Thread Rating:
  • 1 Vote(s) - 5 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Peggy Powler & The Missing Children.
#9
There were two large sandwiches in her bag, one beef and one cheese. Both delights held herbs that enhanced the flavour
and confirmation of a good taste came from the little Yetun sitting on a large rock near the old waterwheel. Resting on a
nearby moss-covered log, Peggy Powler browsed the list of names again, but agreed with Treacle that their fare was a
grand one.
...................................................

The little Witch had been ruminating on her vague theory as she'd ambled back along the lane towards St. Martin's and had
almost missed the small creature crouched beneath a stunted hawthorn bush and half-hidden by surrounding Lady's Mantle.

"Yer strugglin' to sleep?" she asked peering into where the wide-eyed Mr Thistle was waiting whilst chewing on a last chunk
of a mushroom. Treacle's brow furrowed at the query and then slowly eased as Peggy offered a good-natured smile.
"This stuff is good for insomnia" she whispered pointing to the grey-green plants that had doubled as a blind. Treacle lifted his
chin in understanding, but said nothing. Broad daylight and a human's highway were not the best conditions for Fey-Folk to
discuss the qualities of local flora.

Appreciating the wary Bogle's situation, Peggy leaned closer to the shadowy spot and lifted the flap of her satchel.
In her best composed voice, she suggested that if Treacle cared to partake in some early lunch, hopping into the canvas bag
would assure concealment from any human gaze. Trust is a rare-thing in the realms of the little people, but when it involves
the last Witch of Underhill, faith in her honesty needs no contract.

With an avid nod, the little Yetun clambered into the bag with the foliage continuing to doing its task. Glancing in either direction
of the off-white cobbled lane, Peggy stood erect and continued her journey back towards St. Martin's O' The Green.
...................................................

"My only question is when I was in your satchel, I'd swear I was its only contents..." Treacle said as he waved crumbs from his
crumpled blouse, there weren't many. "...Such hocus-pocus is beyond me" he added without looking up from his task.
Peggy remained silent and thought about the girls and the times of the year they had vanished.

The trickling water that played on the paddles offered their mysterious tale of how it left the high moors of Devandan Lea,
picked its way through the stony terrain of Kirby Vale, passed under the Troll Bridge at Penyan and veered close to the
small chapel of St. Barnabus where Peggy had once slain an over-amorous Priest.

From there, the aging river had finally made a run to the sea and now it stumbled the last few miles to its goal, thanks to
the stationary water-wheel. Treacle listened to this saga and yawned at the serene voice, such narrations were common to
those of the forest-world.

"What do you recall of the Becky Caldwell disappearance?" Peggy asked as her companion took a drink from the garrulous
waterfall near the mill. The Yetun -for some baffling reason, was standing on his tip-toes, as if the water might decide to fall
upwards. "She was the third" the Witch appended and folded the note for her poncho's inside-pocket.

Treacle Thistle looked towards the donor of his lunch and forgot the effects of gravity on water. The splashes left dark stains
where sandwich crumbs once dwelt. "How do you expect me to remember that far back?" he exclaimed and clambered up to
where Peggy sat.

"Becky Caldwell... where did she live?" Peggy asked softly and wiggled a finger as she placed her hat back on her head.
She didn't like using majick this way and on such an affable person, but the Witch knew that any resident Bogle of a village
prided themselves on knowing who-and-what the community was made of.
And she was confident that such a chronicle of St. Martin's history resided inside Treacle Thistle.

"The youngest of the Caldwell sisters..." the Yetun said with a grunt of exertion, his back was playing-up again and he put
it down to being in damp places like this. "...Her Pa was the Baker here until the family left after the incident." Treacle saw
himself enjoying the warmth of that cooling oven in the evenings when everyone was asleep. In fact, the little Sprite had
spent a whole winter squatted behind that heater the same year the girl had gone missing.

"All Hallow's Eve..." he murmured, "...it was a windy night, I hate windy nights" Treacle reflected to himself and hunkered down
beside the rotting fallen tree. "The village's concerns of the first-two children had faded after a whole year of regular living and
they'd returned to celebrating the last day before the bad weather came to St. Martin's."

This last comment was just a whisper and Peggy realised her spell had been too powerful due to the sight of Thistle's chin
dropping toward his damp chest.  "Lots of noise on the green... bright colours" the little being muttered as Peggy mouthed
a charm to bring Treacle out of his grogginess. The little brown hat rose and the recollections continued, Treacle's voice was
more hardy again.

"The Caldwell girl was with her friends, they were doing a dance of some-sort with scarves and ribbons. Her parents were
yukking it up with other grown-ups around a barrel of ale" It seemed the Witch's silent invocation and the reversed wriggle
of her digit were working.
"There were breads and cakes, I remember that" Treacle added brightly and with a smile, looked up at Peggy on the log.

A Pied-Wagtail fluttered onto the top of the waterwheel to see what was going on, a wisp of sheep's fleece was still attached
to her beak. If the little man hadn't been so enchanted in his retrospection of the night Becky Caldwell went missing, he'd have
guessed the bird had been feeding on one of Farmer Bulmer's flock or even preparing a nest.
With a characteristic flick of her tail, she went on her way to who-knows-what.

"The wind was getting up and I suppose the villagers were looking to call it a night, I saw the girl wrap her scarf around..."
Treacle stared off towards the slate-grey walls across the river and let his jaw hang. "Oh Herne, I can't see her" he gasped.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe. 


Messages In This Thread
Peggy Powler & The Missing Children. - by BIAD - 04-16-2021, 02:34 PM
RE: Peggy Powler & The Missing Children. - by BIAD - 05-21-2021, 10:28 PM

Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 2 Guest(s)