If the mysterious destroyer of Underhill had used the gloomy-looking route Peggy Powler was currently swinging towards,
the plucky Witch now believed the fleeting shape she'd caught sight of in Edna Mantle's rear garden last night must have
been the same invader. This conclusion did little to aid her mission to reach the newly-discovered tunnel as the well's rope
seemed to feel inclined to follow the instructions of the half-filled pail sloshing around beneath her.
What sparse light that could penetrate the gloom of the desolate village's watering-hole shone down on a poncho-wearing
panting and cussing pendulum struggling to reach the hole in the side of vertical stone-lined shaft. "Come on yer' bastard!"
was one of the lesser of the many vulgar obscenities.
Eventually, the swaying half-Fae's hand caressed a damp boulder for a moment and with another thrust of her body to
improve the curve of her arc, Peggy hung between the cable and her goal. With her fingers slowly walking over the worn
surface of the boulder like a caterpillar, the daring and dangling sorceress whispered words of encouragement to herself
until she found better purchase and quickly pulled herself over.
Now with both hands clutching the base of the deliberate breach, unfettered toes mimicked the same climbing act of the
gasping Witch's other digits and Peggy gasped with relief as she finally slid into the shadowy passageway. Catching her
breath as she lay in the moist darkness, the exhausted enchanter wondered if her aunt had used this crawlway too.
Feeling for a ceiling with one hand whilst bringing a flame from a thumb of the other, Peggy slowly stood erect and found
that her earlier act of removing her hat had been a good one. The tunnel would demand an average-sized human to crouch,
but for a Fae, it was just perfect. Gazing around in the dripping gloominess, she could see recognisable shapes -that to her
implied someone or something had been storing items from the homes of those resided above here in this fabricated cave.
One of her own lived here...? Peggy dismissed the notion as the objects weren't furniture or objects conducive to living in
such a subterranean environment, these things had been taken and dumped here and this assumption caused a frown of
puzzlement to return to the features of the surveying sorceress. Walking carefully past the remains of a mould-covered
pillow and a discarded statuette of a travelling man carrying his possessions in a bundle on a stick, Peggy's fluttering
flame brought other shapes into view. A wooden drawer from a cupboard, a hand-carved walking-stick and a smashed
bundle of willow strands that Peggy recognised at once. It was the remnants of the wicker basket Edna Mantle once
used to feed her chickens with.
.................................................................
Hetty's eyelids unknowing emulated the candle-like glow of her neice's thumb and flickered in her wakening. The direful
world of somnolence that the old woman had wandered in had brought visions of madness and havoc that would drive
the most cognisant of humans to run headlong into a wall to seek comfort from the horrible images. The grizzled crone
who'd witnessed two hundred summers merely smacked her lips and wondered why her stomach was growling.
.................................................................
Peggy had found that the tunnel's ceiling had improved as she progressed along the Herne-forsaken shaft and it wasn't
until she realised she was actually standing in some type of cave, that she felt her spirits had improved. The scattered
belongings in the dingy passageway were signposts to memories of those who'd lived in Underhill and the degrading
manner the adventurous explorer had discovered them hinted that whoever had left them there had no concern for such
trifling memoirs.
The cemented stone had given way to hard-packed soil and it wasn't long before Peggy couldn't touch either side of
the tunnel without taking a couple of steps. It was then she realised she was no longer the Last Witch of Underhill,
she may well be the only Witch under one. The tor that had given the nocturnal community its name was now above
her and who-or-what had excavated this cavern may well be the thief who horded the property back in the tunnel.
Instinctively moving her head about, the faint aroma of woodsmoke came again and images of the chimneys Peggy
had seen when returning to Underhill flitted around her mind like bats wishing to utilise the blackness that surrounded
their phrenic prison.
"Ah... the girl I almost took so many summers ago is now a woman" hissed a voice from the darkness and in a flick of
a badger's tail, Peggy whirled around in the direction of where the arrogant sibilation had emanated. The wary Witch's
thumb failed to bring enough radiance to see who owner of the cocksure utterance beyond the gloom was, but she was
already preparing spells in her mind if this hubristic unknown tried any funny-stuff.
