05-24-2021, 10:29 PM
A cold breeze slipped down the shadowed gully where the small river clambered over the multitude of rocks and its arrival
wasn't the only reason that Peggy Powler and Treacle Thistle shivered. The little Bogle's 'pushed' memory had also dropped
the temperature between them.
"I just thought..." Treacle began to say and then looked bewildered towards the steep cliff on the other side of the tight ravine.
The afternoon's sun couldn't penetrate the canopy of the surrounding beech trees and now, the chilling realisation of Treacle's
recollection added to the already undesirable atmosphere. His eyes were half-closed and he held a finger to his lips in the
manner of someone unsure for the first time in their life.
"The rest of the children were singing and dancing back down the lane..." the flustered Treacle said too-loudly, "...the adults
all seemed happy and I took it that the Caldwell girl was in the group". Peggy watched her companion slowly drag the threads
of his evocation into some sensible order and waited for the correct time to ask questions. Any interruption now could cause
a miss of vital clues.
Treacle suddenly stood up and seemed to be re-enacting his movements from that night seven years ago, imaginary bushes
were glimpsed over and one point, the Yetun even crouched down -as if behind a boulder. "Not all the food has been taken
away... her scarf is blowing in the wind and Becky's mother is looking around the green as she's leaving" he whispered and
for some unknown reason snatched a glance behind himself.
Peggy guessed it was due to his inborn fear of a silent owl or a prowling fox.
Then Treacle's eyes widened in shock and his head moved in an almost-exaggerated way in order to examine something
and improve the incredulity of what the Yetun was seeing. "There's a hand... a hand reaching for the scarf on the monolith..."
Treacle was breathing hard now and Peggy could see sweat leaking from beneath his battered brown hat.
"By Herne's antlers... it's just a hand!" he squealed and the Witch of Underhill decided the forage into Treacle's memories
should end. With a unheard mumble and a wiggle of her pinky-finger, the little being's gasping sounds eased and standing
to his full height, he gazed around as if he'd just come out of a deep sleep.
Peggy reached into her bag and withdrew a canteen, moments later Treacle gasped once more at the cold water quenching
his thirst. "Thank you" he whispered and showed his rascal-smile again. The wagtail that had intruded before, now watched
the silent couple from her roost on the waterwheel. The strand of wool was gone.
...................................................
"That one" the little man in Peggy's satchel said and produced an accusing finger towards the tall stone on the outer-edge
of the lawn. The Witch followed Treacle's indication and then veered her journey to the shadows of the cedars. A few seconds
later, her cargo of Yetun slipped out of the bag and hunkered down behind one of the trees. "I'm getting used to thanking you
Ms Powler" Treacle declared and glanced around to make sure they were alone.
Peggy nodded and went to study the megalith.
The etched markings were almost gone, Peggy stroked the surface and felt the faint engravings of a forgotten language.
Surveying the other menhirs, she saw similar etchings on all of them. "Yer've been a busy-bee, Phinneas" Peggy whispered
and knew what she had to do.
"Ah'll take it yer' not one fur' sewing, Mr Treacle?" the last Witch of Underhill asked over her shoulder and returning to the
crouching shadow in the woods, smiled at the confused Bogle.
wasn't the only reason that Peggy Powler and Treacle Thistle shivered. The little Bogle's 'pushed' memory had also dropped
the temperature between them.
"I just thought..." Treacle began to say and then looked bewildered towards the steep cliff on the other side of the tight ravine.
The afternoon's sun couldn't penetrate the canopy of the surrounding beech trees and now, the chilling realisation of Treacle's
recollection added to the already undesirable atmosphere. His eyes were half-closed and he held a finger to his lips in the
manner of someone unsure for the first time in their life.
"The rest of the children were singing and dancing back down the lane..." the flustered Treacle said too-loudly, "...the adults
all seemed happy and I took it that the Caldwell girl was in the group". Peggy watched her companion slowly drag the threads
of his evocation into some sensible order and waited for the correct time to ask questions. Any interruption now could cause
a miss of vital clues.
Treacle suddenly stood up and seemed to be re-enacting his movements from that night seven years ago, imaginary bushes
were glimpsed over and one point, the Yetun even crouched down -as if behind a boulder. "Not all the food has been taken
away... her scarf is blowing in the wind and Becky's mother is looking around the green as she's leaving" he whispered and
for some unknown reason snatched a glance behind himself.
Peggy guessed it was due to his inborn fear of a silent owl or a prowling fox.
Then Treacle's eyes widened in shock and his head moved in an almost-exaggerated way in order to examine something
and improve the incredulity of what the Yetun was seeing. "There's a hand... a hand reaching for the scarf on the monolith..."
Treacle was breathing hard now and Peggy could see sweat leaking from beneath his battered brown hat.
"By Herne's antlers... it's just a hand!" he squealed and the Witch of Underhill decided the forage into Treacle's memories
should end. With a unheard mumble and a wiggle of her pinky-finger, the little being's gasping sounds eased and standing
to his full height, he gazed around as if he'd just come out of a deep sleep.
Peggy reached into her bag and withdrew a canteen, moments later Treacle gasped once more at the cold water quenching
his thirst. "Thank you" he whispered and showed his rascal-smile again. The wagtail that had intruded before, now watched
the silent couple from her roost on the waterwheel. The strand of wool was gone.
...................................................
"That one" the little man in Peggy's satchel said and produced an accusing finger towards the tall stone on the outer-edge
of the lawn. The Witch followed Treacle's indication and then veered her journey to the shadows of the cedars. A few seconds
later, her cargo of Yetun slipped out of the bag and hunkered down behind one of the trees. "I'm getting used to thanking you
Ms Powler" Treacle declared and glanced around to make sure they were alone.
Peggy nodded and went to study the megalith.
The etched markings were almost gone, Peggy stroked the surface and felt the faint engravings of a forgotten language.
Surveying the other menhirs, she saw similar etchings on all of them. "Yer've been a busy-bee, Phinneas" Peggy whispered
and knew what she had to do.
"Ah'll take it yer' not one fur' sewing, Mr Treacle?" the last Witch of Underhill asked over her shoulder and returning to the
crouching shadow in the woods, smiled at the confused Bogle.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.