The Journey Of Peggy Powler.

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 28, 2015 4:17:26 GMT -6 Nugget, 727sky, and 5 more like this

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 28, 2015 4:17:26 GMT -6

As Peggy Powler made her way along the dry-stone wall and past the remains of
a water trough, the sight of Calder's Way brought a feeling of welcomed-relief to the
rain-sodden woman. Adjusting the leather strap that held the ancient shotgun on her
aching shoulders, the last Witch of Underhill soaked in the drab surroundings of Bogul
County.

The grey sky rolled across to some far-off moorlands and marooned copses, the steady
tattoo of raindrops on the Witch's wide-rimmed hat reminded her -along with the view, that
she was alone. Alone with her guilty thoughts.

It had been almost two weeks since she'd last seen anyone and even though there had been
small farmhouses near to where she was travelling, Peggy felt that she needed this solitary
time to deal with what she'd done back at Beggers Well.

The killing of the Barguest had left her feeling mentally soiled and saddened. The reason
wasn't because of the taking his life, although she would use the word 'it', the real cause of
her melancholy was due to the manner that she had done it.

As the downpour eased slightly and the woman skirted around the remains of a burnt-out
windmill, Peggy wondered about the rage she had shown the blood-collecting monster as
she'd hacked it's body to pieces.

It wasn't like her, I know that some may think the whole idea of killing someone should
be repugnent and it is, Peggy knew that. But the greater-good demanded that this
undead tormentor should be stopped and whatever moral standards we might have,
Peggy knew that the creature didn't adhere to them.

There'd been nothing left. It had been sixteen days since she'd lifted that woodsman's axe
and the muscles between her old shoulder blades still ached. The ferocity of the onslaught
verged on manic, Peggy had cursed, wept and for a short-while, even giggled during
the butchery.
It wasn't like her.

The Elders of the town were satisfied with her actions and knowing that Witches had a
duty to police the 'other realms' that sometimes invaded this world, they had given Peggy
some of their sparse provisions as reward. The old woman with the 'touch of the Fey' had
left then and without glancing at the brooding graveyard above Beggars Well, she'd set out
for Caulder's Way.

The hillside that she now carefully climbed down offered a wonderful view of the famous
road that led north to Solomon's Pond, the mysterious cliff-village of Toole and many other
small districts that used Calder's Way as their means to interact and trade.

The cobbled surface was a marvel of engineering and yet, the actual builders of the long
thoroughfare still remained unknown.
Repairs were usually carried out by the village closest to where any damage occurred and
the cause tended to be the weather. The smooth stones inserted into some-kind of cement
had been identified to have come from the sea and one can only wonder what organisational
skills were required to bring such a vast amount of aggregate the many-many miles from the
coast.

Peggy neared the sombre meadow at the base of the hill and ignoring the questioning brays
of a small flock of inquisitive sheep, she clambered over the rickety gate and surveyed the
road that would be her companion for the next few days.

The thought of her meagre food supplies came to mind and caused the old Witch to furrow her
brow in the deliberation of how to restock it. The dirty-green poncho held many pockets and in
the one that held the loaf of bread given as part of the payment for ridding Beggars Well of the
brute that had terrorised their village, it now contained a few hard-crumbs and the remains of
an apple.

The verge held some edible plants that hugged the base of the stone walls, the odd clump
of Wood Aven and nodding Bush Vetch were scattered between neatly-clipped grass and Cubby
sorrel, but the idea of a diet consisting of only scrub-plants made Ms. Powler twist her face in
resignation.

The rain came again and hunching those aching shoulders, the thin-framed woman moved her
bare-feet along the cobbled highway and hopefully, some decent food.
......................

'Am I a murderer?' Peggy mused as she clacked the two flints together and muttered her prayer.
The dry grass had taken some finding and it was only when she was about to give up and bed-down
without a warm backside to accompany her dreams, did she discern the shape of the cattle byre
in the failing light.

The straw and forgotten bird's nest lifted her spirits as she gathered the makings for a campfire
and decided that the shelter would keep any further rainstorms from disturbing her sleep.
The surrounding broken fences offered some barely-dry wood and in the dark and musty shelter,
Peggy went back to her soul-searching diagnostics.

Killing the creature that collected blood in it's lair should be deemed a noble act and the young
woman had heard of such tales around the glowing brazier outside the tent of her Mother.
Many of the Carnival's employees would bring stories from long ago of monsters and devils
that were taken down by handsome men in the name of honour.

Yet, the Barguest known as Felix wasn't truly a monster, he was a man. Granted, his skill of
deceiving an onlooker's eye seemed to be something that belonged in the world of skulking
night creatures, but as he had told Peggy when his left arm lay a few feet away from his body,
it was just a trick.

There was no reference to Old Nick or a dark coven, nor did Felix hold any superhuman talents
that the Carnival folk had spoken of, he was just a sad-crazy person who could sneak into trusting
-villagers homes. Peggy had guessed where the skulking monster would have a hideaway and
stealing into the cemetary on the hill that overlooked Beggars Well, the stinking den wasn't
too-hard to find.

The hidden-retreat in the base of the solitary tree of the graveyard held jars and jugs of congealed
blood and as the poncho-wearing Witch ventured further into underground refuge, the sight of three
hand-drawn portraits of presumably-people of the village -begrudgingly suggested to Peggy that
she done nothing more-than hacked a retarded male to death.
In the far-corner of the burrow, a skull of a deer and a human pressed home further the idea to the
wide-eyed sorceress that his compulsion was little-more than a mental disorder.

The single flame of her campfire pulled her from her doubts and she focused on rearing a decent
blaze with the careful addition of a single sliver of wood or a small clump of straw.

Anyway, she was in out of the weather.
......................

Last Edit: Mar 28, 2015 5:37:59 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 28, 2015 6:46:18 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 28, 2015 6:46:18 GMT -6

As the low moans of the night's wind outside the dilapidated cow byre whispered of forsaken
souls and forlorn banshees, the naked old woman laying next to the crackling fire contemplated
her future.

Peggy Powler had seen over fifty summers and the bare, scarred and skinny body that took
warmth from the fire, wasn't what it used to be. She was the last of the Underhilll Witches and
had never cleaved to a man in the ways of the many female-folk of the hamlets and villages
she had visited.

Oh, there had been sexual encounters. Peggy wasn't one for turning her nose-up at a bit
of 'leg-over' -when the opportuntity arose, but to resign herself to be with one man...?
Gently wafting the dwindling flames of the campire with her large hat, she pondered what it
would be like to live in a house and to know the smell of the man sleeping beside her.

The Carnival had been the only home to her during her chilldhood. Madam Powler, the Fortune
Teller of the Fair and mother to the pretty-young girl in the bright-green gown -had told of many
things that made this strange world go around and the sage warnings of what men were really
all about, were never lost on the lassie who had always loved to race among the gaudy-coloured
tents and marquees in her bare-feet.

"Think of 'em as dogs..." Madam Powler had rasped during one her many drunken visits to the
bottle. Peggy had grown up with the understanding that such powers of knowing folk's futures
had always came with a price. The price for the gift was that the flooding-knowledge would never
cease... even in your dreams.
The raven-haired woman behind the thumb-smudged crystall ball used the mead to quieten the
voices that chittered and whispered from the otherside and Peggy had accepted it.

It would always be a mystery of why the young child standing across the silk-covered table of her
mater had never been burdened with this supposed agony. Maybe Peggy wasn't so touched?

"Aye... they're like curs, always a-sniffin' and always hungry" her Mother had warned and the quiet
tinkling sound from the Madam's heavy-hooped earrings had returned to Peggy's memories in the
shadowy cowshed has she pulled them from her past.
"Divna' let 'em harness yer' me-lass" Madam Powler had growled with a shake of her black mane
and then with a lazy swipe of her hand, she'd dismissed Peggy and prepared herself for the next
customer.

That cowshed that squatted on a rain-soaked hillside now was a temporary abode for the girl
that had become a woman and as the memories faded, Peggy Powler urged her old body awake
and dressed.

The cold morning outside promised that today, no sun would venture onto the wind-swept terrain
that encompassed Caulder's Way, the rolling heavy clouds warned more water would be thrown down
on the little woman who dabbled in spells and majick.

"Yer' no bonny sight fur' these eyes..." Peggy cursed the sky and spat towards the ground, the wind
grabbed the spittal as if it would never grow weary of enough water. "...Be Buggered" she hissed and
trained her gaze to the long road below her.

If any of you have ever visited the regions that our dishevelled shaman wandered through, you may
recall some of the history surrounding Bogul County.

The place known as 'Solomon's Pond' had once been home to a community that prided itself on
holding the area's biggest Summer's-End festival and Sow-In rituals. As time had moved on, the
traditions had fallen away and now, the fifty-or-so residents of the quiet hamlet near the road
tended to keep themselves to themselves.

But not-too long ago, things had been different.
It was a time when the villagers stowed away their crops for winter and brought their animals down
from the moors and reluctantly accepted that it was a time for the land to sleep.

But before they silently said goodbye to the fading Summer, they would celebrate. People would
come from miles around to see the fiery sacrifice of the towering straw goliath and enjoy the rich
foods that the residents of Solomon's Pond lay out every year.

The famous Hallow's End jubilees would light the sky with homemade gunpowder and find squealing
children running through hedgerows with painted ghost-faces and carrying carved-out turnips
displaying goulish leers.

As the storm lanterns swayed in the early-winter breezes, fiddles would be played and young maidens
would offer a bare-ankle to any wide-eyed man during the dancing. Of course, the tuneful dirvish is for
the young and so the old men of 'The Pond' would sit around a barrel of Wort Ale and recall the days
when Peggy's ancestors walked the countryside and true-majick bathed the land.

