Even though Peggy Powler had never met Madam Tanner, she could still see the basic features of the woman
who had ran St. Martin's O' The Green's only Drapery store many years ago. But probably due to her eternal
quest to procure light in this place of damnation, the individual that had sold materials and gave tips to Jane
Bowman and her sister had long gone and now, only a scowling white-haired ogress remained.
The Bitch that terrorised the Chime-children of the village clenched and unclenched her skinny dirty-finger-nailed
hands in annoyance and muttered words that belonged to another age. Even Peggy struggled to catch the gist
of what she was saying, but Gwydionel's red-rimmed eyes told the last Witch of Underhill that she was just vaguely
speculating that a scheme could be in operation.
With a swish of her black moth-eaten gown, the proprietor of this shadowy domain slowly approached her seemingly
self-assured guest and for most, it would seem a nightmare had suddenly arrived. For a moment, the scene crackled
with hoary hatred and seasoned spite.
"You're no damned child!" Gwydionel hissed softly as she examined the face of this small figure in the unlikely
garb before her. Peggy resisted the need to commune with the foul-smelling hag and instead, focused on the
dimly-lit cavern-like surroundings where at least, twenty young girls stood huddled together.
One of them looked a little like an older version of Kittie and the forlorn blonde girl behind her was definitely Alice
Bowman.
There were long tapestries hanging from the unseen walls and each length of embroidered cloth radiated light,
but Peggy realised that the effulgence was flickering slightly and hence the reason for the kidnapped youngsters.
A number of tired-looking weaving looms stood far-off to Peggy's right and apart from the partially-braided cloths
that glowed in their heddles, the wooden devices sat in shadow.
Time was different here too, the Chimers were consciously or unwittingly keeping this place in some sort of bubble,
a prison trapped in a moment, the sorceress thought.
Beneath a laboured breathing, Gwydionel asked "So who are you?" and again, the newly-caught woman in a girl's
attire said nothing.
...................................................
Treacle Thistle prayed that the water barrel would be empty enough for him to move it as he placed his shoulder to
the wooden staves. The little friend of Peggy Powler had only been in the Heron cottage once and that was some
time ago. The metal door behind the rain-cask led to a small tunnel where fire-ash once was discarded into, but
Treacle knew it was no longer used.
But even with all his strength, the Bogle could not budge the damned container and as he leaned against the rough
surface of the barrel, he breathed in deeply and set himself for another exertion.
"Yer'll be needing a hand there, Mr Thistle?" Turnip Mudd whispered from the gloom and for a moment, the Gnome
believed the panting Yetun looked like he was going to faint with fright. Turnip had -has he'd done every year, steered
clear of St. Martin's celebrations and was quite content to leave things as they were.
But tonight, he'd felt a strange urge to just take a walk across Calder's Way and examine the end of the Mid-Summer
Festival.
"Oh Herne, you're a sight for sore eyes..." Treacle croaked as he gathered himself. "...The Witch was grabbed and
I don't know what to do" he said and smiled weakly at the new arrival. "I was going to ask Kittie Bretton if Peggy had
told her anything helpful, but to do so, I need to get in her house" he added with the hope that the hermit didn't think
he was totally inept.
Turnip nodded sagely and approached the barrel that was bigger than both of them. "Well, let's get you inside then"
he muttered and placed his hands on the hoop-bound obstacle.
...................................................
"You'll get used to being here..." the abhorrent overseer spat towards the little bare-footed woman with the confident
stance. Gwydionel didn't like this one, but her existence wasn't based on camaraderie. "...They all do" the shuffling
ugly crone warned as she turned to inspect her current crew.
"Back to work girls, it's growing dark in here" Gwydionel cawed as she turned away from the stoic newcomer and
with a claw-like hand, pointed towards the looms in the gloom. The timid teenagers scuttled towards where the horrid
harridan had indicated and for a second, the tapestries around the walls seemed to glow a little brighter.
It was then that the bantam Peggy Powler decided that it was her turn to control the situation.
...................................................
"Kittie...?" Thistle whispered in the dark and contemplated pulling at the heavy bedspread, but he imagined the little
girl waking with the thoughts of the monster who'd grabbed her sister was under the bed and ready for a refill.
The Bogle stood on tip-toes and called quietly again, but the soft snore of slumber told Treacle that Kittie was still in
the realms of reverie. With a look of impatience, he glanced around the star-lit bedroom and wondered what the
reclusive Gnome waiting in the garden would do.
