It would be an incantation that Treacle Thistle believed would stay with him until the great antlered-Hunter came for his soul,
but the words would be uncatchable only seconds after he gave them utterance.
"Menos Den Palus, Chell Di Auxili Gehennus Quaesot" the little Yetun rasped out into the night sky and felt another blister on
his hand burst.
The feeling of coldness came first and as it began, Treacle recalled the rules for whenever something that humans would be
unable to comprehend was summoned. They mustn't look at it. With the Bogle facing towards Kittie Bretton and the backdrop
of the tents, he knew he didn't have much time to relay the warning to the weary girl.
"Kittie... take my word for it, close your eyes and don't look behind you" Treacle gasped as another twist of hemp slipped from
his grasp. The sweating girl with the gritted-teeth, who believed in majick, worlds-beyond-worlds and the now-obvious faith that
she shared this land with creatures of her own standing, looked-up from her concentration and offered a puzzled gaze.
"Believe me..." the Bogle hissed, "...we need help and it's not for human eyes to look upon" he added and nodded with what
he hoped was a sage gesture.
In a small voice that would break many a parent's heart, she replied "okay" and closed the shutters on those dusk-blue orbs.
As Kittie acceded to her friend's warning, the responders to the esoteric cry of help stepped out from beneath the cedars
and with Turnip Mudd exclaiming '"Hell's teeth!", she believed keeping her eyes shut might just be a grand idea.
...................................................
Joannie Marrs had slipped back into her timeline along with the Baker's daughter Becky Caldwell and now, Peggy Powler shooed
away the wasteful thought of the Marrs cottage being lived in again. Knowingly or not, the Chime-Children were repairing time
and putting everything back in its rightful place. Now only the bitterly-sobbing Maggie Bretton was left clinging onto the Witch's
shoulders.
"Diva bawl, pet..." Peggy choked "...Yon Bitch'll get hers when we have yer' away" she managed and took another heavy step
towards the blurred-grey opening ahead. Gwydionel was close now, close enough that if the Witch of Underhill had craned her
neck, she'd have seen the evil-grinning boo-hag reaching out with her only working-hand for the sweat-licked locks of Peggy's
final passenger.
The smell was gagging and told of lost hopes and dreams of amity. "Yer'll never make it..." Gwydionel cawed and almost touched
a strand of Maggie's hair. "...This is my kingdom, my place and nobody rules here except me" came a following warning and
the foul finger-nailed clawed hand swiped through a ghostly representation of the Bretton girl.
The Bitch's cry of rage was the giveaway to Peggy that Kittie's sister's return was underway.
With another forced movement of her tired legs, the solitary rescuer stared at the softy-spluttering aperture where the blue and
red-wrapped rope disappered into the real world. "By Herne's antlers, Ah'll bloody make it" Peggy vowed determinedly and
struck forward again.
...................................................
They were from the marshes and those of a long ago forest. The smaller shapes were daubed in luminous hues that fooled the
eye and tricked the mind. They were Hiders, a lost race that had fought the Bitch O' The Hill and endured her presence.
'Those of the Marshes' were of a different brand, hulking brutes that denied description. Black featureless beings that smelled
of forlorn and anguish.
Together without words or acknowledgement, they took up the rope and began to pull.
Unseen by Treacle and the wide-eyed hermit Turnip Mudd, were the little faces peeking from the hedgerow on the other side
of the lane. Juno and his fellow Fae-folk stared in awe at the surreal scene where the outlander of their kind, a reclusive Gnome
and weird shapes were pulling at a rope that vanished between two standing-stones.
However, their barometer of bravery didn't indicate they should help.
As the nearby pin-striped tents collapsed under the weight of the tugging creatures, Treacle yelled at the little girl to keep her
eyes shut. With the rope being plucked from her grasp and raised higher, Kittie fell to the damp grass and placed her hands
over face. Imagining her sister's escape from something unimaginable, she silently wished this was over.
...................................................
"I've gotcha' now..." Gwydionel hissed and hooked her fingers onto the sweat-stained blouse of the woman in the girl's clothes.
"...I just hope you can stitch" she giggled into the air between the Witch and her hideous face. Peggy sucked in a breath and
pushed into the membrane that divided this place of wretchedness from her own. With one more final effort, Peggy urged her
calves to push her forward and with a grin that would rival Gwydionel's, the Witch mocked over shoulder "Yer' smell o' piss!" as
she fell exhausted through the veil and welcomed the caress of dew-kissed grass.
With half-closed eyes, Peggy surveyed the world that produced its own light without the need of stealing children and her
attention was grabbed by the slowly dissolving shape of Kittie Bretton hiding her face. Even though her energy was as
low as the tide out at Durridge, Peggy managed a smile and whispered "Be on yer' way now, me-darlin'".
