The contorted carcass of the Dog-Cow-Demon that had entertained the Putters' barn looked nothing like the approaching
chaos of anatomy that cautiously shambled out of the shadows behind where the young women were being held and with
wide eyes, Peggy Powler took stock of the hodgepodge shape that was the Kaffajinn. From its awkward mannerisms, the
gloom-swathed Shaman believed her workings of her plan had not alerted the mongrel-demon and this assumption kept
her breaths shallow.
No, the crouching creature hadn't seen her and the relieved little Witch hugging the cave wall concluded that this was
due to the unusual position of the Demon's head, or what some might assume was its capitulum. To some extent, it
looked ape-like in the murkiness and contemplating a Kaffajinn's necessity to gather any cadaver in order to exist in
this world, Peggy wondered if the hirsute dull-eyed head belonged to a Woodwose. Glancing quickly in the direction
of where the women hung in their fishing-line bindings, she suspected the dead Wild Man's hands may have also been
appropriated.
Keeping her own caressing appendage on the floating Spooklight, Peggy could see this particular malignant spirit held
other parts of critters rarely seen by humans. The dark shaggy hair of the Woodwose head conflicted with dirty cardinal
hue of the main torso and squinting for a better look, the Last Witch of Underhill -at a push, would suggest the creeping
Kaffajinn had also acquired the remains of a Pukwudgie somewhere in its travels.
These heavyset half-trolls were known to keep to the deep forests and like their biped cousins, avoided interaction at all
costs. But it seemed that somewhere in the timberland they called home, a grave was violated. The familair hooved leg
of another woodland creature could be spotted dragging behind the hybrid from perdition as it emerged further into the
dim shaft of light coming from the cave ceiling and fleeting images of George and Hanna Putters driving their picthforks
into the mewling body of their resident Kaffajinn threatened to mitigate the bare-footed observer's concentration.
Keeping her breathing to small gasps of air, Peggy watched the cobbled-together horror slowly draw close to its captured
harem, lift its stolen head to sniff the hair of the thankfully-unconscious Dorothy Cobb and make a awful perverted sound
of satisfied indulgence. This was enough for the fuming necromancer in the shadows and with a squeak to imply shock,
released her glowing toupee-adorn lure towards the depraved scene.
.................................................................
"But why are you up here?" Earnest Heinz asked again quietly, his early-morning fishing enterprise had brought nothing
but seaweed and the remains of a shirt. Untangling the shredded garment, the disgruntled dealer in goods hoped that
somewhere out there on the Great Sea, a sailor was suffering sun-burn. Accepting the Grunt-Gudgeon weren't biting,
Earnest's nosiness had caused him to leave the beach and follow the trail of the pompous Policeman and the picayune
augurer up the warm-water stream.
Officer Wibur Delphi offered the skinny grocer a look of narrow-eyed annoyance and whispered "Hold yer' gob" and then
quickly corrected his warning. "We're about to apprehend the bounder who has been abducting young ladies, Mister
Heinz... it would be prudent if you would kindly keep your voice down" the aloof law-enforcer hissed and went back to
monitoring the fissure in the cliff wall.
.................................................................
The words came again and this time Peggy barely caught the basic connotation of what the Kaffajinn in the wrenched
body was requesting. "Koom tootah vey?" it burbled towards its latest guest as the damaged mess shuffled through
the transparent strands of cordage that formed its web. The wary Witch turned at once and began her theatre, she
knew a spell of majick wouldn't work until the Kaffajinn was contained. Just as in the Putters' case.
"Go Mary... run towards the light" Peggy said with a melodramatic tone of fear and raised her hands as if releasing the
imaginary youngster with the long flowing hair, the Kaffajinn's interest in the bare-footed woman instantly changed to
the moving shape disappearing into the shadows. With a nightmare attempt of a locomotion that would draw digested
food from the hardiest of folk, the desirous demon slumped passed Peggy and hurried to procure the escaping child in
the tunnel.
"Manji Mary dor-dor" the Kaffajinn called sociably to the fleeing locks of aroma and measuring the fading light seeping
through the jalousie of moss, the humped and crooked creature urged its collection of hijacked corpses to move faster.
With the grotesque hellion distracted, the little sorceress flicked her thumb and a flame that almost blue in its potency
appeared on her digit. The fishing lines soon melted and the suspended inmates of the low-order Beelzebub's prison
sank to the floor in exhaustion. Peggy hurried to them and unwrapping the last of their bindings, she kept her eyes on
the shadows of the tunnel. It was only moments later when her concerns eased a little.
.................................................................
Spooklights can not exist in daylight and approaching the fissure entrance, the lambent sphere of glass began to lose
cohesion and its solidness raced to nothingness. But just as the dead limb of an exhumed Woodwose reached for the
sweet-smelling vibrissa of a young girl, the Kaffajinn's suddenly found its haste to entertain its addiction was to be its
downfall. An abandoned braid of dirty wool lay on the crevice's floor as the deformed demon screamed in its tumbling
into the early-evening air and into the mouth-opened view of the two men below.
Yet the stolen anatomy came to the Kaffajinn's aid once more as blindly grabbing at the pendant curtain of lichen, the
cross-breed of revolting consternation swung outwards instead of down to the rubbled stream where the Constable of
Bowes County was now aiming his crossbow and his new assistant fed out the fishing-line attached to Delphi's bolt.
