How Peggy Powler had rid George Putters' farm of the Kaffajinn roosting in his barn had been simpler than the situation
the Little Witch currently found herself. But when confronted with limited options, Myrddin -the greatest of Wizards, had
informed his waist-high student that if one puts their mind to it, one can be mercurial enough to get through the worst of
dilemmas that a necromancer's vocation can throw at her.
Crouched on the dirt floor of the dimly-lit cavern, the Last Witch of Underhill anxiously endorsed her mentor's words as
she quietly rummaged through her faithful satchel for an item that might just save the day. The four suspended young
women were alive, although Janie Beesley looked so thin that Peggy guessed another day would find the hebetudinous
girl beyond salvation. Topsy Cantrell had moaned once without opening her eyes and freezing in her position, the wary
Witch had waited for an appearance of the Kaffajinn.
The faint sunlight that slipped through the fissure in the cave ceiling was ebbing, a reminder that time was not the best
of acquaintances of the benumbed residents of the monster's lair and their hopeful rescuer. With nervous fingers finally
brushing the smooth surface of her intention, Peggy carefully reviewed her sombre surroundings and fleetingly visited
her memories of George and Hannah Putters' unwanted lodger.
.................................................................
She knew she looked silly in the crudely-made woolen hairpiece, but since the wide-eyed farmer constantly assured his
would-be emancipator as they ambled back to the Putters farmstead that he was still far-too terrified to approach the out
-building since discovering the Kaffajinn, Peggy Powler had surrendered to the idea that she'd have to do this one alone.
Adjusting the grubby laniferous postiche as they approached the soulless demense, the frowning spell-worker resignedly
agreed with the sad-faced soil-breaker that her height would put the mutated demon at ease and so facilitate her scheme
to nab the monster. Now standing with her back to the Dutch-door of the barn, Peggy reappraised their accord and still
didn't like it. "I mean no disrespect Ma'am..." George had asked quietly as he closed the remains of the five-bar gate gate
they'd just passed through, "...but why do you need to pretend you have hair all the way down to your heels?"
The Witch with the wig watched his actions through dangling strands of wool before turning to scout her field of play. The
Putters' residence was a squat thatched cottage with an extra room on the side. The commorancy of the Kaffajinn stood
beside a fenced-off meadow a palm-sized stone's throw away from where they both now stood.
"It's a disguise, Mister Putters..." Peggy grumbled "...The thing'll think Ah'am a little girl and the bugger'll be nay-so careful
when it comes out te'' get me" she added. It was a poor excuse, but better than relating to the miserable yokel of the real
need of displaying long hair. With that said, she put her best un-shoed foot onto the dried-mud path that led to the barn
and prepared herself to defeat her latest foe. How...? Well, she hoped Putters owned a pitchfork, at least.
.................................................................
"Come on yer' bugger" Peggy whispered to the Spooklight, its sluggish glow stuttered through lack of use and resisting
to need to shake the head-sized sphere, she leaned close and offered a tender charm of Majick. The orb's faint effulgence
slowly improved as the spellbinder's words fell across his its glassy surface and with them, the Spooklight began to float
from her cupped-hands and hover unsteadily in the air in front of Peggy's face.
"Siddum Bey Whinnie" the little Witch added as she stood up and pulling the itchy hairpiece from her own head, delicately
placed onto the volant object wobbling before her. With her own style of allurement ready, Peggy hoped Officer Delphi was
still on guard outside and the Kaffajinn would fall for the ruse. Now... to find the cursed creature.
the Little Witch currently found herself. But when confronted with limited options, Myrddin -the greatest of Wizards, had
informed his waist-high student that if one puts their mind to it, one can be mercurial enough to get through the worst of
dilemmas that a necromancer's vocation can throw at her.
Crouched on the dirt floor of the dimly-lit cavern, the Last Witch of Underhill anxiously endorsed her mentor's words as
she quietly rummaged through her faithful satchel for an item that might just save the day. The four suspended young
women were alive, although Janie Beesley looked so thin that Peggy guessed another day would find the hebetudinous
girl beyond salvation. Topsy Cantrell had moaned once without opening her eyes and freezing in her position, the wary
Witch had waited for an appearance of the Kaffajinn.
The faint sunlight that slipped through the fissure in the cave ceiling was ebbing, a reminder that time was not the best
of acquaintances of the benumbed residents of the monster's lair and their hopeful rescuer. With nervous fingers finally
brushing the smooth surface of her intention, Peggy carefully reviewed her sombre surroundings and fleetingly visited
her memories of George and Hannah Putters' unwanted lodger.
.................................................................
She knew she looked silly in the crudely-made woolen hairpiece, but since the wide-eyed farmer constantly assured his
would-be emancipator as they ambled back to the Putters farmstead that he was still far-too terrified to approach the out
-building since discovering the Kaffajinn, Peggy Powler had surrendered to the idea that she'd have to do this one alone.
Adjusting the grubby laniferous postiche as they approached the soulless demense, the frowning spell-worker resignedly
agreed with the sad-faced soil-breaker that her height would put the mutated demon at ease and so facilitate her scheme
to nab the monster. Now standing with her back to the Dutch-door of the barn, Peggy reappraised their accord and still
didn't like it. "I mean no disrespect Ma'am..." George had asked quietly as he closed the remains of the five-bar gate gate
they'd just passed through, "...but why do you need to pretend you have hair all the way down to your heels?"
The Witch with the wig watched his actions through dangling strands of wool before turning to scout her field of play. The
Putters' residence was a squat thatched cottage with an extra room on the side. The commorancy of the Kaffajinn stood
beside a fenced-off meadow a palm-sized stone's throw away from where they both now stood.
"It's a disguise, Mister Putters..." Peggy grumbled "...The thing'll think Ah'am a little girl and the bugger'll be nay-so careful
when it comes out te'' get me" she added. It was a poor excuse, but better than relating to the miserable yokel of the real
need of displaying long hair. With that said, she put her best un-shoed foot onto the dried-mud path that led to the barn
and prepared herself to defeat her latest foe. How...? Well, she hoped Putters owned a pitchfork, at least.
.................................................................
"Come on yer' bugger" Peggy whispered to the Spooklight, its sluggish glow stuttered through lack of use and resisting
to need to shake the head-sized sphere, she leaned close and offered a tender charm of Majick. The orb's faint effulgence
slowly improved as the spellbinder's words fell across his its glassy surface and with them, the Spooklight began to float
from her cupped-hands and hover unsteadily in the air in front of Peggy's face.
"Siddum Bey Whinnie" the little Witch added as she stood up and pulling the itchy hairpiece from her own head, delicately
placed onto the volant object wobbling before her. With her own style of allurement ready, Peggy hoped Officer Delphi was
still on guard outside and the Kaffajinn would fall for the ruse. Now... to find the cursed creature.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.