Unknown to Treacle Thistle, almost three weeks ago, Kittie had been sitting in the same front garden that Turnip Mudd
now squatted in. On that bright sunny morning, Kittie was soaking up the warmth in a cozy position surrounded by her
mother's pink floxgloves, watching an orange Ladybird making her way over the back of a slowly-moving snail.
Kittie marvelled at how the little beetle seemed arrive at a point where she could climb off and continue her journey to
wherever, but for no apparent reason, the Ladybird would turn around and scamper back to the summit of the snail's
shell.
Thinking that she should be helping her Ma with hanging out the laundry -although the wet clothes would be one sister
less, Kittie rose from her warm place amongst the flowers and was about to say goodbye to the passive snail and its
jockey. That was when a sharp beak grabbed the gastropod and gobbled it down without a second thought for its rider.
It was a Peacock, a huge wide-eyed and inquisitive long-tailed Peacock.
Nervously holding the kept feather that the intruding and hungry bird had left when Kittie had shooed it away, Treacle
now tickled the sleeping girl's nose in hopes of waking her from her dance with the sandman.
...................................................
Peggy Powler began her murmured chant and waved her hands through the air in the same manner her mother had
expelled the resident of the Gast Box. She hadn't moved from her original place where Gwydionel had released her
and now with the hag and her prisoners on the otherside of the room, Peggy felt it was a perfect time perform the
exorcism.
"Kadoe-mar Hetto..." the Witch sibilated with conviction and as she added "...In verigo venefica", the gloomy cavern's
temperature dropped and the squealing Bitch of St. Martin's began to rise into the air. The girls became statues as they
watched with terrified eyes as the writhing creature hovered a few feet above the cracked slabs of whatever this corrupt
grotto was.
"Balento Gwydionel, de monstrum relinquo" Peggy barked and with a flick of her wrist, spun the now-screaming woman
-thing around for good measure. "You know my name...?" the diminutive magician shouted as the gurgling cacophony
continued to spew from the child-stealer, "...do you?" she repeated with an unnatural rage for the usually easy-going
Seer.
Then the shadows in the room became more compact and from the corner of her eye, she saw that the teenage girls
quaking with fear next to the looms were beginning to fade. The lights from the hanging decorations were going out
and Peggy realised she needed to think of something.
And quickly.
who had ran St. Martin's O' The Green's only Drapery store many years ago. But probably due to her eternal
quest to procure light in this place of damnation, the individual that had sold materials and gave tips to Jane
Bowman and her sister had long gone and now, only a scowling white-haired ogress remained.
The Bitch that terrorised the Chime-children of the village clenched and unclenched her skinny dirty-finger-nailed
hands in annoyance and muttered words that belonged to another age. Even Peggy struggled to catch the gist
of what she was saying, but Gwydionel's red-rimmed eyes told the last Witch of Underhill that she was just vaguely
speculating that a scheme could be in operation.
With a swish of her black moth-eaten gown, the proprietor of this shadowy domain slowly approached her seemingly
self-assured guest and for most, it would seem a nightmare had suddenly arrived. For a moment, the scene crackled
with hoary hatred and seasoned spite.
"You're no damned child!" Gwydionel hissed softly as she examined the face of this small figure in the unlikely
garb before her. Peggy resisted the need to commune with the foul-smelling hag and instead, focused on the
dimly-lit cavern-like surroundings where at least, twenty young girls stood huddled together.
One of them looked a little like an older version of Kittie and the forlorn blonde girl behind her was definitely Alice
Bowman.
There were long tapestries hanging from the unseen walls and each length of embroidered cloth radiated light,
but Peggy realised that the effulgence was flickering slightly and hence the reason for the kidnapped youngsters.
A number of tired-looking weaving looms stood far-off to Peggy's right and apart from the partially-braided cloths
that glowed in their heddles, the wooden devices sat in shadow.
Time was different here too, the Chimers were consciously or unwittingly keeping this place in some sort of bubble,
a prison trapped in a moment, the sorceress thought.
Beneath a laboured breathing, Gwydionel asked "So who are you?" and again, the newly-caught woman in a girl's
attire said nothing.
...................................................
Treacle Thistle prayed that the water barrel would be empty enough for him to move it as he placed his shoulder to
the wooden staves. The little friend of Peggy Powler had only been in the Heron cottage once and that was some
time ago. The metal door behind the rain-cask led to a small tunnel where fire-ash once was discarded into, but
Treacle knew it was no longer used.
