Poppy Darke

by Colin Wraight

  His ‘Wife’, Putrid Rottenoffle was also desperately grotesque. Much the same as her husband, but her lips were almost feminine and roughly painted red with lipstick. Her eyes also bore childish attempts at make-up. Blue and purple colors smudged messily together below bushy and oddly lopsided eyebrows. Long eyelashes, heavy and black with several coats of mascara fluttered slowly as she spoke. She had grey hair loosely held in a beehive on top of her head with gold pins. A gold chain adorned her neck from which dozens of gold and silver rings hung. Unlike her husband this creature hid her modesty under an old horse blanket, pinned at the shoulder with two gold brooches. Poppy was mesmerized, of all the strange things she had seen that night, and it was the pink fluffy slippers that Putrid was wearing that seemed the most out of place.

  “That’s it dear just call me Putrid, no need for formalities’ in here deary. Up there somewhere is our son Slurpe. But you’re already acquainted aren’t you? Slurpe get down here right now we’ve got visitors… He’s got no manners that one.”

  Poppy was speechless. It was a dream, it had to be. Creatures such as these simply did not and could not exist.

  “We’d like to thank you for saving our sons life. We don’t know how you did it but you did.”

  “I…. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t saved anyone.” Poppy spluttered.

  “He was broken clean in half he was, dead as stone, and you put him back together with mud, with mud of all things, it’s unheard of. He was dead I tell you. Not since the time of….”

  “We don’t mention that, not in civil company dear. He was broken and when a young Goyle gets broken in daylight he’s dead, forever, that’s just how it is. How did you managed to bring him back. Are you a Witch?”

  “No! Of course I’m not. They don’t exist, I’m not a Witch.”

  “What about a Demon. Are you a Demon dear?”

  “Don’t be.” Poppy wanted to say ‘stupid’ but dare not and all she could do was shake her head.

  Gulp Rottenoffle moved menacingly closer and sniffed Poppys face. His breath was rank and somehow strangely dusty, but Poppy dare not move. “But are you sure? I mean, you smell different.” Then he turned to his wife. “She smells different! Different I tell you.”

  “I want to go home now please. My Mum wants me; she’s probably looking for me right now.” she started backing off towards the door.

  Gulp burst in to a huge fit of laughter. “Could be a Goblin I suppose, she got the right nose for it.”

  “Ere’ you’re not a Goblin are you? We don’t want any Goblins around here.” she said in mock surprise. Those lashes fluttered and there was a twinkle in her green eyes as she laughed and then she became serious. “You saved our little boy and for that you get our friendship and eternal gratitude. You’re welcome to come and visit with us any time you like dear.”

  Gulp suddenly looked around Poppy and roared as he pushed his fingers right up his nose and yanked the skin of his face up on top of his head, leaving his eyes dangling loosely on their stalks.

  Poppy screamed in horror and turned away, as she did so caught sight of a woman standing at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in old Victorian clothing and wore a white bonnet tied at the chin. Her expression was of abject terror as she turned and disappeared, vaporizing into thin air.

  Poppy screamed again and just wanted to cry.

  “Go on get back in your box.” Gulp shouted. “Blooming cheek of that one, she was almost in the house. What have I told’em about coming up here uninvited? Blooming spirits “

  “Not in the house dear. You told them ‘not in the house’.”

  “I saw her. I saw a ghost.” Poppy couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “Was that a real… ghost?”

  “That’s right dear, nothing to be afraid of… You know what they say don’t you?” Putrid asked and didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “You’re never more than six feet away from one of them beggars.”

  Gulp was back to normal now. ”Don’t you fret little one. We are the ‘Boneshiners’, it’s our job to keep all them there nasties here in the cemetery where they belong.” Then he cast a glance up to the rafters where Slurpe Rottenoffle was perched. “Pulling terrifying, disgusting faces is what we do best. It scares them right back into their boxes and we’ve never lost one yet.”