Treacle snatched his head around from his vocal urgings of the endeavours and stared at Peggy's sudden arrival. Unconsciously,
he grabbed Mudd's beard beside him and exclaimed "We did it!". Ascertaining his tugging was inappropriate, Treacle released
the poor Gnome's facial hair and instead, patted him on the back.
Turnip gave his fellow zealot-of-whiskers a look of faux-odium at the Bogle's overt jubilation and leaned to assist the Witch from
her prone position. That was when he saw the filth-stained hand holding onto Peggy's ankle.
"She's comin' through" Peggy croaked and felt the pull back towards the realm of the Bitch.
...................................................
What happened next would be bound with alternative yarns that Bogles told their infants when the wind roared outside of their
burrows. Years would move on and the character in these tales would become a lot-more fearless and spoken of as a committed
member of their Yetun family, something that Treacle Thistle had sadly, owned neither.
Gwydionel's ugly face broke through the translucent diaphragm and with a single eye, soaked in the vista that had assisted in the
stealing of her children. The loathing that shone from the wide glare was obvious and the toothless crone offered a obstinate leer.
"I'll be taking yer' heroine as a fair payment" Gwydionel gloated and turned her focus towards the body on the ground.
Turnip Mudd would swear to his dying day that what he witnessed would still be something he didn't know whether to look startled
at or burst out in a fit of laughter at. Treacle was one moment -stood with a gaping mouth that would rival his wide eyes, the next
he was running pell-mell towards the grinning horror holding Peggy's leg.
Reaching into his pocket and leaping from the ground at the same moment, the Yetun that his watching brethren had exiled years
before, twisted in mid-air and arched his back in an effort the Gnome and onlookers could only guess at. Peggy Powler glanced up
and put her hands over her head.
With a thumb-scratched sound of a ignited kitchen match, Treacle Thistle's airborne forced-flatulence combusted into a horizontal
column of fire that consumed the gawking gorgon's face. Foul screams filled the night air as the burning Bitch disgorged her raving
wrath on her silent audience and the moment her gnarled hand moved to quieten the agony on the remains of her face, the suddenly
cognisant Turnip Mudd pulled Peggy's limp body away from the fiery ordeal.
As the child-stealing Gwydionel fell back through the veil and the howling faded, Those of the Marshes and the mysterious ghosts of
long-gone Hiders yanked the rope from the fading aperture and then disappeared themselves. Treacle hunkered down beside Turnip
and carefully moved the Witch's hair from her tired face. "She's fainted" Turnip said without elaborating and standing up. quielty left
to retrieve Peggy Powler's belongings.
It was over.
(Nearly!)
but the words would be uncatchable only seconds after he gave them utterance.
"Menos Den Palus, Chell Di Auxili Gehennus Quaesot" the little Yetun rasped out into the night sky and felt another blister on
his hand burst.
The feeling of coldness came first and as it began, Treacle recalled the rules for whenever something that humans would be
unable to comprehend was summoned. They mustn't look at it. With the Bogle facing towards Kittie Bretton and the backdrop
of the tents, he knew he didn't have much time to relay the warning to the weary girl.
"Kittie... take my word for it, close your eyes and don't look behind you" Treacle gasped as another twist of hemp slipped from
his grasp. The sweating girl with the gritted-teeth, who believed in majick, worlds-beyond-worlds and the now-obvious faith that
she shared this land with creatures of her own standing, looked-up from her concentration and offered a puzzled gaze.
"Believe me..." the Bogle hissed, "...we need help and it's not for human eyes to look upon" he added and nodded with what
he hoped was a sage gesture.
In a small voice that would break many a parent's heart, she replied "okay" and closed the shutters on those dusk-blue orbs.
As Kittie acceded to her friend's warning, the responders to the esoteric cry of help stepped out from beneath the cedars
and with Turnip Mudd exclaiming '"Hell's teeth!", she believed keeping her eyes shut might just be a grand idea.
...................................................
Joannie Marrs had slipped back into her timeline along with the Baker's daughter Becky Caldwell and now, Peggy Powler shooed
away the wasteful thought of the Marrs cottage being lived in again. Knowingly or not, the Chime-Children were repairing time
and putting everything back in its rightful place. Now only the bitterly-sobbing Maggie Bretton was left clinging onto the Witch's
shoulders.
"Diva bawl, pet..." Peggy choked "...Yon Bitch'll get hers when we have yer' away" she managed and took another heavy step
towards the blurred-grey opening ahead. Gwydionel was close now, close enough that if the Witch of Underhill had craned her
neck, she'd have seen the evil-grinning boo-hag reaching out with her only working-hand for the sweat-licked locks of Peggy's
final passenger.
The smell was gagging and told of lost hopes and dreams of amity. "Yer'll never make it..." Gwydionel cawed and almost touched
a strand of Maggie's hair. "...This is my kingdom, my place and nobody rules here except me" came a following warning and
the foul finger-nailed clawed hand swiped through a ghostly representation of the Bretton girl.
