In the minds of most of those snoring their dreams away in Seamarshes, the day was still a full prayer candle away and had
no value to retailers on main-street except for the yawning lamplighter wondering about his breakfast. But for Peggy Powler
-the Last Witch of Underhill, it was the ideal time to check on her hunting techniques.
The stars were twinkling over the Great Sea as the little Witch arrived at the sandy path that led to Abner Cuthbert's decaying
jetty and knowing her investigation would be limited by the advent of dawn, Peggy fished out a piece of equipment from inside
her poncho whilst surveying that no insomniac might intrude on her examination of the sabulous track.
The strangely-designed spectacles had been given to her long ago by Myrddin the greatest of Wizards and now with the oddly
-hued lenses offering a different world that lay among the massive reedbeds, the barefooted sorceress reviewed the area where
she and the young Willard boy had encountered the female in the red silk dress.
The majick powder she'd sprinkled on the sand just before Muriel Gump had appeared -and witnessed Peggy's mock-intimacy
with Clem Willard, was still there and carefully treading along the side the glowing spoor, the little woman in the large hat noted
she'd been correct with her assumption that the voluptuous stranger had ducked in among the rushes to possibly listen in on Peggy
and the lad's faux 'hanky-panky'. The grains from her enigmatic satchel were 'Ignis Dust', a phosphorescent talc carefully extracted
during expulsions of certain demons and their origins certainly not relevant to Peggy's current situation.
The luminous trail also indicated that her quarry had returned to the path and continued back towards Seamarshes and this halted
Peggy in her line of thinking. If Muriel Gump was really Gretna Grindylow, then wouldn't she have returned to the cave where Clem
had first encountered the shape-shifting harridan? Surely this hidden antre beyond the reef had a bearing to Grindylow's origins?
A Will O' The Wisp floated just above the reeds as the eyeglass-wearing shaman chewed on this challenge and bowing absently
towards the translucent hinkypunk, whispered "Fair travels" as the see-through orb went on its way. Did she have time to visit this
water-worn den before the sun came up...? Turning to where the sandy footpath led away to Abner's moored coracles bobbing on
the dark waves, Peggy decided to take a chance.
.................................................................
There's a particular sound that dripping water makes inside caverns that always appeals to a visitor with a sanguine step to think
twice before entering its innards. The wet accent warns of cold shadows and places of adrift, a stone coffin that wears time like
a favourite hat and mourns its affinity with loneliness by cooling a caller's soul down to an icicle.
But in the grotto of Gretna Grindylow, a little thumb bearing a flickering flame opposed this theme of misery and brought light
to the place where illumination rarely tread. Peggy Powler shivered as she peered around in the gloom and wondered if her idea
to check out the creature's haven had been astute as she'd thought in the more-airy setting of the path to the old man's business.
.................................................................
There was no doubt in the little Witch's mind that the loud wheezing emanating from the ramshackle shed derived from Abner
Cuthbert's interaction with the moonshine he cultured behind his tar-melting operation and creeping towards one of the single
-manned boats, she wondered if he missed any trade due to his imbibing of the home-made gut-rot. Showing far more than a
bare thigh in her descent to the little round vessel, Peggy left a florris on the mooring post and plonked herself unlady-like into
the coracle.
The word 'Bugger' was regularly used as the small dark shape on the silver waves taught herself how to steer and propel the
round leather-bound craft, but Peggy had been surprised how quickly the voyage to the area of the reef had taken. The large
glebe of reeds petered out just before the steep headland and peering over to where the Willard family home was situated,
the would-be sailor saw that no lantern in a window hinted that anyone was an early-riser.
With wet feet and a breathing that told of her alertness, Peggy dragged the coracle into the mouth of the cave and deliberated
on possible spells to use if the duplicitous bitch had decided to come home.
.................................................................
There was the curtain that Clem Willard had told her about, along with a large casket bound with water-tainted brass hinges
that the fair-haired lad admitted he'd been allowed to take a jewel from. The shroud comprised of parts of a fisherman's net
patterned with faded rags sewn into the holes where the mesh had rotted. Disquieting questions slyly eeled their way into
Peggy's mind of why a veil had been needed in the first place when Grindylow spoke to the Willard boy.