The women of the village believed that Fairy Night demanded payment and to the superstitious
it meant small cakes of oats and berries were left on the doorsteps of the houses. Fey folk would
hopefully accept the offering and the next day's milk would not sour.

As their husbands drank themselves stupid, the women-folk would wander in a group along the lanes
and trackways of Solomon's Pond and place small-scarlet sachets of crushed herbs to keep the smelly
-Spriggans and evil goblins from snooping around the village and tormenting the children's slumber.

The festivities would end with a twenty-foot effigy of Solomon -himself, being ignited with tar-tipped
arrows set alight and fired by two men with archer's bows -who weren't too inebriated and the families
of Solomon's Pond would all stand around the towering bonfire and recount the story of how Solomon
the Giant created the nearby pool by pissing in it.
.........................

Peggy sighed at the town's accounts she'd heard during her days at the Carnival and sliding the old
firearm back onto her shoulders, she set off to meet the road known as Caulder's Way.
Maybe Solomon's Pond would accept her visit and offer her food for a Telling or maybe a ghost will
be needed to be expelled. Whichever it was, Peggy Powler's gait was determined and maybe this
time, a killing wouldn't be called for.
.........................

Last Edit: Mar 28, 2015 6:52:01 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 28, 2015 9:08:18 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 28, 2015 9:08:18 GMT -6

The cobbled road wound across a rise in the land that caused the wind to make Peggy hunker
into her poncho and pull her hat low over her face. The icy blasts told of some more rain-cum
-sleet ahead and the old Witch mumbled foul language under her breath at the cold-blowing gusts.

Apart from a couple of leaning cedars that struggled with elements, the raised ground was bare
except for the man-made structure Peggy drew near to in her journey.

The small shrine that fluttered with weathered-rags of sympathy and adoration lay on the roadside
and fallen victim to the eternal gale that swept up from the valley where the village of Solomon's
Pond resided.

The wooden alter was box-shaped and sported a tar-painted roof. Whitewash had made sure
that the panelled walls would not fall foul to the weather and as Peggy peered closer, she saw that
whoever had built the reliquary, had gone to the expense of putting a glass door across it's front.

The shards of that door now lay like diamonds on Caulder's Way -along with the fallen shrine itself.
"Yer' canna expect nuthin' else iffin' yer' ganna' put it in the mouth of the wind" Peggy muttered and
began placing the shrine into a more reasonable position.
The strips of coloured cloth flapped as if the wind disagreed with the Witch's decision and lifting
the sacred casket of prayer, Peggy saw why the shrine had been placed in such a desolate place.

This was about Vampyres, the alter was supposed to ward the blood-takers from the town of it's
builders and with the sight of the faded rosary-beads and corn-dolly hanging from the inner-walls
of the shrine, Peggy would wager that it would keep most gouls-of-the-throat away.

Stepping onto the verge where the structure was originally placed, the Witch of Underhill saw that
the wind was not at fault for the venerated coffer's destruction. Someone had pulled the shrine from
it's wooden post. And with venom.

"Whey, yer' bugger..." Peggy whispered. "...It looks like 'ah've got a live-one" and turned to view
the small suburb of Solomon's Pond.
...........................

The stunted-lake that had been favoured with a dubious legend of how some enormous giant had
created it, shimmered in the late-afternoon sun that had valiantly broken through the scudding-grey
clouds. Peggy trudged along the cart-track that skirted the water and was murmured a prayer of
thanks to be out of the wind.

The shrine had told her many things about the beast that sought nourishment from the living and
one of the clues was that the Vampyre was once a resident of the town. Peggy had seen the water
-stained letter that had been stuffed into the back of the alter and struggling with the faded-words
and that cursed-wind wishing to tear the epistle away from her, she had discovered that the goul
had left a widow.

A widow that had known a man called Juno Boggs.

"Remember..." came her Mother's words "...they may be monsters, but they were once men"
Peggy's eyes narrowed in cunning as she came out from under the leaf-less trees and stepped
into the town of Solomon's Pond.
...........................

Even if the traces of winter were attempting to settle itself into the surrounding countryside,
the sun-touched mainstreet gave an impression of a calm early-spring afternoon as the
residents of Solomon's Pond privately prepared themselves for another night in the valley.

Peggy searched the closed wooden doors of the grey-stone buildings along the narrow
road for the clues her Mother had imparted to her long ago and yet, it was with a wary-eye
under that shadowed hat, just incase someone was monitoring her movement.

The Witch's mind wanted to ponder on where she was going to spend the night as she
glanced at the painted entrances and chipped window frames, but Ms. Powler forced her
attention back to scouring the surfaces of the homes for the markings of Juno Boggs.

The ball of light and heat that had fought the good-fight to peer through the clouds had
begun it's descent towards the west as Peggy turned onto Hobbs Lane and seeing the
odd lantern appearing in the curtained-windows, she knew she didn't have much time left.

"Are yer' shaman...?" a voice asked softly from the slightly-opened window above her.
"...Is yer' gift fur' sale, Missy?" the woman spoke in the quietness of the early-evening.
Peggy's shoulders tightened as the words reached her ears, she had passed the house
where the voice had come from and had thought she'd seen a movement or shape.

The Witch had also seen the sign of the twilight-visitor and deemed it canny not to tarry.
'If the she was wanted, they will ask' -had been her Mother's slurred watch-words and once
more, the black-haired Tarot Reader of Peggy's past had been proven correct.

The tone sounded desperate, but so was Peggy's wish to be in out of tonight's possible
foul elements. Whether they'd be rain or Vampyres.
The woman was around twenty years-old and if the Gods had been a little kinder with
their designing, she could have been called 'ordinary'

"Aye lady, ah' have the touch to see beyond the veil and fur' a small use of yer' hearthstone,
ah' will tell yer' what lies ahead" Peggy said and surveyed the face at the window.

It was the nose that let her down Peggy decided as -with the door creaking open, she
stepped inside and felt the fire's warmth immediately. The young woman with the penknife
of a proboscis had rushed to pull a seat nearer the hearth and as Peggy clicked the door's
latch closed, the seer imagined what she would have looked like without the big conk.

"I'm in need of yer' services, if I don't talk to someone, I'll go moonstruck" the fidgety
female in the widow's dress said as she patted the beige material of the comfortable
-looking chair. "My name is Betty..." she announced as her guest accepted the seat.
"...Betty Boggs"
...........................

Last Edit: Mar 29, 2015 11:09:11 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 28, 2015 10:31:25 GMT -6

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 28, 2015 10:31:25 GMT -6

The room told of tidiness and singledom, the lonely female kept a neat house and as
Peggy placed her long-nailed-grimy hands nearer the flames, she realised that apart from
the unsightly nose, her dead man would have found a perfect home with the earnest Betty.

The steady ticking of the fancy time-piece on the mantlepiece told the two women that
an early supper could possibly be procured and Peggy Powler was not one to argue with
tradition.

There were pictures on the wall that implied the illustrator was local and even without a
rendering of scudding clouds and secret markings, Peggy recognised one of the artworks
as of the street outside.

Areas of nearby coutryside adorned the far wall and a framed-sketch of a dark-haired man
hung beside the door that she had just entered.
A silent wager was made that Peggy's current host spent her free time as an artist and that
the portrait was of the Vampyre that had left the tiny mark on the doorstep, the 'X' with a circle
around it.

"Would yer' like a cup o' tea...?" Betty inquired and hurried to where a large kettle hung from
a wrought-iron hook in the hearth. "...I was just about to have a brew me'self" she said quickly.
Peggy nodded her consent and watched the woman infuse the leaves with hot water, the whole
process took place with the only sound being the wooden hand-carved clock on the mantlepiece.

The rain tapped on the window as a wind that had tormented Peggy on the moor -reminded her
that it still had some power left. Even if it was only a breeze or two. The Witch ignored the mocking
and gobbled down the large slice of rice-cake that the widow-Boggs had also offered.

As the two females sipped their respective sugared-beverages, Peggy introduced herself and
asked what was concerning the young lady. The questions would seem general to a passing-listener,
but to the initiated, the answers held all the information that Peggy would need.
That's if the spirits decided not to turn up.

"What seems to be botherin' yer'?" the Witch asked calmly as Betty squirmed on the three-legged
stool next to the hanging bellows. The sad-faced girl looked like she was dealing with a rose-hip
burr in an embarrassing part of her body and after another nibble of her fingernails,
Betty told the stranger her tale.

"It began a few weeks ago..." she said in a whisper and Peggy watched with a puzzled gaze as
Betty's eyes flicked from the window to the door. "...It had been raining all day here in Solomon's Pond
and as the light faded, I make a custom of sayin' me-prayers for me-dead husband and retiring early
to bed with a mug of hot cocoa"

Peggy sat back in the comfortable armchair and drank her tea. She knew it paid not to interrupt
a customer when they were on a roll and this particular one hinted that she had something
important to say. More Important than she realises -Peggy wagered once more.

"I know yer' want to see me as a forgotten woman and that's alright, it's somethin' I've gotten
used to" Betty continued and after offering a doubtful frown, Peggy shook her head and rolled
a finger for her to go on.

"Don't get me wrong... I have come to terms that my man has gone over , it's just that the folk
around here can be a little too... what's the word?" Betty asked and when her guest interjected
"patronising?"
Juno Boggs' widow agreed that this was the correct word. "Yes..." Betty said "...they see me
as somebody seeking sympathy"

With a neatly-chopped log being placed onto the fire, the flinching-girl continued.
"So when 'he' stepped from the shadows and asked if he could take a drink, well, I was...
I was dumbfounded" the heavily-breathing girl said and turned to the kettle for a refill.