  “Yes we have.” Slurpe Rottenoffle said from high up in the rafters. “What about that time…”

  “Shush now boy.” Gulp raised a bony finger to his swollen lips. “We don’t want to scare the girl, now do we?”

  “Yes Dad, I mean no Dad.”

  “That’s my boy… One day all this will be yours lad!”

  Putrid looked like she could be smiling or embarrassed Poppy couldn’t tell which. “Why don’t you get off dear? You can always come back another time and play with Slurpe.”

  “Play!” Poppy knew she had an horrified look on her face but couldn’t help it. “You want me to come back and… play?”

  “Why, of course dear. But and it’s a big ‘but’ deary you can never ever tell anyone about us, about what you’ve seen.”

  “That’s right little one. We like to surprise them we do. You know when they get here and all that and we don’t want you going and spoiling it.”

  “Just remember dear, you can only see us if we want you to, so keep yer’ big trap shut.”

  Poppy edged towards the door and looked for Jesse but he had gone. “I promise.” when she looked back the room was empty. The Goyles and all of the furniture had vanished. But lying on the floor in the middle of the room was a single gold ring. Poppy stared at it. Was it for her? Should she pick it up?

  “Go on dear, I saw you admiring them. I left that for you, it’s yours now. It won’t pick itself up, will it?”

  Poppy jumped at the sound of the voice. “Thank you.” she snatched the ring up and ran down the stairs as fast as she could, jumping the last four steps. “They’re not real.” she kept saying to herself over and over again.” Creatures like that don’t exist.” tears streamed down her face, she sprinted all the way home as fast as her legs would carry her. She went straight to her bedroom and closed the door. “They’re not real! I imagined it all!” Then she sat on the end of her bed, held out her hand and slowly opened her fingers.

  Chapter 5

  The years had not diminished Mistress Bernadette Craven nor had they been kind. Others, especially men, had always considered her somewhat on the uglier side of plain. She made no excuses for her looks and had never stooped so low as to feel sorry for herself. Her captivity in the dreaded cauldron had seen the loss of her life force and almost her very soul.

  What she lacked in physical beauty she made up for in her God given talents and she certainly presumed to be God given. For Mistress Craven was special in many ways and above all was loved by her children, the Pupils of Saint Michael’s School. She had her savior to thank for this life and the intervening fifty years. It was for her she waited rather impatiently, a child of questionable innocence who had no idea of her importance.

  When she first became a teacher some Forty years before had quickly grown to fear and despise children. Then, it had been almost fifteen years since the caldron and her recovery had taken all of that time, the nightmares would last a lifetime. Ms. Craven, as she was called then, had just finished university and applied for a teaching post at a grammar school in Torquay. The days were long and the children impossibly torturous, the more strictness she applied the more unruly they became. She wilted quickly becoming weak and pathetic.

  As she sat in her office anxiously awaiting the imminent arrival of her salvation, she found herself idly casting her thoughts back to those terrible years after she had been saved. They were late and the memories returned in droves.

  The mists of time cleared and she was back in that awful place and in that bed. Waking, she realized with gut wrenching despair, that it was Monday. Not the worst day of the week by far, the others
were just as awful and just as terrifying.

  Reluctantly she crawled out of bed and in to a pair of slacks and then put her socks on, taking care to hide the two coins at the bottom. The clock said seven thirty as she tied her shoe laces and two minutes later she was ready to face hell.

  It took several deep breaths and a prayer before she could open that front door, even then it took three attempts, some days she couldn’t face it and would return to bed. She hadn’t thought about that front door in years, but her mind had kept it just as it was, oak with brass fittings. The outside world seemed chaotic, red buses and coal trucks, paperboys and stray dogs, all going about their business in that frantic Monday morning sort of way.

  "Come along Bernadette Craven." she told herself. "We must go.” Another deep breath and she was outside. She saw them straight away lurking on the corner, her stomach turned over just remembering them. Smoking as usual and foul mouthing any unfortunate passer-by. There were usually more of them, maybe today they would leave her alone. She was sure they could smell fear, she could smell it herself.

