared up at her catch.
"Gotcha yer' bugger" she exhaled and reached inside her satchel for her coup de grace.
As her fingers caressed the golden needle, she jumped with sudden alarm as two short arrows swooped out of the darkness
and thudded into the pelt of the trussed Doramus. There were no bestial yelps of pain and no human screams of agony as the
second bolt slammed deep into the Barguest's brain.
Mathew Jacobs and Ophelia Barque were transfixed as they witnessed Peggy Powler release the crushed remains of the fat
mushroom in her hand and the monster above her hanging dead as a doornail. Steaming liquid oozed from the Barguest's
wounds and dripped on the poisonous agaric.
"Hard-boiled" the Witch said with a grin and turned to peer into the shadows of the hawthorn bushes.
As her relieved companions warily approached her, Peggy scanned the gloom for the owner of the two carved missiles and
thought she saw a glint of metal for a moment. But she wouldn't but a hand on Father Jacobs' good book and swear on it.
"Thank you... oh thank you" the Priest sighed and with Ophelia kneeling with him, they hugged the little scruffy Witch staring
out into the darkness.
...................................................
Epilogue.
The haughty woman in the cotton dress and flowery church hat admonished the smaller female in the poncho with a verve that any
passer-by would've taken as a serious telling-off from an elite class to a lower one. "No...I will not take no for an answer, you have
earned it and the good Reverend agreed too" Lady Ophelia chided, but refused to meet Peggy's eyes in the verbal combat.
The bag of gold coins would come in handy, but the amount was more than the last Witch of Underhill deemed appropriate.
"M'lady, Ah' appreciate the coinage.. Ah' do, but a cabbage or some of yer' servant's bacon would be enough... honest Ma'am"
Peggy replied humbly and meant it. The tall refined female broke from her bogus rigidity with a smile that Sir Reginald Barque
rarely saw and with a proud movement of her swan-like neck, looked towards the waddling Carstairs passing the summer-house
with a large grease-proof parcel.
"Oh, I know" Lady Ophelia sighed and waited for her man-servant to push the wrapped bundle of bacon into the hands of the
grateful sorceress before sneakily shoving the sack of money into Peggy's bag. "Gotcha, yer bugger!" she added and received
flabbergasted looks from both her guest and her domestic.
...................................................
The terrified man with his shovel propped against the chapel's newly-painted lychgate remained silent as he watched the good vicar
of Little Compton embrace the small heathen warlock who couldn't afford shoes. To Benedict Coombs, the scene was something he
couldn't even conjure-up if he'd drank a month's worth of his moonshine.
"Where next?" Father Jacobs asked when he finally released the grinning Witch from his hug and straightened his smock with a glance
towards his seemingly-distressed grave-digger. Patting her satchel, Peggy said "Wiv' me payment fur'..." she too looked at the old man
who crossed his heart from the observance and changed her tack. "...Bein' well in mind n' body, Ah' felt it time te' visit Salterhead and
wet me-feet in the waters of the Great Sea" she replied.
After a bow and a reciprocal curtsy, Peggy Powler turned and stepped gaily along the lane that would bring her out onto Calder's Way.
Father Mathew Jacobs watched the strange woman -who walked a different path than his, but sought similar results, amble out of his
life and Little Compton too.
"Eeeh, there's something yer' don't see everyday" Coombs said watching the Witch receding behind the bare trees. His comment was
two-fold and the grinning Priest knew it. "Aye..." Father Jacobs replied "...and no mistake".
...................................................
Brape Faraday tutted to himself when he failed to see the hare that had just darted from the track he was using and watching the fleeing
animal, his eyes were met by the figure of Peggy Powler walking along the sea-cobbled highway favoured by humans. Seeing the jack's
tail disappear down a delve in the moor, Brape's usual blank features gave away his attitude as he reckoned a fine coney would certainly
impress Myra Gold when he got to Lever's Cove.
"Thank thee" a faint voice came on the western breeze and coming out of his thoughts, Brape peered over where the Witch was waving.
Grim-Figgs don't wave and they rarely respond to gratitude, you never know who is watching. Adjusting his bulging backpack, he carried
on along the track beside the deep crevice and ignored the woman in the floppy hat.
I mean, why not...? he never got his arrows back.
Hard-boiled.
The End.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.