That was when Peggy saw the the two marks on her host's neck and knew what the problem
was. The reknown Madam Ruth Powlett had told her daughter of such a creature that left those
tell-tale holes.
Peggy accepted another cup of the sweet-tasting liquid and waited for the restless female to
explain who the stranger was.

"Juno was tall... tall and handsome. I mean, he is at least six foot-three and his hair...?"
Betty seemed to drift away with her private thoughts and with the slight snap-sound from her
closing knees, Peggy knew what the woman was imagining.
"He was a fine man" Betty whispered huskily and hid her face behind the cup.

"I dreamt he was in my room last night" Betty suddenly blurted out and with a surge of tears,
she fell to her knees before the flickering flames.
Peggy leaned forward and caught the girl in her arms, "Heh me-lass, heh-now" she comforted
the sobbing girl and stroked her hair to calm her.
It was around that time that the Witch of Underhill decided to slay the Vampyre of Solomon's
Pond and save the big-nosed widow that had took her in out of the cold.
...............................

Betty's sleep had settled and the small form in front of the glowing-embers of the fire had
drawn her knees up to her chest in the embryonic position. A babe feeling safe -Peggy
mused from the gloom of one of the room's corners. The lamp had been dowsed in the
kitchen after Peggy's rummaging and now all was quiet again.

The kettle sat on the single-stone hearth and apart from the position of the bellows, everything
seemed the same as it was the night before.
The night that the dead man came home.

The lantern on top of the dresser had been extinguished earlier and now among the shadows,
the Witch waited for the appearance of the Vampyre calling itself Juno.
The slight hint of light-on-metal caught Peggy's eye about half-an-hour later.

The rain had kept coming outside and even though the curtains were drawn, she could hear the drops
tip-tip-tapping on the small glass panes.
The whole house was in darkness and apart from the soft snoring from Betty Boggs, all was still.

The glint of light came from the ring on the Vampyre's finger, he was in the room and standiing
in the opposite corner.

For most folk, the sudden dawning that an undead monster had got the drop on you and had
entered without you knowing, would be enough to find them running from the house with their
hands above their heads and screaming for their mothers.

That's for most people. For Peggy Powler, she knew that it was a talent that she could be taught
and in the moments when she eased her breathing back down to a soft seething of air,
she reckoned that Juno -with the right motivation, could teach her the trick.
The dull-glint came again.

When Madam Ruth Powler had informed her only daughter of the existence of Vampyres and
the-like, the reknowned Fortune Teller had spoken about the ring that the fiends carry.
To those 'in-the-know' the ring is something that the deceased are buried with.

On some coffins, there is a small brass-tube that is sometimes fixed onto the upper-centre on the
inside of the lid. It is generally added at the request of the bereaved for a single rose to be inserted
through it and supposed to show an eternal love that will remain in the earth with the dead person.
The flower sits in the two-inch tube and tube sits in a round bracket, the bracket's ends are two
spikes that the Undertaker uses to tap it into the wood with a mallet.
So now, the person in the coffin can have a fragrant flower to accompany their passage to the
other-side.

They charge a lot for the custom and saving on screws is another way to be frugal and it's this
'ring' that Vampyres use to obtain the blood for their unnatural thirst. There's no long-teeth, that's
just in fairytales.
Hence the glint of metal.

Peggy steadied herself and slipped her hand back out from under her poncho, the clipped-toenails
that Betty had kindly provided earlier dug into the skin of her clenched-fingers. Betty's shoes rested
near the owner's sleeping-body and the Seer chanced a small-smile at how many knots she'd put
in the string-laces.

"Yer' fella's is a phantom and it'd be wrong of yer' to keep him here because of yer' love" Peggy
had strongly imparted earlier to the young lass with the quivering lower-lip.
If yer' truly believe in the Big Fella in heaven, then yer'll let me despatch yer' man's spirit to it's
righful place" she'd added as she patted Betty's bent and sobbing head.
The two puncture wounds on the side of the widow's neck appeared again as Peggy's host fell
forward and collapsed at the Witch's bare feet.
The potion had done it's job.
...............................

Juno hadn't moved and hadn't spoken, so there was a slim-chance that the Vampyre hadn't seen her,
but Peggy didn't rely on 'maybes' -especially when one is dealing with this kind of monster and so, she
waited for him to make the first move.
The clock ticked towards one o'clock in the morning and the Witch knew that even the moths would
be asleep now. 'Nobody up but me and my shadow' -Peggy thought wickedly.

"I know you're there" Juno whispered into the darkness of the far-corner and two-whole seconds
passed before Peggy whispered back in her best confident voice "and ah' know you're there"
The movement of the ring came again and the pair of watchers waited for the next move.

Thirty seconds.
"You honestly think that wrapping all those knots will play to my compulsive nature...?" the shadow
in the shadows asked softly. "...You don't know much about Vampyres" he hissed with a soft chuckle.

Four seconds.
"Ah' still know yer' there" Peggy whispered and narrowed her eyes in cunning. Never interact in their
games was another piece of advice from her Mother.

Eight seconds.
"Betty loves me, you know...? it's not like I'm trespassing" Juno submitted in an honest tone
and a faint movement of reflected-light from the window showed Peggy that this Vampyre was
licking his lips.
Hungry or anxious?

Three seconds.
"You can learn many things from me, woman..." the voice whispered again "...And I from you" Juno
added and Peggy would swear to Herne the Woodsman that there was a hint of nervousness
floating round the words.
"Ah'm gonna get yer'" was all Juno received for his invite.

A minute.
"If you'll allow me, I will step forward in a more agreeable manner and we can talk... is that okay?"
Juno said with a deeper tone in his voice and without a response, a dark-garbed leg moved from the
corner and that was when the Vampyre stood on the bellows.

Peggy pulled the knife, threw the toenails and dived onto the creature staring at the glass beads that
had spurted from the leathery bag. "Count 'em' all" Peggy hissed as she grabbed the stinking coat that
Juno had been buried in.
...............................

Betty Boggs awoke from her sleep feeling invigorated and ready to face the new day.
Ignoring the remains of the powder that stained the bottom of her teacup, she went to the kitchen
to set about breakfast.
It was only when she looked out of the window into the rain-gray yard, did she remember that she
had a Fortune Teller visit her last night.
And that Fortune Teller was now in that yard and busy chopping wood for the fire.

The meal of eggs, bacon and toast was welcoming and Peggy ate heartily as the blood began to
pulse in her hands again. She had enjoyed the task of cutting four cords of wood for her breakfast
and she deemed the debt paid.
Also, the axe now looked clean again.

Accepting that history had repeated itself and yet, the talent of being able to 'dissolve' in plain-sight
had been acquired, Peggy Powler felt -that at least, something positive had come from the slaying.
The exposed heap of soil at the rear of Betty's home would hopefully be covered with foliage
by the time Summer came around -Peggy reckoned and now, with another steaming cup of sweet
tea in her warming-hands, she laid one-more bet on her recent activities.
Betty would now move on with her life.

Juno had given up his talent only as the skinny necromancer in the green poncho had castrated
him and it was only after her promise to dismembered-Vampyre that she would bless his remains
after she'd beheaded him, that he'd told Peggy about the other secret.
But that's a tale for another time.

With a bundle of bread and cheese from the confused and grateful woman of Hobbs Lane, the Witch
of Underhill left the small village of Solomon's Pond as the weather eased and to be honest, Peggy
Powler was glad to be on her way.

Last Edit: Mar 29, 2015 11:14:02 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 28, 2015 16:24:35 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 28, 2015 16:24:35 GMT -6

The priest from the small chapel of St. Barnabus leaned on one of the uprights of the lychgate
and watched the solitary figure coming along the road. Father Mulligan wondered if the stranger
was one of the farm-hands that occasionally came around looking from work, but at this time of
year it was doubtful.
Winter didn't call for much field-tending.

The meandering thoroughfare known as Caulder's Way had always been thought as a good
capture-area for the struggling religion and Father Mulligan had taken the position of running
the tiny chapel with great verve and a confidence that he could rid Bogul County of it's pagan
ways.

The small portly man in the black cassock believed he could move the surrounding homesteaders
from their silly superstitions and enjoy the meaning of one-true God. The balding priest watching
the skinny-framed woman amble along the road also believed it would bring him a respect that he
had always yearned for.

"Fair travels, Ma'am" Father Mulligan called as the female in the shabby poncho neared the stone
wall that ringed the small graveyard. It was mid-day and the priest was just about to make himself
a lonely lunch, but now with the arrival of the small woman in the wide-rimmed hat, he pondered if
more than just a meal was available.

Peggy Powler looked up from her own pondering and viewed the fat man in the black gown, the
last Witch of Underhill processed the features of a lustful man in seconds.
"And to you too, Sir" Peggy replied with a false upbeat tone.

The grey skies still held sway overhead, but the downpour had ceased as she came to where
the priest leaned against the resting-place for coffins. Peggy had always been cautious of these
structures because some clergymen secreted crooked sixpences into the woodwork or hid a chunk
of knotted horse-hair in the sloped-roof of the entrance.
These charms were to ward off witches and any canny-woman of renown, knew this.

