Resisting the urge to ignite her thumb, Peggy Powler tread softly through the dew-dampened grass beneath a grove of
Elderberry bushes and followed what she believed were the animated scarecrows. The pocket-sized sorceress smiled to
herself under the wide brim of her hat as she carefully avoided any twigs that may alert the four straw-stuffed prowlers
heading away from Elmer Banyard's farm. Her hidden humour derived from her rationality of what she was taking part
in, a covert surveillance of homestead-items that resembled humans. As if Domby Crustop wasn't capable of shooing
birds from a seeded field, she ribbed herself silently.
Reaching a severely-straight line of wooden fencing amalgamated with long stretches of neatly-pruned hawthorn bushes
that would take her -thankfully, past a herd of settled-down-for-the-night sheep, Peggy stepped closer to the shadowed
shrubbery and mentally swam in her memories of her time browsing the many ancient books at the home of Myrddin,
the greatest of all Wizards.
Steering worryingly close to where the dead sheep had been stacked, the stealthy necromancer was relieved once more
to see the four inflexible figures awkwardly ambulating towards a large expanse of corn glowing dully under the plenilune
in the starry sky. Peggy now knew her single-file prey were Kit-A-Can-Sticks, mannequins possessed with an arcane spirit
not unlike the Ignis Fatuus or ghost-lights she'd used in the past. Somehow -she conjectured, these wobbling scarecrows
had become bedevilled with a force that needed sacrifices for some dark unknown reason that the Witch holding her nose
from the stench of decay, hoped to discover tonight.
Like haunted broomsticks, the hat-wearing effigies floated over the railings and glided noiselessly into the ocean of corn.
Peggy scurried low and absently kept one hand on the rear of her poncho, maybe because the crouching spectator didn't
wish a venatic stoat or passing flittermouse to observe her pants-less virtue. But as the little Witch ducked into a small
space where the hedgrow allowed a fair view of the moonlit glebe, she could see that the Kit-A-Cans had split up and
were now taking the positions of a cross and there they stood like skinny Banyards awaiting partners to dance with.
Peggy had seen The Mowing Devil and brought the terror to heel for a family in Nine Banks, but the sight of a bright-blue
swirling incandescence causing the corn to flatten in a circle between the stationary mock-scarers was a sight that left
the concealed conjurer open-mouthed. The hovering glow blotted out the stars and shamed the moon with its brilliance,
but apart from whatever fieldmouse was scampering away from the falling stalks, only a wandering Witch witnessed the
coming of the hunched naked shape in the corn.
"Oh bugger, it's Black Annis" the Last Witch of Underhill softly informed the musty darkness of the hawthorn bushes
and turning slowly, she prepared herself for another battle with those who exploit the few people who still adhere to the
old ways. Sliding her hand into her satchel, Peggy carefully drew out a knobbly staff that was almost as tall as herself.
Some of the more senior villagers over on the Isle of Murdigon used to call them Shille-rods, but in Fae parlance these
stout willow sticks are known as Danann Wands.
With her magical arsenal ready, the lip-nibbling necromancer looked back towards the strange auroral scene amongst
the corn just as the darkness suddenly stayed her next movement. The night was still again and the big moon held sway
once more. Squinting into the twilight, Peggy scanned the effected field for any sign the Kit-A-Cans were moving, but
the faux-light being cast down on Elmer's land failed to reveal any sign of further covert ju-ju. It was then she glanced
behind her and saw four floating shapes pass by where she'd been hiding. The scarecrows were returning home.
Waiting with bated breath, the crouching augurer abiding where hedgehogs snuffle out their noctural menus saw that
no one or no thing followed the lifeless counterfeits in their wake. Waiting until a passing snail had reached its damp
destination of a young dandelion leaf, Peggy apprehensively shuffled out of her thorny haven and made her way to
where the profane assembly ahd taken place. With her wand at the ready, she warily crept into the depressed area
of corn and looked for signs that her initial assumption was true. Somewhere in Myrddin's old tomes there had been
a description of who had appeared here tonight and on those pages, what powers Black Annis treasured.
.................................................................
A weary sorcerer's small hand was only a mouse's tail away from knocking on Elmer Banyard's door as the stars began
their paling from the sky. Dawn was still some distance away and even though Peggy guessed that the elliptical-shaped
head of the homesteader was still buried deep in a pillow and dreaming of turnips, she believed the dozing dullard should
be made aware of what was troubling his property.
But standing there at the threshold of the Banyard domicile, Peggy arrived at the decision to wait and get her own ducks
in a row. Black Annis was not a monster to be trifled with and the 'Bitch O' The Oak' -as some Magicians had branded
her, was wily as any fox and dangerous as winter-hungry wolf.