  Clammy hands and Butterflies in her stomach she nervously mounted the old bike she’d proudly bought with her first wage and set off. If she didn't look at them, maybe they wouldn’t notice her, it worked last Thursday on the way home.

  One of them shouted something; she dare not look but could see them out of the corner of her eye. There were no less than three boys now and they’d started running across the road towards her. They were just memories and couldn’t hurt her, but still.

  One glance at the gang confirmed her worst fears, it was Watkins. Nervous beads of sweat appeared on her forehead as she tried to peddle harder. All the books in her bag seemed to get heavier; she desperately wanted to dump them and just get away, far away. She wanted to snap back to reality and her office at Saint Michael’s but the memories wouldn’t let her, teasing her to remember more and more.

  They were running faster now, they were going to get her again without a doubt. Bernadette shook with sheer terror as she felt someone grab her bag and tear it from her back. Another boy, she couldn’t remember specifically which one, had hold of the rear mudguard and was slowing the bike down.

  “Leave me alone." Bernadette insisted nervously, shoving her thick black NHS glasses back up her nose. ".......What do you want?"

  As he stepped forward Watkins sneered. "Have you got it?"

  "No." she replied. "I haven't got any money today."

  He grabbed her by the arm and forced her around the back of a bus stop, throwing her to the cold pavement. "Search her pockets." he growled and kicked Bernadette’s bag over to one of his gang.

  They went through everything but only found sandwiches and a banana. "There's nothing here." All eyes fell on Bernadette Craven curled up on the floor waiting for the first kick. There was always a first kick, she seldom felt the others.

  "Where's my money?" He spat through clenched teeth. "...How am I supposed to buy my ciggies if you don't pay for them?"

  She trembled in terror as she searched for the right words. "I.... I haven't got any more money.... It's all gone." She spluttered.

  Watkins looked menacingly from one member of his gang to the next. They were all afraid of him; he could see it in their eyes. Then he looked back at his helpless victim, she was ugly and she was weird, but most of all she was afraid. "Tomorrow." he said casually and then paused for effect. "....I want you to give me a gift, something special. It’s my birthday."

  Bernadette nodded enthusiastically through the tears, anything to get rid of these animals. One of them had taken her bike and was racing away down the street; the others were sharing her sandwiches. Soon they were gone, leaving her crumpled and sobbing on the pavement. She found her bike dumped at the end of the street just before the school gates.

  Bereft of life the playgrounds seemed strangely calm to Bernadette as she slowly walked towards the Headmasters office. She was out of excuses. Breathing deeply she opened the main door and slipped inside. The headmaster was just as frightening and intimidating as those horrible boys.

  "Step inside Ms. Craven." he said in that voice that only Headmasters use.

  Bernadette jumped with fright; she hadn't heard the approach of the Head. "Sorry I'm late but......."

  "You’re not a bad teacher Ms. Craven.... Take a seat" He said and opened a file on his desk. "In fact I quite like some of the things you’ve done since you came here. But I'm afraid we have to let you go."

  "...You're sacking me?" Bernadette was aghast; this was the last thing she was expecting.

  The Headmaster nodded. "I'm sorry. But you’re late virtually every day.... and that’s when you bother to turn up at all. Your attendance is worse than most of the children who attend this school."

  "But...Bu..." her voice faded to nothing as she realized whose fault it really was.

  "It genuinely hurts to lose a good teacher like you."

  "What will I do? Where will I go?"

  The Headmaster smiled sympathetically. Everyone knew about the bullying, the teasing and the daily muggings Ms. Craven endured. If only she would stand up to them. Discipline, that was the key, something you couldn’t teach. "Have you considered taking time out? Perhaps travel.”

  She couldn’t remember leaving his office or the school but found herself peddling along the sea front, just crying at the injustice.

