Jane Bowman slowly sucked in a breath between her teeth and kept her gaze towards the eyes of Peggy Powler.
"It was when I was around ten years-old..." she whispered and was aware of the Fortune Teller's wriggling finger.
However this time, the smiling necromancer was urging the nervous woman to tell her story and not summoning any
bewitchment.
...................................................
It was the Sow In, a time when bonfires turned the night skies into blood and when the villagers stowed away their crops
for winter. The animals were brought down from the hills and a foreboding chill could be felt on the air. When the night
ticked by slowly, a farmer would look away from the dancing flames of his grate and listen to the faint cries of geese
flying north.
Under lantern-light, grinning scarecrows would be repaired from their eternal war against the mocking crows that filled
their bellies in the rich fields around the village of Poppycombe and under the skilled hands of the farmer's wife, he who
protected next year's seed would be reborn.
The days would become shorter and waxy candles would glow in the windows of thatched-roofed buildings to ward off
those who came over from the Otherworld. Small parcels of sugared-bread sprinkled with amaranth seeds would be left
on doorsteps to appease passing ghosts and any holes in the barn's walls would stuffed with Lavender-soaked rags to
repel hungry Pucas.
In Poppycombe -as in most surrounding villages, prayers for the dead would be murmured and down in the bay of
Durridge, symbols of long-forgotten charms were daubed onto the hulls of boats to protect them from the Nuckelavee.
It was a time that man had learned to stay indoors, when the darkness came and a time when everyone would wait
beside a roaring hearth for the coming of All Hallows Eve.
For Jane and her sister Alice, it was when they left the ten-family thorpe of Poppycombe to visit their Aunt in her lonely
house near a favourite place of the two girls, a sleepy hamlet called St. Martin's O' The Green.
Aunt Gretchen was as deaf as a lychgate, but she was their mother's sister and being a sole owner of a quite lucrative
fleet of fishing boats in Salton Bay and Durridge, Jane and Alice's four-day-stay were the grease to remind the ageing
widow of her favourite relatives when it came to updating any last will and testament.
With a half-hearted wipe of the window panes and the odd plumping of a cushion here and there, Jane and Alice hoped
that their task of persuasion was accomplished and their mother's avarice would be sated.
But it was the last night of their visit to Aunt Gretchen's strange-smelling home that the girls enjoyed the most.
As the ancient woman snored in her expensive armchair and the embers beneath the ornate mantlepiece glowed their
sleep-inducing warmth, Jane and her giggle-stifling sister would sneak out of their bedroom window and breath in the
magic of Summer's End.
...................................................
St. Martin's O' The Green's fairly-well known All Hallow's Fete -when spoken about, would always be accompanied with
the comment that it brought out the best in folk. As the sun hitched up its pants to go wherever it goes, the village would
throw a celebration that would hopefully convince that bright ball of light to return next year.
Toasts were made by adults that the coming winter will be an easy one and under the cedars surrounding the timeless
monoliths, a second sip of the ale was offered to keep wayward Hobs from bringing evil to the fields and fallow to the
Great Sea.
But for the children, it was a different story.
Under the occasional warning from their parents, scarf-wrapped youngsters ran amongst the tables in a game of Tag
and if the older children felt daring enough -and Jane recalled being cajoled by Alice to take part in once, the age-old
sport of 'The Farmer Wants A Wife' found the wary ten year-old performing her first kiss.
Elsewhere, bobbing for apples in rusty-ringed barrels brought concerns from overbearing mothers that the coats of her
hair-soaked sons and daughters would be smeared with the sneeves by morning. The fathers of such panting adolescents
just raised another tankard and went back to boasting about their time when the days were longer and magic waited along
every country track...
...................................................
"Ah' have a question, if Ah' may?" interrupted Peggy at this point. Jane was in full-throttle of her version of how Alice Bowman
was taken by the Bitch Of The Hill and the languor in the woman's eyes was something the Witch didn't want to effect.
Jane seemed so different and so happy recalling these memories and for a Fortune-Teller who ousted Church Grims and
fought Werewolves, such emotions was rare.
"Did yer' sister sew?" Peggy asked lightly and for a moment, she saw a slight movement of Jane's eyebrows to indicate
either a long-forgotten thought surfacing or a defence-wall of something the Bowman woman wished to keep concealed.
After a pause, Jane replied "She did so want to be seamstress, but she just wasn't skilled enough. My Aunt even suggested
we visit Madame Tanner in the village for a few tips." Peggy reined-in her excitement of finding the connection and merely
nodded slowly as if only vaguely understanding the answer to her question.
With a sigh, Jane added "No... I used help her with any the embroidery we sometimes did, but we used to pretend she'd done
the fancy work"
After a couple of seconds of silence, Peggy urged her timid customer to continue with her tale.
...................................................