The Bitch's cry of rage was the giveaway to Peggy that Kittie's sister's return was underway.
With another forced movement of her tired legs, the solitary rescuer stared at the softy-spluttering aperture where the blue and
red-wrapped rope disappered into the real world. "By Herne's antlers, Ah'll bloody make it" Peggy vowed determinedly and
struck forward again.
...................................................
They were from the marshes and those of a long ago forest. The smaller shapes were daubed in luminous hues that fooled the
eye and tricked the mind. They were Hiders, a lost race that had fought the Bitch O' The Hill and endured her presence.
'Those of the Marshes' were of a different brand, hulking brutes that denied description. Black featureless beings that smelled
of forlorn and anguish.
Together without words or acknowledgement, they took up the rope and began to pull.
Unseen by Treacle and the wide-eyed hermit Turnip Mudd, were the little faces peeking from the hedgerow on the other side
of the lane. Juno and his fellow Fae-folk stared in awe at the surreal scene where the outlander of their kind, a reclusive Gnome
and weird shapes were pulling at a rope that vanished between two standing-stones.
However, their barometer of bravery didn't indicate they should help.
As the nearby pin-striped tents collapsed under the weight of the tugging creatures, Treacle yelled at the little girl to keep her
eyes shut. With the rope being plucked from her grasp and raised higher, Kittie fell to the damp grass and placed her hands
over face. Imagining her sister's escape from something unimaginable, she silently wished this was over.
...................................................
"I've gotcha' now..." Gwydionel hissed and hooked her fingers onto the sweat-stained blouse of the woman in the girl's clothes.
"...I just hope you can stitch" she giggled into the air between the Witch and her hideous face. Peggy sucked in a breath and
pushed into the membrane that divided this place of wretchedness from her own. With one more final effort, Peggy urged her
calves to push her forward and with a grin that would rival Gwydionel's, the Witch mocked over shoulder "Yer' smell o' piss!" as
she fell exhausted through the veil and welcomed the caress of dew-kissed grass.
With half-closed eyes, Peggy surveyed the world that produced its own light without the need of stealing children and her
attention was grabbed by the slowly dissolving shape of Kittie Bretton hiding her face. Even though her energy was as
low as the tide out at Durridge, Peggy managed a smile and whispered "Be on yer' way now, me-darlin'".
Treacle snatched his head around from his vocal urgings of the endeavours and stared at Peggy's sudden arrival. Unconsciously,
he grabbed Mudd's beard beside him and exclaimed "We did it!". Ascertaining his tugging was inappropriate, Treacle released
the poor Gnome's facial hair and instead, patted him on the back.
Turnip gave his fellow zealot-of-whiskers a look of faux-odium at the Bogle's overt jubilation and leaned to assist the Witch from
her prone position. That was when he saw the filth-stained hand holding onto Peggy's ankle.
"She's comin' through" Peggy croaked and felt the pull back towards the realm of the Bitch.
...................................................
What happened next would be bound with alternative yarns that Bogles told their infants when the wind roared outside of their
burrows. Years would move on and the character in these tales would become a lot-more fearless and spoken of as a committed
member of their Yetun family, something that Treacle Thistle had sadly, owned neither.
Gwydionel's ugly face broke through the translucent diaphragm and with a single eye, soaked in the vista that had assisted in the
stealing of her children. The loathing that shone from the wide glare was obvious and the toothless crone offered a obstinate leer.
"I'll be taking yer' heroine as a fair payment" Gwydionel gloated and turned her focus towards the body on the ground.
Turnip Mudd would swear to his dying day that what he witnessed would still be something he didn't know whether to look startled
at or burst out in a fit of laughter at. Treacle was one moment -stood with a gaping mouth that would rival his wide eyes, the next
he was running pell-mell towards the grinning horror holding Peggy's leg.
Reaching into his pocket and leaping from the ground at the same moment, the Yetun that his watching brethren had exiled years
before, twisted in mid-air and arched his back in an effort the Gnome and onlookers could only guess at. Peggy Powler glanced up
and put her hands over her head.
With a thumb-scratched sound of a ignited kitchen match, Treacle Thistle's airborne forced-flatulence combusted into a horizontal
column of fire that consumed the gawking gorgon's face. Foul screams filled the night air as the burning Bitch disgorged her raving
wrath on her silent audience and the moment her gnarled hand moved to quieten the agony on the remains of her face, the suddenly
cognisant Turnip Mudd pulled Peggy's limp body away from the fiery ordeal.
As the child-stealing Gwydionel fell back through the veil and the howling faded, Those of the Marshes and the mysterious ghosts of
long-gone Hiders yanked the rope from the fading aperture and then disappeared themselves. Treacle hunkered down beside Turnip
and carefully moved the Witch's hair from her tired face. "She's fainted" Turnip said without elaborating and standing up. quielty left
to retrieve Peggy Powler's belongings.
It was over.
(Nearly!)
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.