"My, that's a big gun you have there..." Father Mulligan chirped "...may I ask if you're a hunter
of sorts?" he enquired with a slight-smile. The shotgun jutted nearly a whole-foot above the old
sorceress' wiry-shoulders and still scanning the wooden structure around the gate, Peggy nodded
vaguely.
"Of sorts" Peggy agreed with a murmur during her examination.

The priest offered the stranger to rest her bones in the peace of the chapel's nave and even take
of a sparse meal in the small private chambers at the rear of the church, the overture of seemingly
kindness was given with a pleasant smile of a simple servant of God.

But Peggy Powler knew better and after nearly being raped by a bigger male in the same garb
as Father Mulligan in her earlier years, the Witch knew that the double-tongue was a familar
friend of these particular shaman.

"Aye, a chance to rest me-feet is a grand idea" she had replied easily and followed the inflated priest
into the building, the knife from Betty Boggs' home tapped her thigh from one of the poncho's pocket
and brought an extra sense of assurance.

The memory of the encounter with Bishop Sands fluttered in the back of her mind as she stepped
into the vestibule and recollection of how Peggy had despatched the half-naked cleric with his own
chain of office -brought a brooding gaze across the face of the Witch.

"I rarely have guests at this time of the year..." Father Mulligan said over his shoulder as they
walked down the wooden-boarded aisle. "...My flock tend to stay indoors due to the season's
weather" he snorted and casually pointed towards a small doorway in the wall of the right-hand
transept.
"I eat in there" he said softly and opened the dark-oak egress.

Madam Ruth Powler's daughter stepped inside and clutching the handle of the gully-knife under
her poncho, she waited for might happen next.

Last Edit: Mar 29, 2015 2:29:12 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 29, 2015 10:42:03 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Mar 29, 2015 10:42:03 GMT -6

When Peggy Powler stood in the calming-light of the window in Father Mulligan's private
quarters of the St. Barnabus Chapel, the warm-tranquil atmosphere was not really conducive
with her feelings.
In fact, the Witch's warning-system prickled enough to cause her breathing to to be offered
as small hissing-sounds.
The same kind of respiration she'd displayed just before she'd killed the Vampyre.

The priest and the travelling Fortune Teller had taken the tour of the church and Peggy had
even climbed the steep ladder up to the tiny compartment in the spire. The view was splendid
for both parties as Peggy could see far off towards the cliff-hugging community of Toole and
for the lowly-preacher, he enjoyed the vista from the bottom of the ladder.
You see, Peggy never sported underwear.

"Will a sandwich be okay...?" Father Mulligan asked over his shoulder, the priest was busying
himself with makings of the snack. "...I do like a nibble at noon" he chortled and grinned down
at the small slices of bread and meats on the ledge that doubled as a kitchen table.

He had brought women here before and usually, the simple-minded milkmaid or Farmer's
daughter would surrender to his persuasion that 'physical payment' would absolve the guilty
thoughts that the gullible-girls struggled with.
And with the coming of Summer, Father Mulligan was looking forward to a good season
of his own particular brand of religion.

The grey-metal plate of boiled-beef and buttered-bread was placed on the window sill by the
portly preacher and with a slight wink towards the woman in the grubby-poncho, he peered
out at the rolling farmland of Bogul County.
...........................

Two years ago, Father Mulligan had visited the village that Peggy had been looking at
earlier. Toole was abit of a puzzle in regards of it's religious beliefs and with assistance
of a borrowed cart from the Bracken family across the meadow, the man of God went
forth to save more souls.
...........................

"That gun, that's quite a dangerous tool to have for such a small woman" Father Mulligan
stated as he eyed the leather-pouched shotgun propped near the door. The priest had
shown mild surprise that the heathen had removed it from her shoulders and placed it
in a safe position.
It also put him more at-ease... which is what Peggy wanted.
...........................

The town of Toole lay along a stone-carved trackway that at times, hinted at sudden-death
to any vehicle-pulling animal that let it's thoughts stray. Father Mulligan wanted the chance
to have a church inside the mysterious village and as he listened to the occasional rock
fall away to the ground hundreds of feet down, one would wonder if his faith was with
him along that precipitous path.

There had been rumours for years that Toole was a mining town and due to it's location,
it wouldn't take a scholar to rationalise that the cliff was the main source of excavation.

The red-shingled rooftops of houses could be glimpsed through the trailing mist that
fell from the plateau high above him and Father Mulligan began to plot his speech on
how to indoctrinate himself -and his religion into the families of the lofty colony.
Families... with wives and daughters.
...........................

"Yes, I would think that such a weapon would be too-much in such delicate hands" he
purred and offered his best smile.
Peggy forced her breathing to become soft-sighs as she scanned the room for possibilities
of escape, the big ordnance was five feet away and closer to the fat pervert than herself.
...........................

The Priest had never seen such an eerie place like the hamlet that peered out across the
countryside. All the houses had their curtains closed as he quietly clucked the horse along
the square-stoned high-street and yet, it was late-morning when he had arrived.

Toole boasted a market place and structure that -to the priest, may be a Town Hall or Council
Rooms. Mulligan smacked his flabby lips and and aimed the weary drayhorse towards the
serious-looking buildings. That was where the power lived -he thought to himself.

The tall-narrow houses were made of the same aggregate that the town clung to and on the
occasional domicile, a poorly-painted cross had been daubed on the rough wall beside the
dried-wooden door.
All the shapes were in red paint.
...........................

"Do yer' take confession, Preacher...?" the Witch muttered and forced her face not to show
her disdain. With an subtle arch of her back, she pushed herself forward.
"...Ah' mean, ah've something ah' wish to get off me-chest" she cooed and was surprised by
her amateur-acting ability.

Father Mulligan nearly choked on the crust of his sandwich and smearing butter across his
greasy lips, he pointed towards at the door that led outside to the rear of the church.
The woman was old and yet, some would say 'experienced' Also, beggars-can't-be-choosers
was a credo Father Mulligan held great store in.

"I ...er, my parishioners tend to relate their woes out here" the cleric blurted after clearing
his throat and as Peggy stepped out into the shadowed-area that looked out onto ploughed
fields and clumps of swaying alders. She promised herself that if there was a chopping-block
and hatchet near-to-hand, she'd leave at once.
...........................

"Everyone's gone to the moon" sang the old man in the straw coolie-hat. The slight-shadow under
flimsy headwear failed to hide the craziness of the only resident of Toole.
Father Mulligan had discovered the mad-coot after spending nearly an hour banging on the skinny
doors of the houses and shouting along the many winding alleys that seemed to lead to the plateau
above.

The babbling decrepit fossil in the strange hat and urine-smelling shawl had been laying under the
water-trough that the horse had ambled over to during the priest's inspection of the ghost-town and
now, after being pulled out of the water-manger -and his slumber, the old dolt was smiling toothlessly
up at the confused clergyman and singing happily.

"The cave is the way to the new world..." Silas Mutch crooned in his scratchy-voice. "... And the door
denies nobody" he croaked and searched for his half-filled bottle of liquor under the trough.
Father Mulligan scanned the forgotten homes again and considered the red crosses on the walls
of some of them.
Was it a disease...? Was it a malady of madness that had struck the town and caused the inhabitants
of Toole to hurl themselves from their eagle-nest residence? Was this drunken-sot the only survivor?

There was one more question that the preacher wondered about and it was this query that caused
him to run to the cart and rein the snickering horse back down the trackway with gusto.
If it is a sickness, is it contagious?
...........................

"Well, there's a question ah've been wonderin' about..." Peggy began and silently counted
the fifteen neatly-kept graves in the nearby cemetary. Rotating her large hat in her hands,
she offered the impression that she was lost in her thoughts.
"...It's about yer' big-fella forgivin' sins" she enquired dreamily.

Father Mulligan placed his hands together across his large stomach and showed a serious
face, "There are many ways of obtaining absolution for your faults, my-child..." he answered
with low tones. "... and together, I believe we can find a way" he added and slowly lifting his
cassock, he stepped closer.
...........................

The hint of Spring was in the air as Peggy Powler set off along the road away from the
bethel known as St. Barnabus and as the hat-wearing Witch adjusted the heavy shotgun
on her back, she saw that Bogul County was shrugging off her thread-bare coat that
had protected her from the cold season before.

"Well, the world turns and we move on" Peggy whispered to the ear-wiggling hare that
watched her from the meadow across from the church. The hare declined a response
and trotted off towards it's own future.

Her life was not improving and this pilgrimage along Caulder's Way seemed to throw-up
more and more problems than it solved. Even though twenty years had passed since Peggy
had left the Carnival in search of finding herself, the Witch of Underhill had never thought
for one moment that she'd discover she was a pathological serial-killer.

'No... ah' ain't a bad person' -she mused as she followed her own unique yellow-brick-road.
The encounters had involved others and all she had done was protect herself and the
innocent. Still, Peggy's spirits felt a-little low as she began her trek to the town called Toole.
The future would surely hold better-days -or even a better world.

The sun shining on the sixteen graves bore witness to the fluctuating-guilt of the receding
figure of the one called Peggy Powler.

Last Edit: Mar 29, 2015 10:52:28 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

Deleted Deleted Member Posts: 0	The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Mar 29, 2015 18:33:47 GMT -6 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Back to Top Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2015 18:33:47 GMT -6 theboyinadress, Damn, Damn, Damn! Now That's Good,,, I'm Hooked! My wife'll be by shortly too. 113

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 1, 2015 10:27:27 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Apr 1, 2015 10:27:27 GMT -6

The man that Peggy Powler ended up spending the night with -was the same chap that
would unknowingly change her life forever.