They had hatched the plan as the night had crept across the Great Sea and evaluating the positives of having a such
a fastening to whatever dwelled in the cliff's cleft, the two men had arrived at the conclusion that it was a productive
idea. Now, as the dangling Demon's pendulation eased and the furry composite of deceased beasts slumped to the
sheer wall of the precipice, Wilbur squinted behind the weapon and pulled the trigger.
chaos of anatomy that cautiously shambled out of the shadows behind where the young women were being held and with
wide eyes, Peggy Powler took stock of the hodgepodge shape that was the Kaffajinn. From its awkward mannerisms, the
gloom-swathed Shaman believed her workings of her plan had not alerted the mongrel-demon and this assumption kept
her breaths shallow.
No, the crouching creature hadn't seen her and the relieved little Witch hugging the cave wall concluded that this was
due to the unusual position of the Demon's head, or what some might assume was its capitulum. To some extent, it
looked ape-like in the murkiness and contemplating a Kaffajinn's necessity to gather any cadaver in order to exist in
this world, Peggy wondered if the hirsute dull-eyed head belonged to a Woodwose. Glancing quickly in the direction
of where the women hung in their fishing-line bindings, she suspected the dead Wild Man's hands may have also been
appropriated.
Keeping her own caressing appendage on the floating Spooklight, Peggy could see this particular malignant spirit held
other parts of critters rarely seen by humans. The dark shaggy hair of the Woodwose head conflicted with dirty cardinal
hue of the main torso and squinting for a better look, the Last Witch of Underhill -at a push, would suggest the creeping
Kaffajinn had also acquired the remains of a Pukwudgie somewhere in its travels.
These heavyset half-trolls were known to keep to the deep forests and like their biped cousins, avoided interaction at all
costs. But it seemed that somewhere in the timberland they called home, a grave was violated. The familair hooved leg
of another woodland creature could be spotted dragging behind the hybrid from perdition as it emerged further into the
dim shaft of light coming from the cave ceiling and fleeting images of George and Hanna Putters driving their picthforks
into the mewling body of their resident Kaffajinn threatened to mitigate the bare-footed observer's concentration.
Keeping her breathing to small gasps of air, Peggy watched the cobbled-together horror slowly draw close to its captured
harem, lift its stolen head to sniff the hair of the thankfully-unconscious Dorothy Cobb and make a awful perverted sound
of satisfied indulgence. This was enough for the fuming necromancer in the shadows and with a squeak to imply shock,
released her glowing toupee-adorn lure towards the depraved scene.
.................................................................
"But why are you up here?" Earnest Heinz asked again quietly, his early-morning fishing enterprise had brought nothing
but seaweed and the remains of a shirt. Untangling the shredded garment, the disgruntled dealer in goods hoped that
somewhere out there on the Great Sea, a sailor was suffering sun-burn. Accepting the Grunt-Gudgeon weren't biting,
Earnest's nosiness had caused him to leave the beach and follow the trail of the pompous Policeman and the picayune
augurer up the warm-water stream.
Officer Wibur Delphi offered the skinny grocer a look of narrow-eyed annoyance and whispered "Hold yer' gob" and then
quickly corrected his warning. "We're about to apprehend the bounder who has been abducting young ladies, Mister
Heinz... it would be prudent if you would kindly keep your voice down" the aloof law-enforcer hissed and went back to
monitoring the fissure in the cliff wall.
.................................................................
The words came again and this time Peggy barely caught the basic connotation of what the Kaffajinn in the wrenched
body was requesting. "Koom tootah vey?" it burbled towards its latest guest as the damaged mess shuffled through
the transparent strands of cordage that formed its web. The wary Witch turned at once and began her theatre, she
knew a spell of majick wouldn't work until the Kaffajinn was contained. Just as in the Putters' case.
"Go Mary... run towards the light" Peggy said with a melodramatic tone of fear and raised her hands as if releasing the
imaginary youngster with the long flowing hair, the Kaffajinn's interest in the bare-footed woman instantly changed to
the moving shape disappearing into the shadows. With a nightmare attempt of a locomotion that would draw digested
food from the hardiest of folk, the desirous demon slumped passed Peggy and hurried to procure the escaping child in
the tunnel.
"Manji Mary dor-dor" the Kaffajinn called sociably to the fleeing locks of aroma and measuring the fading light seeping
through the jalousie of moss, the humped and crooked creature urged its collection of hijacked corpses to move faster.
With the grotesque hellion distracted, the little sorceress flicked her thumb and a flame that almost blue in its potency
appeared on her digit. The fishing lines soon melted and the suspended inmates of the low-order Beelzebub's prison
sank to the floor in exhaustion. Peggy hurried to them and unwrapping the last of their bindings, she kept her eyes on
the shadows of the tunnel. It was only moments later when her concerns eased a little.
.................................................................
Spooklights can not exist in daylight and approaching the fissure entrance, the lambent sphere of glass began to lose
cohesion and its solidness raced to nothingness. But just as the dead limb of an exhumed Woodwose reached for the
sweet-smelling vibrissa of a young girl, the Kaffajinn's suddenly found its haste to entertain its addiction was to be its
downfall. An abandoned braid of dirty wool lay on the crevice's floor as the deformed demon screamed in its tumbling
into the early-evening air and into the mouth-opened view of the two men below.
Yet the stolen anatomy came to the Kaffajinn's aid once more as blindly grabbing at the pendant curtain of lichen, the
cross-breed of revolting consternation swung outwards instead of down to the rubbled stream where the Constable of
Bowes County was now aiming his crossbow and his new assistant fed out the fishing-line attached to Delphi's bolt.
They had hatched the plan as the night had crept across the Great Sea and evaluating the positives of having a such
a fastening to whatever dwelled in the cliff's cleft, the two men had arrived at the conclusion that it was a productive
idea. Now, as the dangling Demon's pendulation eased and the furry composite of deceased beasts slumped to the
sheer wall of the precipice, Wilbur squinted behind the weapon and pulled the trigger.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.