The first memory that came to Jane was of squealing children running alongside the hedgerows of the lane in St. Martin's
and Alice's fearful look when she saw the little-ones with their painted ghost-faces. It was then that Jane had wondered if
her sister had somehow seen something in her past that she'd been reluctant to tell.
But sisters were sisters and if such a terrible instance had happened, Jane was confident that she'd have been informed.
As the laughing children raced by with their ribbon-wrapped payments to the dead, Jane slipped her hand into Alice's and
softly scoffed at the idea that small cakes of oats and berry-laden scones would somehow stop the Fae-Folk from souring
tomorrow's milk.
With a heedful smile from Alice -a grin that Jane would see on leering pumpkins from that year onwards, the two girls stepped
towards the standing-stones and the jollity that Hallows Eve promised.
...................................................
The home-made, once-bitten Taffy Apple lay on the grass alongside the hand-mirror that Alice had won in the Hoopla contest.
It had been touch-and-go whether she'd be worthy of the prize as to win -what the booth-presenter assured Jane and Alice,
was a carved looking-glass once owned by a princess and relied on her final hoop.
Now, for a long five seconds, the scene was the most hypnotic object in the whole of the universe.
A wide-eyed Jane Bowman held her breath and marvelled at the scarlet viscous layer of the fruit that glistened amongst the
clipped-strands of the lawn. A shadow from one of the tall stones lay across the thumb-smeared mirror that only seconds ago,
Jane's sister had been holding.
Alice adored these treats and even though it meant the last of their saved pennies were used-up, the blithe pair had agreed
that the syrupy delights would make a fine supper for their walk back to Aunt Gretchen's. Now that late-night meld was gone.
But where was her sister...? One moment she was behind Jane probably caressing the smooth sandalwood frame of the mirror
and the next, all was left was a tumbled Candy Apple and the vanity toy. A tooth-jarring windfall and false-proof that we are real,
if you will.
Jane was on her knees as she slowly sucked in a breath between her teeth. People were milling around the Green's gate wishing
each other a good night and fair travels. But what about her sister...? Reaching for the mirror, the girl who would never tell her
mother what really had happened, saw something in the glass that would haunt her dreams forever.
...................................................
"Oh Herne" Jane whispered as the memories slumped like the poor woman's shoulders, what she thought she'd seen just didn't
make sense. It looked like a face, a faint visage of someone Jane thought she knew.
"What did yer' see, lass...?" Peggy whispered at the appropriate point and stilled the need to use a spell on the sob-suppressing
woman "...what did yer' see?" With a rictus smile -the same as Alice when she saw the ghost children, Jane looked at the last
Witch of Underhill and answered.
"It was when I was around ten years-old..." she whispered and was aware of the Fortune Teller's wriggling finger.
However this time, the smiling necromancer was urging the nervous woman to tell her story and not summoning any
bewitchment.
...................................................
It was the Sow In, a time when bonfires turned the night skies into blood and when the villagers stowed away their crops
for winter. The animals were brought down from the hills and a foreboding chill could be felt on the air. When the night
ticked by slowly, a farmer would look away from the dancing flames of his grate and listen to the faint cries of geese
flying north.
Under lantern-light, grinning scarecrows would be repaired from their eternal war against the mocking crows that filled
their bellies in the rich fields around the village of Poppycombe and under the skilled hands of the farmer's wife, he who
protected next year's seed would be reborn.
The days would become shorter and waxy candles would glow in the windows of thatched-roofed buildings to ward off
those who came over from the Otherworld. Small parcels of sugared-bread sprinkled with amaranth seeds would be left
on doorsteps to appease passing ghosts and any holes in the barn's walls would stuffed with Lavender-soaked rags to
repel hungry Pucas.
In Poppycombe -as in most surrounding villages, prayers for the dead would be murmured and down in the bay of
Durridge, symbols of long-forgotten charms were daubed onto the hulls of boats to protect them from the Nuckelavee.
It was a time that man had learned to stay indoors, when the darkness came and a time when everyone would wait
beside a roaring hearth for the coming of All Hallows Eve.
For Jane and her sister Alice, it was when they left the ten-family thorpe of Poppycombe to visit their Aunt in her lonely
house near a favourite place of the two girls, a sleepy hamlet called St. Martin's O' The Green.
Aunt Gretchen was as deaf as a lychgate, but she was their mother's sister and being a sole owner of a quite lucrative
fleet of fishing boats in Salton Bay and Durridge, Jane and Alice's four-day-stay were the grease to remind the ageing
widow of her favourite relatives when it came to updating any last will and testament.
With a half-hearted wipe of the window panes and the odd plumping of a cushion here and there, Jane and Alice hoped
that their task of persuasion was accomplished and their mother's avarice would be sated.
But it was the last night of their visit to Aunt Gretchen's strange-smelling home that the girls enjoyed the most.
As the ancient woman snored in her expensive armchair and the embers beneath the ornate mantlepiece glowed their
sleep-inducing warmth, Jane and her giggle-stifling sister would sneak out of their bedroom window and breath in the
magic of Summer's End.