Nope, he didn't sweep her off her feet and with a loose bow-tie hanging across the lapel
of his tuxedo, carry her to his top-down Ferrari and take her across the ocean on his Vulcan
Motor yacht.

Nor did it didn't pan out that he rode-in on an alabaster-skinned, pink-eyed stallion and
with a muscular well-tanned arm, whisk her off her dirty-bare feet and ride off to where
the sun goes down.

No -dear reader, the white-haired man in the weathered, long-black coat and a similar
-coloured stovepipe hat, did have a bag of boiled-sweets in his pocket and as most of
us know, it's the insignficant things in life that tend to be the vulcrum of some important
event.

The dark incident at the church was now behind the little Witch wandering the forgotten
highway called Calder's Way and with every step, Peggy's mood became more upbeat.
The weather had something to do with it as well.

To the east, the rain clouds -that had dogged Peggy's travels, were skirting the faint-grey
mountains on the horizon and heading for the ocean that Peggy had been told about during
her time at the Carnival.

It was said that huge water-spouting behemoths swam in the green water and pulled fishing
boats down into the darkness where Mer-folk danced with the lifeless bodies for merriment.
The seas around the land were still a mystery to the shambling woman in the wide-rimmed
hat and maybe, just maybe, one day she would visit them.
But not today.

Today under the bright sun, Peggy Powler wondered about the figure that was coming
in the opposite direction, a figure pulling a small two-wheeled cart.

"Fair travels Madam" called the stranger as they neared each other and it wasn't until
Peggy could see more of the man's features under the high hat, that she responded.
"And fair elements to you, Sir" she replied warily.

He was a tall man, even though the last Witch of Underhill stood merely five-feet on her
best day, the chap with the white, shoulder-length hair must have topped six feet-three
easily -she mused.
His face was rugged and his shadowed-eyes seemed to hint that he was a man who
viewed the world as chaotic place, but a place he could hold sway in.
Yes, Peggy would ponder later, he had a power within him.

"This thoroughfare can take it's toll on these old-bones..." the man said offhandedly
"...I think a smart-fellow would take a minute and even chance a brew at this time in the
day, would you not agree?"
The smile sat easy on the lips of the tall man and Peggy could not see any hidden
agenda and the Witch in the green poncho quickly shooed away the thoughts of what
happened earlier.

"Aye, that would be a grand fancy, Un' no-mistake" she spluttered and reciprocated
the expression. For a couple of seconds on that road, they both stood quietly and
simply surveyed each other.

"I am Peggy Powler, Seer of Underhill" she introduced herself and curtsied, the action
was the way that the High-Ladies had done many years ago.
The tall man slid the dust-touched hat from his ivy-mane and bowed, the headwear
almost scraping the cobbled-road. "Good day to you Miss, I am The Crowman, but my
name is Howard.... Howard Hughes."
...........................

"Lawks-a-mercy!" Peggy gasped over the cup of steaming-black liquid, "What did yer'
say this fine mishmash is called?" she said and licked her lips with enjoyment.
The grinning woman beside the crackling campfire held the chipped mug with both hands
and relished the moment.

The Crowman -for that was his title and vocation, lay on his back and gazed up that the
stars in the evening sky and answered with a smiling mouth. "It's called coffee"
Ms. Powler sighed to herself and wondered where such a drink was acquired.

The bivouac that they were settled in consisted of the small cart, a makeshift tent and
the well-made fire. Peggy's shotgun was propped against the spindle-like spokes of the
wheel facing the encampment and her leather hat hung from it's barrels.

During the making of the camp, the small woman had been surprised by the kindling
used to urge the flames to appear. The sun had almost gone over the horizon and Peggy
had been quite hesitant to intrude with questions as the man went about his creation of
where he'd be spending the night.

The road was only a few feet away and with a quick turn of the head, one could see
if anyone was night-trekking. But Caulder's Way was there's-alone.

"That's the strangest tinder ah've ever seen fur' lighting a fire" Peggy said as she stood
beside the wooden barrow. Howard had produced a small-rolled object from his coat
pocket and was peeling leaves of coloured paper from it.
The fire merely offered grey smoke that only hinted that it wished to come to life.

"I'm surprised that you haven't seen this before..." the Crowman said from his crouched
position. "..Where I come from, it's called money" he sighed and tossed another petal
from the tightly-rolled tube onto the struggling pyre.

Peggy peered closer at the scorched paper and saw the illustrated numbers, "Tis' no
currency of Bogul" she chirped haughtily and offered a puzzled brow to the back of her
host's head.
In Bogul and Cavendish -and even in Underhill, they did use the coin for some trade
and transactions, but never anything so flimsy as the firewood before her.
Howard turned around on his heels and smiled up at the woman he'd invited for supper.

"No M'lady, this is from a place called Nevada" he said evenly and went back to his toil.
...........................

Howard lay on the grass on the otherside of the dancing flames next to his almost-clean
plate, their supper had consisted of two sausages each and a small pile of sumptious beans.
Beans from a metal container.

"Yer' know, yer' must have travelled the world to have gotten such exotic fare" Peggy
said softly. Her focus was still on the brew that tickled her tastebuds. "Me-belly has
never tasted such delights" she added and glanced towards the prone man observing
the heavens.

"This is true..." Howard replied with the same smooth tone, "...Where I came from, this
type of larder is commonplace" and realising where the conversation may lead, he slowly
propped himself up on an elbow.
"Yeah, that land had everything" he whispered distantly.

Peggy contemplated the white-haired man's words as they gazed at each other and
then bringing her eyebrows close together, she enquired "Have yer' been to Toole?"
The day's travelling was starting to lean on the little woman sitting cross-legged ion the
turf and immediately after the question, she raised a hand to stifle a yawn.

As she had politely waited during the Crowman's campsite functions, the ageing-Witch
had glanced into the two-wheeled wagon when appropriate. The bundles of ragged clothes
and a couple of hessian sacks sustained his words about his unusual chore.

The owner of the poor garb smiled to himself and understood the trick in the question,
Peggy did not trust him yet.
The village of Toole did not venture into ploughing fields and reaping it's harvest, the
people that clung to the cliff-face traded the many ores and minerals they excavated for
their cereals.
That is, Howard assumed they used to.

"I have visited the place... actually, it was my first location on the day I arrived here" he said
cryptically and sat up to reach for the dented-coffee pot. "Are you going there?" he asked
and poured himself another cup of the wonderful potion.
Peggy sipped her own rich brew and licked her lips once more, "ah' was thinking of plyin'
me-trade there" she breathed and let the yawn arrive.

Under her guarded-eye, Howard slowly reached into his pocket and produced a roll
of the paper he'd brought the fire to life with earlier. "Then you'll be needing some of these"
he stated smoothly and tossed the bundle over the flames, the fist-sized wad of notes were
caught by the poncho-wearing Witch with one hand and a surprised look on her face.
"Just be careful" the Crowman added with warning tones.

Peggy peered at the peculiar runes and numbers that were painted on the papers and saw
a rendering of a serious-faced man with a high-forehead.
"Who is the fella...? the king of Nevadee?" she queried with an honest bewilderment on her
features, the light from the fire and the tiredness didn't assist the woman in her investigation.

The traveller of the highways and byways of Bogul laughed out loud and fell back onto
the dew-tipped grass behind him. Peggy stared at Howard's antics as the guffaws shook
his body before her. With a tilt of her head, she smiled as she watched the man roar with
laughter.
It would be a whole minute before he could bring himself under control.

"Forgive me Madam..." Howard hitched "...please, I meant no offence" he supplemented
between his gasping for air. Peggy waited patiently and held no pique for the display of
possible ridicule, the joke was simply beyond her.

The evening had ended with the tall man in the black coat shuffling over to sit beside his
guest and explaining the artwork on the strange paper and naming the gent illustrated
on it's surface.
"Benjamin Franklin" Peggy had aped Howard's baptism of the portrait with the collarless
tunic and surveyed the features of the man who was allowing her to discover another
world. Howard gazed back and the fire twinkled it's magic in his eyes.
...........................

Howard Hughes' job was to dress the scarecrows for farmers and landowners up and
down the county of Bogul. The man prided himself that his flapping-mannequins could
deter the most brazen of raven or jackdaw that dared to pick at the sod-worker's young
seeds and from the look of the paraphernalia in his wooden rickshaw, Peggy would wager
he was good at the task.

The task that the little old woman from Underhill -set him under that blanket-stitched
canvas later that night... well, once more, Howard showed great attention to detail.

Last Edit: Apr 1, 2015 21:01:30 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 2, 2015 11:34:06 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Apr 2, 2015 11:34:06 GMT -6

If you can imagine waking up and finding a stranger's arm draped across your body
and for a moment -with your awareness is still drifting among your dreams, you feel
that a terrible event has ocurred without your consent.
Then you may in your panic, strike out.

This was Peggy Powler's monad as she opened her eyes in the little tent next to
Caulder's Way. And for that little Witch of Underhill, it was the sight of a thick bundle
of money laying next to her poncho that saved her from reaching for her knife and
driving the blade into the throat of the man laid behind her.

Some might let out a gasp of relief that they hadn't commited murder, others may
have frowned mentally and pondered what dark-ago secret may have caused such
a process of negative computations and some may just react the way Peggy did.

"Benjamin Franklin" she whispered slowly and smiled at the new morning.
.........................

The day had carried on from the evening before and decorated the sky with eye-watering
rays. This hot ball of plasma now peeked over the horizon and chased the stars away,
but it's first view of Bogul County would be of a bare-assed female coaxing a fading
campfire to it's former-self and attempting to recall how to create a wonderful concoction
called coffee.