Did such a rendezvous require Gretna to hide herself from her innocent guest because of her original state?
If so, what power did this cave-dweller have that could now hide her proper form in the world outside of this damp den?
Whispering a charm to deafen the sound, Peggy creaked open the lid and studied the chest's contents. It was what she had
expected. The box wasn't quite full, but the glittering gemstones Clem, Silas Mann and Abner Cuthbert had believed to have
seen in the temptress' small lady-like hand were here and the bantam Witch finally named the creature she'd suspected had
arrived at the quaint affluent village of Seamarshes.
Caressing the dry mundane sea-pebbles in the chest, Peggy pondered on the sneaky bugger who enjoyed manipulating those
of the land for her own pleasure. The guileful buggers she knew as the Merethons.
Sailors -not water-going flounderers like the little woman currently standing alone in a dank cave , but real travellers of the sea
called them 'Sirens'. Yet to those who wielded spells and ousted unwanted Goblins from cowsheds, these residents of deep
lagoons and quiet inlets were the Merethons that were once believed to be extinct.
Without the congeniality of the many Mer-folk Peggy had met on her travels, a Merethon can bring chaos to any settlement
by the use of their deceit and bridle on human wants. Their bodies were covered in scales, but unlike the Mer-people, they
had no tail like a fish. If asked, Peggy would suggest their ancestors came from a reptile lineage because they had hind legs
and a caudal appendage similar to the stone-lizards she'd often see basking on Calder's Way.
Merethons despise social-contentment nurtured by those of the land and due to the Merethons' constant attempts to spoil
this harmony among the rural communities, certain influential people ordered a kingdom-wide extermination of the devious
water-dwellers. Myrddin the Wizard had told a younger Peggy of those days he'd accompanied groups of soldiers to seek out
these hypnotising creatures and counter their endeavours to bamboozle their pursuers. Eventually, their bold trickery and
disruption ceased and the Merethons were assumed to be obsolete.
.................................................................
Checking the gloomy cavern again that no sneaky spectator was loitering in the shadows, Peggy returned to the parked-boat
and made good her exit. The horizon was already giving way to a new day and the thing she'd believed was merely a folktale,
was now out-and-about in Seamarshes.
no value to retailers on main-street except for the yawning lamplighter wondering about his breakfast. But for Peggy Powler
-the Last Witch of Underhill, it was the ideal time to check on her hunting techniques.
The stars were twinkling over the Great Sea as the little Witch arrived at the sandy path that led to Abner Cuthbert's decaying
jetty and knowing her investigation would be limited by the advent of dawn, Peggy fished out a piece of equipment from inside
her poncho whilst surveying that no insomniac might intrude on her examination of the sabulous track.
The strangely-designed spectacles had been given to her long ago by Myrddin the greatest of Wizards and now with the oddly
-hued lenses offering a different world that lay among the massive reedbeds, the barefooted sorceress reviewed the area where
she and the young Willard boy had encountered the female in the red silk dress.
The majick powder she'd sprinkled on the sand just before Muriel Gump had appeared -and witnessed Peggy's mock-intimacy
with Clem Willard, was still there and carefully treading along the side the glowing spoor, the little woman in the large hat noted
she'd been correct with her assumption that the voluptuous stranger had ducked in among the rushes to possibly listen in on Peggy
and the lad's faux 'hanky-panky'. The grains from her enigmatic satchel were 'Ignis Dust', a phosphorescent talc carefully extracted
during expulsions of certain demons and their origins certainly not relevant to Peggy's current situation.
The luminous trail also indicated that her quarry had returned to the path and continued back towards Seamarshes and this halted
Peggy in her line of thinking. If Muriel Gump was really Gretna Grindylow, then wouldn't she have returned to the cave where Clem
had first encountered the shape-shifting harridan? Surely this hidden antre beyond the reef had a bearing to Grindylow's origins?
A Will O' The Wisp floated just above the reeds as the eyeglass-wearing shaman chewed on this challenge and bowing absently
towards the translucent hinkypunk, whispered "Fair travels" as the see-through orb went on its way. Did she have time to visit this
water-worn den before the sun came up...? Turning to where the sandy footpath led away to Abner's moored coracles bobbing on
the dark waves, Peggy decided to take a chance.
.................................................................