"Forgiving your trespass dear lady, welcome to my home..." the voice came again and as Peggy set her feet to repel this
new foe, a sinewy body slid into view sporting a smiling serpent's head. "...And as you are no doubt aware, it will soon
become yours" the Glatisant added.
.................................................................
During Hetty's gummed consumption of the hard sandwich of cheese her neice had kindly left her on the parlour table,
the scrawny old woman scuttled through her recall that had brought her to the point where she'd found herself laid in
bed and needing to make water. She and Peggy had taken a walk and then...? Hetty twisted the rumpled skin around
her lips and urged the memory forth, something about sunshine and bad majick swam from the ancient hallways of
her mind for a moment and then faded in her vexation to not appreciate it.
"Come on, yer' awld bugger..." she croaked and pushed the empty plate away, "...it's nay time fur' the bloody box yet"
she spat and rose to her unshod feet. The child of her brother was out there in a place that had been ravaged by a
secret Hetty had kept for all of her time in Underhill. Many seasons had passed and with every annual equinox, the
veteran of Witchcraft had breathed easier in the belief her burden would never see the light of day.
But the thing had found a way out, it had stolen her neighbours and she'd ignored the theft. During one of his stays at
her home, Hetty had once heard Myrddin speak of a horrible creature jumbled together from ferocious animals and a
bad incantation. He'd called it the Questing Beast and remarked it was half feline and half serpent.
Hetty had stayed her tongue as she could've well described the beast her occasional lover had stated. The Glatisant's
head did resemble a snake, but its cunning was many-times as deadly than any no-legs she'd trodden on. But these
were words unused and now was all that mattered the crone concluded as she ignored the dizziness that swept over
her. The emaciated limb that had shown Peggy where Underhill's woes really resided in a dream moved once more,
but this time it was to remove the metal half-moon object from the cracked-plastered wall.
"Ah' should've done this a long time ago..." Hetty whispered to herself as she lurched towards the door. "...It's time
Ah' set things straight" she warned the pot owl that alighted on her bony shoulder as she staggered towards the hole
she'd come from all those summers past.
the plucky Witch now believed the fleeting shape she'd caught sight of in Edna Mantle's rear garden last night must have
been the same invader. This conclusion did little to aid her mission to reach the newly-discovered tunnel as the well's rope
seemed to feel inclined to follow the instructions of the half-filled pail sloshing around beneath her.
What sparse light that could penetrate the gloom of the desolate village's watering-hole shone down on a poncho-wearing
panting and cussing pendulum struggling to reach the hole in the side of vertical stone-lined shaft. "Come on yer' bastard!"
was one of the lesser of the many vulgar obscenities.
Eventually, the swaying half-Fae's hand caressed a damp boulder for a moment and with another thrust of her body to
improve the curve of her arc, Peggy hung between the cable and her goal. With her fingers slowly walking over the worn
surface of the boulder like a caterpillar, the daring and dangling sorceress whispered words of encouragement to herself
until she found better purchase and quickly pulled herself over.
Now with both hands clutching the base of the deliberate breach, unfettered toes mimicked the same climbing act of the
gasping Witch's other digits and Peggy gasped with relief as she finally slid into the shadowy passageway. Catching her
breath as she lay in the moist darkness, the exhausted enchanter wondered if her aunt had used this crawlway too.
Feeling for a ceiling with one hand whilst bringing a flame from a thumb of the other, Peggy slowly stood erect and found
that her earlier act of removing her hat had been a good one. The tunnel would demand an average-sized human to crouch,
but for a Fae, it was just perfect. Gazing around in the dripping gloominess, she could see recognisable shapes -that to her
implied someone or something had been storing items from the homes of those resided above here in this fabricated cave.
One of her own lived here...? Peggy dismissed the notion as the objects weren't furniture or objects conducive to living in
such a subterranean environment, these things had been taken and dumped here and this assumption caused a frown of
puzzlement to return to the features of the surveying sorceress. Walking carefully past the remains of a mould-covered
pillow and a discarded statuette of a travelling man carrying his possessions in a bundle on a stick, Peggy's fluttering
flame brought other shapes into view. A wooden drawer from a cupboard, a hand-carved walking-stick and a smashed
bundle of willow strands that Peggy recognised at once. It was the remnants of the wicker basket Edna Mantle once
used to feed her chickens with.