"How are you this fine morn?" Howard Hughes asked as he watched from the shade
of the stretched canvas. The white-haired man with the winning-smile had been awake
for enough time to see the squatting woman building a makeshift breakfast and before
he had spoken, he had mused about the humming person boiling water under the waking
sky.
She had told him many things during the quiet period after their lovemaking.

Peggy Powler was a caboodle of tales and strange views on the world he'd accepted as
his home so long ago. The Witch had spoken about magical charms and spells that she
had access to and even commented on her reluctance to use them.

"Me- Mother had trained me to be a sorceress... " she had said as she had snuggled up
to Howard and stroked the grey hair of his chest. "...But it was the cost of being seen as
an outsider that made me leave the Fair and set out for another life" she imparted in a
soft voice.

Peggy sang a tune during her morning chores and then -when he had spoken, she had
looked at him, gifted him with a jubilant smile and then a dawning of her nakedness.
"Whoops -yer bugger!" was all she managed as she raced to where her poncho lay.
.........................

The couple spent the morning drinking coffee and discussing their individual plans for
the day. The subject wasn't embarrassing as some would think, but it was fairly obvious
to both parties that this sort of rendezvous had happened to them before.
Such is the way of the traveller.

"After 'ah've been to Toole, me-bones have a harkin' to see the ocean" Peggy had
told the man in the shirt-sleeves across the fire from her. "Aye, that water is somethin'
that been nibblin' at me mind fur' some time"

The Crowman had nodded and breathed in deeply, he had wanted to tell her the truth
about the village on the cliff last night, but he'd felt that it might have ruined the moment
-So to speak.

Now he believed, that time had arrived.
"Peggy...? I want you to be careful when you visit Toole" he said softly and placing his
empty cup down beside him, he gave her his full attention.
"The town isn't what you think it is..." he warned "...I should know, that's where I came
through" he added enigmatically.

The little Witch shot him a puzzled-glance and waited for him to continue. A talent she
had learned from her soothsaying days. In the short time she had known Mr. Hughes,
she considered that he was an honest and fair man and disliked holding back germane
information.

"They've been digging up there and I'm afraid, what they found was their undoing"
he said and Peggy watched his eyes become distant. With a groan of old age, Howard
continued as he clambered to his feet.
"The Toole you wish to visit holds bad vibrations, lady... maybe even bad magic?"
.........................

His story went like this:

Howard Robard Hughes died on 5th April 1976 and the powerbroker, engineer and
collector of some of the hundred-dollar bills that he'd given Peggy -was believed to
have passed away laying his own waste aboard a private jet, somewhere over the
Southern part of Texas.

With long, unwashed hair and snagging fingernails that have rivalled the listener
to his tale, Howard the land baron and adviser to the most powerful people in
the world, curled-up his smelly toes and bought the farm.
And the first thing his followers, loved ones and men of renown did was to seek
his will.
Capitalism... yer' gotta love it.

The slight error with the above account is that he didn't die and was never on
the plane that was making it's way to Mexico. What the tall, well-groomed chap with
the large carpet bag full of money did was attempt to find a quiet life in a place
mentioned before, the place Peggy knew as Nevadee.

He had visited the place that he believed was a sanctuary before and if one wishes
to look it up, a researcher would discover that among the many tall-tales about Hughes,
there was one story that he had wandered the backroads outside of Las Vegas.
It's true, and all Howard Hughes wanted to do was enjoy his old age in an obscure
place he'd help finance and believed it's remoteness would bring a benefit that all the
trappings of being a billionaire -had failed to acheive.
He sought peace in Watertown.

We now know this place as Groom Lake or for the conspiracy-nuts out there, Area 51.

But back then in '76' the Government were still allowing the Miltary to dabble with nuclear
explosions and one particular device, the contraption called 'Hotspur'... well, it can be
said that it didn't go the way the scientists expected.

Howard was initially blown off the dirt-track he had been travelling along and then as
the first shockwave hit, he was tossed along on the upsurge of rolling gravel and rocks.
The heat was intense and when our hero-of-the-hour realised he would end-up in a
condition that Colonel Sanders would consider as finger-lickin' good, he sought safety
in a disused mineshaft in a nearby butte.

I won't belay the reader with the effects that the radiation had on the immediate landscape,
but suffice to say, Howard's haven -the mineshaft... 'changed'

When the blundering man in the dust-smothered clothes emerged into the stark sunshine
above the hamlet of Toole, Howard began to use that savvy mind that he had been blessed
with and survived.
These are the facts, ladies and gentlemen... take 'em or leave them.
.........................

Peggy mused over the story as she sipped the java and tossed another hundred bucks
on the fire. It was quite a yarn.

Last Edit: Apr 2, 2015 20:57:04 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 4, 2015 4:56:08 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Apr 4, 2015 4:56:08 GMT -6

With the cart all packed up and the campfire dowsed and buried, the couple stood on the
edge of Caulder's Way and studied their individual different directions.

Peggy Powler drew in a deep breath and pondered the words of the man beside her
regarding the lofty hamlet of Toole. Howard Hughes was of another world and passing
through some-sort of portal, he'd arrived in the town on the cliff face and found some
very strange things indeed.
.........................

As he'd coughed the dust from his throat and obtained his bearings, Howard looked out
on an entirely different terrain from the stark desert he'd sought seclusion in before.
Tall spruce and massive elms jostled for space within their confines between the waving
wheat fields and wooden farmhouses.

The man who had once built a giant aircraft out of such lumber, gazed down from the
elevated outpost of Toole and wondered what the hell had happened to him.
His hefty bag of money was there at the entrance of the tunnel and even though his first
task was to retreive it, Howard watched the tall buildings that made up the village as he
retreated.

The first ghost came when he'd taken a drink from his canteen. He'd checked the dirt
-streaked carpet bag for it's contents that he'd thought he'd need at Watertown. Of course,
the secret Base would have such mundane stock as coffee, canned-goods and tobacco,
but Howard believed that being prepared was not just a quote from his boy-scout days.

Watertown had flown prototype craft, dabbled with explosions and allegedly held the new
fad called 'flying saucers' but it was the isolation that Mr. Hughes required -and was willing
to pay for. Even if he had financed the place from day One.

The bundles of hundred-dollar bills were still inside the sack and as he quenched his thirst,
his mind began to calculate how to make the best of this situation.
The unshaven man in the leather bomber-jacket was of the sort that believed willpower and
understanding variables were virtues that could lead to power.
Still, he hadn't prepared himself to be hurled into another world.
And certainly not one populated with phantoms.

"Missun Kemar..." the half-visible figure asked under the afternoon sun, "...Kemar Dee?"
Howard scolded himself mentally for not dropping a pistol into his stachel and on the heels
of that thought, the boastful notion of believing in variables mocked his mind.
He slowly placed the canteen down beside the boulder he was sitting on.

The human -because that was Howard believed the shape looked like, seemed to shimmer
where it stood and peering closer at the apparition, Howard couldn't help but think it was
like looking at a person's reflection in a pool... like they weren't 'really there'

Two other haunters drifted from the main street of Toole and called up to him as they
arrived beside the first ghost. "Delphi homme et meena" and Howard noticed the tone
from the recently-arrived taller spook was more forceful.
With his eyelids half-closed, he looked for a route of escape.

Then something happened that in all the years he'd travelled this land, he had never
fathomed. He began to understand what they were saying.
The eidolon-cum-resident of Toole that Howard had first encountered spoke again.
"Treadon way...you've come through that mineshaft? I can only assume you're a Bucca"
Using the smile that had brought him many women and deals of fortune, Howard relaxed
his posture and began to explain his predicament. Sort of.

It was the quartz, the mineral that the miners of Toole had excavated combined with the
fission radiation from the many nuclear devices detonated from 'the other realm' the effects
had not only created a wormhole -of sorts, it had changed the people on this side of that
strange veil. Toole had become a town of half-people, ghosts that could shift in and out of
visibility.
Just like Juno the Vampyre.

Using all the skills of negotiation and diplomacy, Howard had saved his skin, accepted
advice on the new world he'd found himself in and with the use of a certain hard candy,
high-tailed it out of Toole and down the cliff face.
.........................

But standing at the roadside and breathing in the mid-morning atmosphere of unpolluted
air, the illustrious former magnate -who now practiced his trade as a Crowman, copied the
woman's actions and peered towards the horizon that Caulder's Way aimed for.

Howard had discussed his idea of travelling beyond the area that Peggy had come from
and seek opportunities in the county of Chappa Liegh.
Chappa Liegh was known for it's orchards and maize fields, a prime location for a creator
of scarecrows.

"I have a gift for you to enjoy on your travels..." Howard said softly as he adjusted his
stovepipe hat, the extra height made him even more taller beside the little Witch of
Underhill. "...It's a token of gratitude for... well, you know" he stumbled meekly.

Peggy smiled sagely up at the white-haired man in the black clothing, he was of a good
sort and she knew the gift wasn't just a payment for sex.
"Sir, ah' thank thee" she said and dipped a small curtsy as Howard passed a small paper
bag into her well-lined hand.
"They're candies from the land of Nevadee" he said lamely and nodded his confidence
of the 'thank you' Peggy pushed herself onto her tip-toes and kissed his unshaven cheek.

Once more, the cobbled road became her only companion as Peggy Powler placed
her best bare-foot forward and set off for the town of the strange.

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 4, 2015 8:04:28 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Apr 4, 2015 8:04:28 GMT -6

At this point, the reader may be pondering on the magical attributes that the Witch had
spoken about to her one-night stand under last night's canvas and that's okay, Peggy
hasn't really done anything recently that hints at 'witchcraft' or sorcery.