  Terrifying Images from the past haunted her memory; she saw the young Watkins and his leering face. The taunts from other children went through her mind as if they had been taped for prosperity. Then there was the cauldron, always the cauldron swirling around her consciousness, leaving no corner unmolested. That monstrous creature had crept into her bedroom in the dead of night and stolen her away. Taken and imprisoned for years, yet magically missing for less than the time it takes to blink. Her savior and return had gone unnoticed and marked only by a muffled scream in the night. How brave the vessel of her salvation had been, though just a child, had fought the Demon with unwavering fearlessness and strength. Now it would be Bernadette Craven’s turn to finally take on a different kind of evil.

  She was up early the next morning, earlier than usual. This morning was different, she was different and it showed. There was no hanging around behind the front door, no deep breaths and no prayers. After scrubbing some grease from her hands she set off. Watkins was there as usual waiting for his money. “You got it?” he snarled and flicked a burning cigarette at Bernadette’s face but it missed and flew past her shoulder.

  She took this as a sign, he had never missed before. “Yes.” she replied with the slightest of smiles and added with feigned nervousness. “I have.”

  “Well don’t just stand there hand it over.” he insisted and lunged forward to grab her.

  Bernadette dropped the bike, but he was far too quick, he caught the bike and gripped her wrist. With his other hand he cruelly unwrapped her fingers from around the cash. “That’s more like it.

  What? No birthday present, but I’ll be taking the bike as well.” Then he and the bike were both gone, away down the hill.

  She seldom smiled, partly because she saw little to smile at but mostly because few people could tell when she was. Her face just seemed to contort in to some sort of grimace. She smiled now as she remembered him careering down the hill and past the school, screaming for all his lungs were worth. The louder he screamed the faster he seemed to go. The bike crossed two lanes of traffic without being hit, bounced over the curb and hit the sea wall railings with a sickening crunch. Watkins flew straight over the handlebars, his arms and legs flailing wildly and landed in a pool of briny water which the sea had forgotten to take with it on its way out.

  She still had those old brake blocks; they took pride of place on a shelf in her study. Only now they weren’t so greasy.

  A light tap on the door brought her back to the present. “Enter.” she said trying to mask the anticipation in her voice.

  A face appeared around a gently opening
door. It was Mrs Rawson the receptionist. “Mrs. Darke and her daughter are here to see you.”

  Bernadette could hardly contain herself. “Send them in.” At last after all these years and all the doubts she would know for sure that she wasn’t mad or insane as the doctors had said. She would know the child, she would at last see that face and know the cauldron wasn’t just a bad nightmare and that it did indeed happen. That there are real Demons afoot, that Witches and cruel magic exist to tempt and destroy the good. That all evil had finally met a worthy opponent, one with powers which could equal and exceed theirs.

  Chapter 6

  Poppy let out a sigh and continued chewing her gum. “I don’t know what was wrong with my old school. It’s not that far away….. Haven’t they heard about trains here yet?”

  “Can you walk a little bit faster we’re late? And you were permanently excluded from your last school for breaking that girl’s nose.”

  “I told you that wasn’t me. It was Molly Harmon and her gang.” Poppy walked faster, too fast for a pregnant woman.

  “Slow down.”

  “But you said to walk faster a minute ago. What’s up is the brat uncomfortable?”

  “You are going to this school whether you like it or you don’t. Your Grandfather is a patron and he organized it….. So speak to him.”

  Poppy stopped in her tracks. “Granddad did this!”

  Although it was hardly ever mentioned Poppy’s Granddad was quite famous and very rich. He’d written many horror books over the years and everyone knew that the latest best seller ‘The Demon Circus’ was being made into a big film. “Does he know about everything?”

  “Of course he does.” Mrs. Darke said and mentally took note that Poppy seemed rather concerned that her Granddad knew of all her little indiscretions with the law. “He’s coming home soon, so you’ll be able to tell him all about it.”