But even with all his strength, the Bogle could not budge the damned container and as he leaned against the rough
surface of the barrel, he breathed in deeply and set himself for another exertion.
"Yer'll be needing a hand there, Mr Thistle?" Turnip Mudd whispered from the gloom and for a moment, the Gnome
believed the panting Yetun looked like he was going to faint with fright. Turnip had -has he'd done every year, steered
clear of St. Martin's celebrations and was quite content to leave things as they were.
But tonight, he'd felt a strange urge to just take a walk across Calder's Way and examine the end of the Mid-Summer
Festival.
"Oh Herne, you're a sight for sore eyes..." Treacle croaked as he gathered himself. "...The Witch was grabbed and
I don't know what to do" he said and smiled weakly at the new arrival. "I was going to ask Kittie Bretton if Peggy had
told her anything helpful, but to do so, I need to get in her house" he added with the hope that the hermit didn't think
he was totally inept.
Turnip nodded sagely and approached the barrel that was bigger than both of them. "Well, let's get you inside then"
he muttered and placed his hands on the hoop-bound obstacle.
...................................................
"You'll get used to being here..." the abhorrent overseer spat towards the little bare-footed woman with the confident
stance. Gwydionel didn't like this one, but her existence wasn't based on camaraderie. "...They all do" the shuffling
ugly crone warned as she turned to inspect her current crew.
"Back to work girls, it's growing dark in here" Gwydionel cawed as she turned away from the stoic newcomer and
with a claw-like hand, pointed towards the looms in the gloom. The timid teenagers scuttled towards where the horrid
harridan had indicated and for a second, the tapestries around the walls seemed to glow a little brighter.
It was then that the bantam Peggy Powler decided that it was her turn to control the situation.
...................................................
"Kittie...?" Thistle whispered in the dark and contemplated pulling at the heavy bedspread, but he imagined the little
girl waking with the thoughts of the monster who'd grabbed her sister was under the bed and ready for a refill.
The Bogle stood on tip-toes and called quietly again, but the soft snore of slumber told Treacle that Kittie was still in
the realms of reverie. With a look of impatience, he glanced around the star-lit bedroom and wondered what the
reclusive Gnome waiting in the garden would do.
Unknown to Treacle Thistle, almost three weeks ago, Kittie had been sitting in the same front garden that Turnip Mudd
now squatted in. On that bright sunny morning, Kittie was soaking up the warmth in a cozy position surrounded by her
mother's pink floxgloves, watching an orange Ladybird making her way over the back of a slowly-moving snail.
Kittie marvelled at how the little beetle seemed arrive at a point where she could climb off and continue her journey to
wherever, but for no apparent reason, the Ladybird would turn around and scamper back to the summit of the snail's
shell.
Thinking that she should be helping her Ma with hanging out the laundry -although the wet clothes would be one sister
less, Kittie rose from her warm place amongst the flowers and was about to say goodbye to the passive snail and its
jockey. That was when a sharp beak grabbed the gastropod and gobbled it down without a second thought for its rider.
It was a Peacock, a huge wide-eyed and inquisitive long-tailed Peacock.
Nervously holding the kept feather that the intruding and hungry bird had left when Kittie had shooed it away, Treacle
now tickled the sleeping girl's nose in hopes of waking her from her dance with the sandman.
...................................................
Peggy Powler began her murmured chant and waved her hands through the air in the same manner her mother had
expelled the resident of the Gast Box. She hadn't moved from her original place where Gwydionel had released her
and now with the hag and her prisoners on the otherside of the room, Peggy felt it was a perfect time perform the
exorcism.
"Kadoe-mar Hetto..." the Witch sibilated with conviction and as she added "...In verigo venefica", the gloomy cavern's
temperature dropped and the squealing Bitch of St. Martin's began to rise into the air. The girls became statues as they
watched with terrified eyes as the writhing creature hovered a few feet above the cracked slabs of whatever this corrupt
grotto was.
"Balento Gwydionel, de monstrum relinquo" Peggy barked and with a flick of her wrist, spun the now-screaming woman
-thing around for good measure. "You know my name...?" the diminutive magician shouted as the gurgling cacophony
continued to spew from the child-stealer, "...do you?" she repeated with an unnatural rage for the usually easy-going
Seer.
Then the shadows in the room became more compact and from the corner of her eye, she saw that the teenage girls
quaking with fear next to the looms were beginning to fade. The lights from the hanging decorations were going out
and Peggy realised she needed to think of something.
And quickly.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.