I could comment that she was always prudent not to show her powers in public or even
write about how her 'seeing' involved being aware of people's natural behavior and the
skill to respond to the tell-tale signs in the appropriate way.
But there were events in her past that may raise an eyebrow or two... or if you're one of
the ugly women from Dolmen's Rest, three.

Well, I know that Peggy once held the severed head of Accan-Dey, the terrible five-foot
tall wolf of Hexham that had terrorised shepherds and their livestock up and down the
meadowlands of Abbot's Mount.

The famous killer had been caught in a pit and brought back alive to the tiny community
of Hexham. In their wisdom...? they put on the massive furry-fiend on display in a small
wooden cage.
The only problem was on the second night of it's incarceration, Accan-Dey left it's prison
and tore-up two families and an old gypsy-woman camping nearby.

After the animal was found, beaten and stabbed to death by the villagers, Accam's head
was removed and placed in a glass case that used to hold a sacred object that now has
been conveniently forgotten about.
By the way, it was agreed later that the lock on the enclosure may been tampered with
by Fey-folk. But this was only said in hushered-tones.

Peggy had actually held a conversation with the evil-grinning animal's head when she
had visited the guarded-shack that contained the glass display on the midnight hour.
The Elders of Hexham had allowed the sojourn after Peggy had supposedly driven out
an evil-smelling Boggart from the village's only tavern's upper-rooms -that very morning.

Standing before the pumpkin-sized shaggy-head of the beast, Peggy had stuttered out
a spell that her Mother had told her about and in the poor-light of a candle, she waited for
the charm to flourish.

With smoldering eyes surveying the bare-footed woman, Accam-Dey had related some
long-ago spells of bewitchment and fairy-glamour, the whole encounter took nearly two
hours.
Unknown to most, the payment for such occult revelations involved the Witch raising the
hem of her poncho and commiting an act I'd rather not comment on.

There was the incident when she was eighteen years-old, Peggy had been away from
the Carnival for only a couple of months when she'd come across a Fairy Ring on a
balmy Mid-Summer's Eve.

With majick and fluttering-creatures abound, the young Witch had shown her strength
of spirit and during the initial ritual of introduction, Peggy proved that she was a force
to be reckoned with.
And that conduct had been related throughout Fey-world.

Another...? Okay.
During a terrible snowstorm of yore, our little Fortune-Teller had been hiding out in a
hay-filled barn near an allegedly-haunted crossroads. You may know that some travelling
folk would bury their dead in the earth near these junctions and sometimes, some of the
'residents' of the crossroads would roam the barren and ploughed fields when the sun went
down.

The barn stood on a remote hillside and was not near the owner's dwellings. Later, Peggy
would give thanks to Herne O' The Woods that it was so. The shambling forms that stepped
out of the blizzard that night were abominations to the eye of the common-folk and as they
neared her wooden haven, Peggy was sure that the farmer's family would have been driven
to madness by the sight of these moaning un-dead monsters.
I'm sure the wide-eyed woman peeking through the knothole in the wall, would also given
a prayer of gratitude for the weapon she had uncovered hidden in that pile of straw.

"Yer' can get yer' fish-white arses back to yer' graves..." Peggy had shouted above the
storm. "...There's nay-blood fur' yer' here" and watched the limping freaks scramble and
mewl in the field outside.
There were spells and incantations that can drive the un-dead back to their graves, but
the equipment needed for such a sacrement, Peggy had never acquired.

The shotgun that Peggy currently carried was found after one of the blanched-monsters
had ripped the barn door open and moaned it's way out of the foul elements.
The weapon was emptied and then used to bludgeon the eight-or-so remaining zombies.
Just another night's work for a Witch from Underhill.
........................

So now that the weather had turned and the countryside was beginning to urge it's seeds
to burst forth, there were other eyes on the little Witch of Underhill.
Eyes of someone that had seen out the winter underground and mused on what possible
necromancy this female held.

"It'll be a pleasing day upon the road for such a resolute traveller... would ye not agree
Madam?" stated the foot-high creature sitting under the leaf-bare mulberry bush.
The Elf showed a winning smile and took off the small felt cap that held a pheasant's
feather and nodded to the lone woman on the road.

Peggy stood motionless and scrutinised the person on the verge, elves were a tricky-sort
at best and the introductions were complicated. Especially when they had the upper-hand
of seeing you first.

"I thought you were Mary-Kate Ahearn-O'Brien-Donaghue-Brannon-Flanagan-Devlin,
but forgive me, I am mistaken Madam..." the Elf said in one breath. "...Me-old eyes are
not-what they used to be" and smiled knowingly.

Peggy also smiled -but inwardly as knew the game ahead. The ritual of introduction all
hinged on having a good memory. Memory and the confidence to thrust and parry when
appropriate.
"Good day to you, Sir. I too -mistook your good-self for someone else and for a moment,
I thought you were Daniel Whelen-Hayden-Kearney-Dolan-Coghlan-Mac Giolla Eoin-O'Boyle"

The knee-high being in the faded tunic of green nodded knowingly and stepped onto Caulder's
Way, the Elf sported hand-stitched britches of the same felt his hat was made of.
"It's your fair-looks, my-dear and maybe in hindsight, you resemble her sister... now what was
her name?" he asked and rubbed his chin as if deep in thought.

Peggy moved her chess piece. "Ah yes, Mary-kate's sister of the Vale" she agreed with a fake
look of recall. "Yer' mean Patricia Ahearn-O'Brien-Donaghue-Brannon-Flanagan-Devlin... the
second-eldest and strangely-enough, engaged to the chap 'ah thought you were"
A whole two seconds passed before Peggy spoke once more.

"Now what is that charming fella's name again?" she mused and plucked the bag of boiled
sweets from her poncho pocket. The Elf's eyes widened as she produced one of the spherical
confectionery and held it between her fingers.

"You'll be thinking about Daniel Whelen-Hayden...Daniel Whelen-Hayden-Kearney..." the little
man stammered as he watched the traveller with the big gun between her shoulder-blades
move the candy closer to her lips.
"Mr. Daniel Whelen-Hayden-Kearney-Dolan-Coghlan" the Elf stated and with a resigned face,
waited to be corrected.

Peggy tossed the boiled sweet towards the sad-looking creature of the realm called Albion and
bowed her head respectfully before she annouced the proper title.
"Daniel Whelen-Hayden-Kearney-Dolan-Coghlan-Mac Giolla Eoin-O'Boyle" and then drove the
final nail home.
"Cousin of Jimmy Greer"

With the chunk of gold presented from the loser and her questions answered, Peggy the Witch
set off along Caulder's Way once more.

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 4, 2015 17:11:25 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by Deleted on Apr 4, 2015 17:11:25 GMT -6

theboyinadress,

At this point, the reader may be pondering on the magical attributes that the Witch had

spoken about to her one-night stand under last night's canvas and that's okay, Peggy

hasn't really done anything recently that hints at 'witchcraft' or sorcery.

Read more: hernandoshideaway.net/thread/1875/journey-peggy-powler?page=1#ixzz3WNvG9Ciz

No,,, No,,, REALLY? You Sure? She's Kept Me and I'm Sure Others,,,, In A Trance and Captivated!!! ly522295ef Peggy ! :applause:

Just Fantastic,,,, and all of this comes from your Head,,, Your Thoughts, :oh-wow:

, I don't know what to call it,,, I'm Chinese! :big-grin:

Last Edit: Apr 4, 2015 17:12:55 GMT -6 by Deleted

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 5, 2015 3:00:51 GMT -6

Quote

Post by theboyinadress on Apr 5, 2015 3:00:51 GMT -6

Apr 4, 2015 17:11:25 GMT -6 @guohua said:

No,,, No,,, REALLY? You Sure? She's Kept Me and I'm Sure Others,,,, In A Trance and Captivated!!! ly522295ef Peggy ! :applause:

Just Fantastic,,,, and all of this comes from your Head,,, Your Thoughts, :oh-wow:

, I don't know what to call it,,, I'm Chinese! :big-grin:

Thank you Guohua and I'm happy that you're enjoying the story.

Peggy thanks yer' too!

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler. Apr 5, 2015 8:18:24 GMT -6 727sky likes this

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Post by theboyinadress on Apr 5, 2015 8:18:24 GMT -6

The track that hugged the cliff contours did not share the results of maintenance that the
people of Bogul County honoured on Caulder's Way's surface.
But heh? who are we to judge the conduct of those from another world?

So as the bare-footed Peggy Powler carefully picked her way along the damaged narrow
trail towards the precipitous town of Toole, she wondered if the inhabitants of the lofty
buildings were actually still able to fix-up the road.
What if they couldn't interact with matter anymore?

A shadow slipped across the crumbling roadway ahead of her and with the faint sound of the
high-wheeling raven's warning cry, the Witch of Underhill realised that she could easily seen
from below and to some extent, above her.
"Damn yer' beady-eyes!" Peggy hissed and waited for the bird to fly away.

The journey to the base of the cliffs had taken most of the day and now the tired woman
carrying the heavy shotgun sighed to herself and looked around for a decent position to
sit on and rest.
The sun that had tossed the crow's shadow across her path now hurried itself towards
the fluffy clouds that drudged along the horizon and it's long-orange rays streaked the pink
-blue sky with a hue that implied God must be an artist.

Peggy soaked in the peaceful scene and even though what lay ahead may be dangerous,
in that moment she was content and her weathered face showed it.
"It's a bonny welkin and no mistake" she muttered and felt for the bag of candy in her pocket.