There's a particular sound that dripping water makes inside caverns that always appeals to a visitor with a sanguine step to think
twice before entering its innards. The wet accent warns of cold shadows and places of adrift, a stone coffin that wears time like
a favourite hat and mourns its affinity with loneliness by cooling a caller's soul down to an icicle.
But in the grotto of Gretna Grindylow, a little thumb bearing a flickering flame opposed this theme of misery and brought light
to the place where illumination rarely tread. Peggy Powler shivered as she peered around in the gloom and wondered if her idea
to check out the creature's haven had been astute as she'd thought in the more-airy setting of the path to the old man's business.
.................................................................
There was no doubt in the little Witch's mind that the loud wheezing emanating from the ramshackle shed derived from Abner
Cuthbert's interaction with the moonshine he cultured behind his tar-melting operation and creeping towards one of the single
-manned boats, she wondered if he missed any trade due to his imbibing of the home-made gut-rot. Showing far more than a
bare thigh in her descent to the little round vessel, Peggy left a florris on the mooring post and plonked herself unlady-like into
the coracle.
The word 'Bugger' was regularly used as the small dark shape on the silver waves taught herself how to steer and propel the
round leather-bound craft, but Peggy had been surprised how quickly the voyage to the area of the reef had taken. The large
glebe of reeds petered out just before the steep headland and peering over to where the Willard family home was situated,
the would-be sailor saw that no lantern in a window hinted that anyone was an early-riser.
With wet feet and a breathing that told of her alertness, Peggy dragged the coracle into the mouth of the cave and deliberated
on possible spells to use if the duplicitous bitch had decided to come home.
.................................................................
There was the curtain that Clem Willard had told her about, along with a large casket bound with water-tainted brass hinges
that the fair-haired lad admitted he'd been allowed to take a jewel from. The shroud comprised of parts of a fisherman's net
patterned with faded rags sewn into the holes where the mesh had rotted. Disquieting questions slyly eeled their way into
Peggy's mind of why a veil had been needed in the first place when Grindylow spoke to the Willard boy.
Did such a rendezvous require Gretna to hide herself from her innocent guest because of her original state?
If so, what power did this cave-dweller have that could now hide her proper form in the world outside of this damp den?
Whispering a charm to deafen the sound, Peggy creaked open the lid and studied the chest's contents. It was what she had
expected. The box wasn't quite full, but the glittering gemstones Clem, Silas Mann and Abner Cuthbert had believed to have
seen in the temptress' small lady-like hand were here and the bantam Witch finally named the creature she'd suspected had
arrived at the quaint affluent village of Seamarshes.
Caressing the dry mundane sea-pebbles in the chest, Peggy pondered on the sneaky bugger who enjoyed manipulating those
of the land for her own pleasure. The guileful buggers she knew as the Merethons.
Sailors -not water-going flounderers like the little woman currently standing alone in a dank cave , but real travellers of the sea
called them 'Sirens'. Yet to those who wielded spells and ousted unwanted Goblins from cowsheds, these residents of deep
lagoons and quiet inlets were the Merethons that were once believed to be extinct.
Without the congeniality of the many Mer-folk Peggy had met on her travels, a Merethon can bring chaos to any settlement
by the use of their deceit and bridle on human wants. Their bodies were covered in scales, but unlike the Mer-people, they
had no tail like a fish. If asked, Peggy would suggest their ancestors came from a reptile lineage because they had hind legs
and a caudal appendage similar to the stone-lizards she'd often see basking on Calder's Way.
Merethons despise social-contentment nurtured by those of the land and due to the Merethons' constant attempts to spoil
this harmony among the rural communities, certain influential people ordered a kingdom-wide extermination of the devious
water-dwellers. Myrddin the Wizard had told a younger Peggy of those days he'd accompanied groups of soldiers to seek out
these hypnotising creatures and counter their endeavours to bamboozle their pursuers. Eventually, their bold trickery and
disruption ceased and the Merethons were assumed to be obsolete.
.................................................................
Checking the gloomy cavern again that no sneaky spectator was loitering in the shadows, Peggy returned to the parked-boat
and made good her exit. The horizon was already giving way to a new day and the thing she'd believed was merely a folktale,
was now out-and-about in Seamarshes.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.