...................................................
St. Martin's O' The Green's fairly-well known All Hallow's Fete -when spoken about, would always be accompanied with
the comment that it brought out the best in folk. As the sun hitched up its pants to go wherever it goes, the village would
throw a celebration that would hopefully convince that bright ball of light to return next year.
Toasts were made by adults that the coming winter will be an easy one and under the cedars surrounding the timeless
monoliths, a second sip of the ale was offered to keep wayward Hobs from bringing evil to the fields and fallow to the
Great Sea.
But for the children, it was a different story.
Under the occasional warning from their parents, scarf-wrapped youngsters ran amongst the tables in a game of Tag
and if the older children felt daring enough -and Jane recalled being cajoled by Alice to take part in once, the age-old
sport of 'The Farmer Wants A Wife' found the wary ten year-old performing her first kiss.
Elsewhere, bobbing for apples in rusty-ringed barrels brought concerns from overbearing mothers that the coats of her
hair-soaked sons and daughters would be smeared with the sneeves by morning. The fathers of such panting adolescents
just raised another tankard and went back to boasting about their time when the days were longer and magic waited along
every country track...
...................................................
"Ah' have a question, if Ah' may?" interrupted Peggy at this point. Jane was in full-throttle of her version of how Alice Bowman
was taken by the Bitch Of The Hill and the languor in the woman's eyes was something the Witch didn't want to effect.
Jane seemed so different and so happy recalling these memories and for a Fortune-Teller who ousted Church Grims and
fought Werewolves, such emotions was rare.
"Did yer' sister sew?" Peggy asked lightly and for a moment, she saw a slight movement of Jane's eyebrows to indicate
either a long-forgotten thought surfacing or a defence-wall of something the Bowman woman wished to keep concealed.
After a pause, Jane replied "She did so want to be seamstress, but she just wasn't skilled enough. My Aunt even suggested
we visit Madame Tanner in the village for a few tips." Peggy reined-in her excitement of finding the connection and merely
nodded slowly as if only vaguely understanding the answer to her question.
With a sigh, Jane added "No... I used help her with any the embroidery we sometimes did, but we used to pretend she'd done
the fancy work"
After a couple of seconds of silence, Peggy urged her timid customer to continue with her tale.
...................................................
The first memory that came to Jane was of squealing children running alongside the hedgerows of the lane in St. Martin's
and Alice's fearful look when she saw the little-ones with their painted ghost-faces. It was then that Jane had wondered if
her sister had somehow seen something in her past that she'd been reluctant to tell.
But sisters were sisters and if such a terrible instance had happened, Jane was confident that she'd have been informed.
As the laughing children raced by with their ribbon-wrapped payments to the dead, Jane slipped her hand into Alice's and
softly scoffed at the idea that small cakes of oats and berry-laden scones would somehow stop the Fae-Folk from souring
tomorrow's milk.
With a heedful smile from Alice -a grin that Jane would see on leering pumpkins from that year onwards, the two girls stepped
towards the standing-stones and the jollity that Hallows Eve promised.
...................................................
The home-made, once-bitten Taffy Apple lay on the grass alongside the hand-mirror that Alice had won in the Hoopla contest.
It had been touch-and-go whether she'd be worthy of the prize as to win -what the booth-presenter assured Jane and Alice,
was a carved looking-glass once owned by a princess and relied on her final hoop.
Now, for a long five seconds, the scene was the most hypnotic object in the whole of the universe.
A wide-eyed Jane Bowman held her breath and marvelled at the scarlet viscous layer of the fruit that glistened amongst the
clipped-strands of the lawn. A shadow from one of the tall stones lay across the thumb-smeared mirror that only seconds ago,
Jane's sister had been holding.
Alice adored these treats and even though it meant the last of their saved pennies were used-up, the blithe pair had agreed
that the syrupy delights would make a fine supper for their walk back to Aunt Gretchen's. Now that late-night meld was gone.
But where was her sister...? One moment she was behind Jane probably caressing the smooth sandalwood frame of the mirror
and the next, all was left was a tumbled Candy Apple and the vanity toy. A tooth-jarring windfall and false-proof that we are real,
if you will.
Jane was on her knees as she slowly sucked in a breath between her teeth. People were milling around the Green's gate wishing
each other a good night and fair travels. But what about her sister...? Reaching for the mirror, the girl who would never tell her
mother what really had happened, saw something in the glass that would haunt her dreams forever.
...................................................
"Oh Herne" Jane whispered as the memories slumped like the poor woman's shoulders, what she thought she'd seen just didn't
make sense. It looked like a face, a faint visage of someone Jane thought she knew.
"What did yer' see, lass...?" Peggy whispered at the appropriate point and stilled the need to use a spell on the sob-suppressing
woman "...what did yer' see?" With a rictus smile -the same as Alice when she saw the ghost children, Jane looked at the last
Witch of Underhill and answered.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.