Taking her repose among the shards of shale, granite and glacier-worn pebbles, the smiling
lady in the dark-green poncho recalled another time when she'd viewed such a wonderous
vista and oddly enough, the memory would have a bearing on what may have occurred in
the mineshaft of Toole.
.................................

After Peggy had left the village of Hexham and ambled away with a brooding contemplation
regarding Accam-Dey's words during their midnight palaver, the young Witch had wandered
down a country lane on the off-chance of finding a quiet haystack to rest her head.

The Landlord of the tavern that she expelled a Boggart from -had offered her lodgings and
any other time, she have been happy to accept. But it was the leering eye of the innkeeper
that persuaded Peggy to seek another place of slumber and with the strange information
that the massive wolf's head had divulged, she wanted a more reticent atmosphere to process
the arcane words.

"There are many worlds beyond yours, Shaman..." Accam-Dey had hissed from it's glass
container. "...Domains of wonder and kingdoms of power" the sneering beast had imparted.
Peggy had waited in the shadows of the old shed and soaked in the secret words from the
grizzled predator.

"The ground holds crystals that can remember, that can change a reality. But it is only the
shrewd who know how to utilise them" the long snout had delivered. The Witch had gulped
as she viewed the long teeth and lolling tongue.
"Find the white-stones, girl... for they have the gift of travel. Such a sorceress as yourself
could become renown in a world where majick has been forgotten" Accan-Dey advised.

The gloom that the single candle struggled within seemed to creep closer to the meeting
of a canny-woman in her late-twenties and a decapitated head of a vile monster.
"Go seek your destiny, Witch and now... lift that garment and pay your dues" were the final
words from that grinning villain.
.................................

It was a horrible sight, far different from the natural wonder of dusk that Peggy currently
enjoyed and with a sigh of resignation, Peggy began her journey up the track again.
This time, the memory of what happened in the farmhouse on the outskirts of Hexham
stayed in her forethoughts.
.................................

.................................

The hayrick that she slept the remainder of the night away -in, stood along a line with it's
brothers of the mown-field and as the dawn had nudged the bleary-eyed Witch from that
slumber, Peggy observed a serene morning where birds warbled their chorus and twilight
-weary hedgehogs searched for a shadowy-pile of leaves to dream of slippery earthworms
and skittering-woodlice.

The soft bedding whispered to her body that she could tarry somemore and Peggy
smiled to herself that she was lucky not to be a farmer's wife or a Blacksmith's spouse.
The ritual of bringing your man his breakfast was something she'd always frowned at -But
never commented on. Remember, they're all potential customers.

The smooth-stoned building with the thatched roof and curling plume of smoke leaking
from it's chimney stood like something from a John Constable painting. The quaintness
of the scene wasn't lost on the wild-haired soothsayer shrugging out the prickles of straw
from under her poncho as she ambled alongside the hawthorn bushes at the edge of the
field.

Peggy Powler breathed in the cool air and let the quietude of the early morning slide across
her body. After finishing her ablutions beneath a creaking-clump of willow a few yards from
the gate that blocked the wheel-rutted path to the farmhouse, she continued her jaunt, climbed
the obstacle and headed for her hope of a warm breakfast.

"You've got no knickers on..." the voice mocked from a yellow-flowered gorsebush, the odd
-looking owner of the words standing under the spiky evergreen unfolded his arms and pointed
at the Witch swinging her leg over the five-bar gate.

Higgett Crumb was the big-noise around these parts and Gnomes from as far-south as Upper
-Middleswich and north towards the Beacon Bottoms -knew it.
"...What sort of wench wanders the countryside without any under-things on?" he demanded
and placed his pudgy hands on his hips.

Climbing carefully down from the wooden portcullis, Peggy shot a nasty-look towards the
shrunken creature in the stupid clothes. she disliked gnomes and especially the tunnel dwellers
that had a chip on their shoulders.

The thigh-high being in the purple tunic and dull-brown britches displayed a retaliating visage
of enmity towards the female sans shoes. Higgett decided that the bare feet was an indicator,
a sign to the wise, this women was a Witch. But his pride over-rode his prudence.

"I am known as Lord Crumb and I..." the gnome began, but Peggy cut him off in mid-sentence.
"Forget it yer' mole, 'Ah've dealt with your-sort before and found yer' all full of manure" she spat
at him and began to walk away. The little fellow with the veneer of confidence altered his features
to reveal his true feelings. He was astonished.

"But... but Miss, I was only attempting to..." He began and again, Peggy's terse words halted his
apology. "Yer' words rival the passage that snails leave and yer' pompous conviction is that of a
cock-a-doodle-do" she rasped over her shoulder.

If Higgett had connected where the dishevelled woman had spent her night and her lack of a
drink of goats milk or hot tea, the gnome may have forgiven her demeanor and set his initial
mien in a better light.
But Gnomes aren't that smart.

"Please my-lady, I'm sorry" he mewled quickly and bowed deeply. "I seek your help" he added
from his folded position. Peggy breathed in deeply through her nose and halted her walk to the
farmhouse. "What is it?" she asked sharply.

Higgett added extra bumblesome to his gait as he trotted over to where the tall acid-toned
necromancer waited and jammed his best-smile onto his moon-face. "Thank you" he chirped
as he arrived at those shoe-less feet.

The Gnome settled himself and unconsciously wiped his hands on the bib of his blouse, he knew
he had to deliver his request in the correct manner when speaking to a spell-binder. A long-ago
friend of his had stepped over the mark and been turned into a toad.

"As I was saying, I apologise and if it would not be too-much of a burden, I have a boon to ask
that involves your talents of sorcery and ju-ju" Higgett said calmly and creased his eyes in an
apeasing cast. The morning waited with the little man of the soil.

Peggy sighed once more and moving her hands in the tradtional way, a similar action that
croupiers in this world's casinos perform when their shift has ended, she ambled over to the
soft verge of the trackway and sat down.
"Tell me yer' tale" she murmured begrudgingly and kept a distrustful eye on the gnome that aped
her movements to squat beside her.
Here we go.
.................................

Higgett had lived in the environs of Hexham for most of his life. His parents had watched
their only son leave the forest in the west and with a wave of farewell among the bluebells,
the young gnome had made for the arable lands that promised easy pickings and slow
-movement of time.

The farmhouse had provided an opportunity to obtain certain materials and he had
-as tradition demanded, executed tasks that indicated to the occupants of the stone
building that they had a resident gnome on their land. And that reverence was a key-point
in retaining his help.

When pottery was broken, Higgett fixed it. When objects were lost, the gnome found
them and when animals played up because of a passing wolf or fox, Higgett would calm
them with songs he'd learned from his mother.
All was well and the jolly-little man lived high-off-the-hog.

Then the fist-sized stone heads had been found by the square-jawed farmer last Autumn
during the ploughing of a field near the country lane that Peggy had toured and that was
when things went bad.

The first incidents began two days after the discovery when -with the six staring stone
pates resting on the mantlepiece, a shower of glass rained down on the afternoon-dozing
farmer and his trouser-mending wife. The thirty-second episode was followed nearer
tea-time when the cupboard doors in the small kitchen began opening and slamming shut.

The door-slamming was never witnessed visually by the couple, it only occurred when
they were in the living-room and if they waited, the 'bang-bang-bang' would only halt when
they approached the kitchen's doorway.
Even though the female was a superstitious person, her husband convinced her that the
little creature that had been doing the good-turns was upset about something and time
would heal the problem.

The next day, the man of the house had left at dawn to do his daily-duties around the
property and left his worrying wife to tidy up the remains of the mysterious glass fragments.
Higgett had witnessed the next incident himself from behind the wooden ottoman near the
window.

The heads began to move. The stone faces that offered a disinterested gaze on the world
floated from their place above the fireplace and in single-file, followed the busy woman as
she broom-swept the broken shards towards the open kitchen door.

When the farmer's wife had turned to check that her work had been sucessful, the sight of
the hovering heads drew a scream from her and she ran from the home towards the leaning
cowshed where her husband was milking their single cow.

What the sneaking-gnome saw next was the reason that he had never stepped foot in the
farmhouse since. The manifestation of the Daemon.
.................................

"Big he was..." said Higget to Peggy and the focused-Witch could hear the trembling awe in the little
being's voice. "...Stood on two legs and wearing a sheepskin about his stinking body" he gasped.
Peggy licked her lips and pulled the small leather bag from her poncho, the luke-warm water would
had to suffice her wish to slake her thirst. "Go on" she muttered as she gulped the tepid liquid.

"It was about six feet high, slightly stooping, and it was dirty-white, against the sunlight coming
from the kitchen door... and it was half animal and half man" Higget continued.
The bright morning was a poor backdrop for such a scary yarn and yet, Peggy was already guessing
what the gnome was going to say next.

"The upper part, I would have said, was a devil, and the lower part was like a... a lizard with it's tail
sticking out from under the fleece" he blurted and his listener noticed the gnome cross all his fingers
on his lap. "Like I said, it was covered with a kind of filthy, very filthy wool"

A blackbird amongst the willow branches mocked the ghost story with it's boastful song as Peggy
ruminated on the information. Daemons were rare indeed and the ways of exorcising such malignant
spirits can be dangerous -to say the least.
Still, Peggy had an idea and after she'd sent Higgett off to obtain her a cup of milk and a chunk of a
loaf, the Witch would lay-out her plan. A plan that involved the gnome as bait.

Last Edit: Apr 5, 2015 8:51:20 GMT -6 by theboyinadress

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The Journey Of Peggy Powler.

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