Elderberry bushes and followed what she believed were the animated scarecrows. The pocket-sized sorceress smiled to
herself under the wide brim of her hat as she carefully avoided any twigs that may alert the four straw-stuffed prowlers
heading away from Elmer Banyard's farm. Her hidden humour derived from her rationality of what she was taking part
in, a covert surveillance of homestead-items that resembled humans. As if Domby Crustop wasn't capable of shooing
birds from a seeded field, she ribbed herself silently.
Reaching a severely-straight line of wooden fencing amalgamated with long stretches of neatly-pruned hawthorn bushes
that would take her -thankfully, past a herd of settled-down-for-the-night sheep, Peggy stepped closer to the shadowed
shrubbery and mentally swam in her memories of her time browsing the many ancient books at the home of Myrddin,
the greatest of all Wizards.
Steering worryingly close to where the dead sheep had been stacked, the stealthy necromancer was relieved once more
to see the four inflexible figures awkwardly ambulating towards a large expanse of corn glowing dully under the plenilune
in the starry sky. Peggy now knew her single-file prey were Kit-A-Can-Sticks, mannequins possessed with an arcane spirit
not unlike the Ignis Fatuus or ghost-lights she'd used in the past. Somehow -she conjectured, these wobbling scarecrows
had become bedevilled with a force that needed sacrifices for some dark unknown reason that the Witch holding her nose
from the stench of decay, hoped to discover tonight.
Like haunted broomsticks, the hat-wearing effigies floated over the railings and glided noiselessly into the ocean of corn.
Peggy scurried low and absently kept one hand on the rear of her poncho, maybe because the crouching spectator didn't
wish a venatic stoat or passing flittermouse to observe her pants-less virtue. But as the little Witch ducked into a small
space where the hedgrow allowed a fair view of the moonlit glebe, she could see that the Kit-A-Cans had split up and
were now taking the positions of a cross and there they stood like skinny Banyards awaiting partners to dance with.
Peggy had seen The Mowing Devil and brought the terror to heel for a family in Nine Banks, but the sight of a bright-blue
swirling incandescence causing the corn to flatten in a circle between the stationary mock-scarers was a sight that left
the concealed conjurer open-mouthed. The hovering glow blotted out the stars and shamed the moon with its brilliance,
but apart from whatever fieldmouse was scampering away from the falling stalks, only a wandering Witch witnessed the
coming of the hunched naked shape in the corn.
"Oh bugger, it's Black Annis" the Last Witch of Underhill softly informed the musty darkness of the hawthorn bushes
and turning slowly, she prepared herself for another battle with those who exploit the few people who still adhere to the
old ways. Sliding her hand into her satchel, Peggy carefully drew out a knobbly staff that was almost as tall as herself.
Some of the more senior villagers over on the Isle of Murdigon used to call them Shille-rods, but in Fae parlance these
stout willow sticks are known as Danann Wands.
With her magical arsenal ready, the lip-nibbling necromancer looked back towards the strange auroral scene amongst
the corn just as the darkness suddenly stayed her next movement. The night was still again and the big moon held sway
once more. Squinting into the twilight, Peggy scanned the effected field for any sign the Kit-A-Cans were moving, but
the faux-light being cast down on Elmer's land failed to reveal any sign of further covert ju-ju. It was then she glanced
behind her and saw four floating shapes pass by where she'd been hiding. The scarecrows were returning home.
Waiting with bated breath, the crouching augurer abiding where hedgehogs snuffle out their noctural menus saw that
no one or no thing followed the lifeless counterfeits in their wake. Waiting until a passing snail had reached its damp
destination of a young dandelion leaf, Peggy apprehensively shuffled out of her thorny haven and made her way to
where the profane assembly ahd taken place. With her wand at the ready, she warily crept into the depressed area
of corn and looked for signs that her initial assumption was true. Somewhere in Myrddin's old tomes there had been
a description of who had appeared here tonight and on those pages, what powers Black Annis treasured.
.................................................................
A weary sorcerer's small hand was only a mouse's tail away from knocking on Elmer Banyard's door as the stars began
their paling from the sky. Dawn was still some distance away and even though Peggy guessed that the elliptical-shaped
head of the homesteader was still buried deep in a pillow and dreaming of turnips, she believed the dozing dullard should
be made aware of what was troubling his property.
But standing there at the threshold of the Banyard domicile, Peggy arrived at the decision to wait and get her own ducks
in a row. Black Annis was not a monster to be trifled with and the 'Bitch O' The Oak' -as some Magicians had branded
her, was wily as any fox and dangerous as winter-hungry wolf.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.