.................................................................
Hetty's eyelids unknowing emulated the candle-like glow of her neice's thumb and flickered in her wakening. The direful
world of somnolence that the old woman had wandered in had brought visions of madness and havoc that would drive
the most cognisant of humans to run headlong into a wall to seek comfort from the horrible images. The grizzled crone
who'd witnessed two hundred summers merely smacked her lips and wondered why her stomach was growling.
.................................................................
Peggy had found that the tunnel's ceiling had improved as she progressed along the Herne-forsaken shaft and it wasn't
until she realised she was actually standing in some type of cave, that she felt her spirits had improved. The scattered
belongings in the dingy passageway were signposts to memories of those who'd lived in Underhill and the degrading
manner the adventurous explorer had discovered them hinted that whoever had left them there had no concern for such
trifling memoirs.
The cemented stone had given way to hard-packed soil and it wasn't long before Peggy couldn't touch either side of
the tunnel without taking a couple of steps. It was then she realised she was no longer the Last Witch of Underhill,
she may well be the only Witch under one. The tor that had given the nocturnal community its name was now above
her and who-or-what had excavated this cavern may well be the thief who horded the property back in the tunnel.
Instinctively moving her head about, the faint aroma of woodsmoke came again and images of the chimneys Peggy
had seen when returning to Underhill flitted around her mind like bats wishing to utilise the blackness that surrounded
their phrenic prison.
"Ah... the girl I almost took so many summers ago is now a woman" hissed a voice from the darkness and in a flick of
a badger's tail, Peggy whirled around in the direction of where the arrogant sibilation had emanated. The wary Witch's
thumb failed to bring enough radiance to see who owner of the cocksure utterance beyond the gloom was, but she was
already preparing spells in her mind if this hubristic unknown tried any funny-stuff.
"Forgiving your trespass dear lady, welcome to my home..." the voice came again and as Peggy set her feet to repel this
new foe, a sinewy body slid into view sporting a smiling serpent's head. "...And as you are no doubt aware, it will soon
become yours" the Glatisant added.
.................................................................
During Hetty's gummed consumption of the hard sandwich of cheese her neice had kindly left her on the parlour table,
the scrawny old woman scuttled through her recall that had brought her to the point where she'd found herself laid in
bed and needing to make water. She and Peggy had taken a walk and then...? Hetty twisted the rumpled skin around
her lips and urged the memory forth, something about sunshine and bad majick swam from the ancient hallways of
her mind for a moment and then faded in her vexation to not appreciate it.
"Come on, yer' awld bugger..." she croaked and pushed the empty plate away, "...it's nay time fur' the bloody box yet"
she spat and rose to her unshod feet. The child of her brother was out there in a place that had been ravaged by a
secret Hetty had kept for all of her time in Underhill. Many seasons had passed and with every annual equinox, the
veteran of Witchcraft had breathed easier in the belief her burden would never see the light of day.
But the thing had found a way out, it had stolen her neighbours and she'd ignored the theft. During one of his stays at
her home, Hetty had once heard Myrddin speak of a horrible creature jumbled together from ferocious animals and a
bad incantation. He'd called it the Questing Beast and remarked it was half feline and half serpent.
Hetty had stayed her tongue as she could've well described the beast her occasional lover had stated. The Glatisant's
head did resemble a snake, but its cunning was many-times as deadly than any no-legs she'd trodden on. But these
were words unused and now was all that mattered the crone concluded as she ignored the dizziness that swept over
her. The emaciated limb that had shown Peggy where Underhill's woes really resided in a dream moved once more,
but this time it was to remove the metal half-moon object from the cracked-plastered wall.
"Ah' should've done this a long time ago..." Hetty whispered to herself as she lurched towards the door. "...It's time
Ah' set things straight" she warned the pot owl that alighted on her bony shoulder as she staggered towards the hole
she'd come from all those summers past.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.