Poppy Darke

by Colin Wraight

  The nightly rants had begun about two hundred years or so before, and had Gargle Skuttlebucket not heard them all a thousand times before, he might have appeared a tad more afraid. In the event he was perched on the edge of a chair with his chin propped up in his hands and nodding when required.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Agyness screeched and threw a cushion at the Goyle.

  The cushion missed and Gargle nodded. “I know!” He whined. “But there aren’t any babies, are there?”

  Agyness spun to face him. “You lie!” She hissed. “I saw one today at the school... How fitting that it belongs to the Darke family... My revenge will at last be complete!”

  Gargle suddenly came to his senses. “Not them... Not those Darkes! You know what happens every time we tangle with them!”

  “Stop blubbering you waste of space! And get me that child!”

  The truth was that Gargle already knew all about the Darke baby, he was at its window just two nights before. He had sensed a strange kind of magic in the air and didn’t fancy going back one little bit.

  “Look!” He said. “Why don’t we jump in that old car of yours, nip into London and grab one of them there homeless waifs off the street... Nobody ever misses them.”

  “No, you imbecile I need a fresh little baby or the spell won’t work!” She gasped in exasperation. “Now be gone and do not return without my little one.”

  He’d barely climbed off the chair when she suddenly screeched. “Wait…! Wait until the old man and the hound is out… And stay away from that Poppy girl, there’s something about that child that gives me the heeby jeebies?” Skuttlebucket took another two steps. “Wait!” She cried once more. “Have you got the potion that I prepared for you?”

  “Aye!” He said grudgingly. “You know I don’t like magic and potions... It’s just not natural, really it aint.”

  “What? And you are?” She snapped angrily.

  As the Goyle scurried from the room Agyness felt a sense of renewed hope and began humming ‘rock a by baby’. Satisfied that her plan couldn’t fail she turned to a huge mahogany wardrobe and swung its double doors wide open.

  Hanging neatly upon coat hangers were several school uniforms, all pressed and ready to wear. There were blazers and blouses in neat little rows, there were grey skirts and pinafores’ aplenty, above on shelves sat straw bonnets in their boxes and below five pairs of black polished shoes.

  Agyness stroked the sleeve of the middle blazer, and ceased her humming. “Beautiful youth...” She whispered. “Do not abandon me now... I would give all of my power for just one more day!”

  The night seemed darker than usual and Skuttlebucket, wrapped in what was left of his wings membrane, was feeling particularly miserable. His malaise was not improved by the sight of the old De’athly crypt.

  What was once a beautiful marble and granite tomb, complete with Greek style columns and ornate carvings now lay in wreck and ruin.

  After Bogey Gizzardscabs, the resident Goyle had died at the battle of Finsbury fields; the spirits had just wandered off or faded away. All that was left now were a few foundation stones and a granite sarcophagus, mostly overgrown with vegetation.

  Gargle Skuttlebucket didn’t like to dwell on the past. How the Witch had forced him to betray his friends and leave then to face a Demon army alone. Sometimes in his darkest melancholy he’d hide at the edge of the cemetery in the village and watch his old friend Gulp Rottenoffle boneshining the misbehaving spirits, and trying to keep them under control. These days it was the only thing that made him laugh.

  He wished with all his heart that one day he might be able to return to his own cemetery in York, put his feet up and rest his weary bones. Lady Agyness De’athly had been his only companion for most of the last four hundred years. She was never easy to live with, at best she was an abusive mother or an indifferent sister and at worst she was an evil Witch who would never free him.

  As he passed under the great old oak tree where he had buried his sword and bow on Halloween, he was reminded of he renewed duties to the Goyle nation. If he had to kill her he would, but only as a last option.

  He’d never admit it under fear of death, but sometimes, in the cold light of day and his darkest dreams he actually imagined finishing her off himself. It would be easy; all he had to do was destroy the cauldron and release the spirits. Maybe in the great sleep she would find peace.

  “Dangerous thoughts...Those are!” He whispered hoarsely and looked around almost expecting the Witch to be there reading his mind. “You could get yourself killed.” He smiled mischievously. “Now wouldn’t that be a crying shame you old goat?”

  He took hold of a tiny bottle which was hanging on a chain around his huge neck and placed it close to one eye. He didn’t like potions and never had but he liked the way they sparkled and glowed with the magic. He thought it was the prettiest most beautiful liquid in the whole world, but it tasted rancid. Agyness had once told him that she had stolen her magic from the burning mires of hell, and, that it was the last remains of the festering souls of the evil dead. He had believed her, back then before her curse had worn off on him, there was no alternative.

  With a growing darkness in his heart and a weary mind Gargle replaced the pendant about his neck and set off on his quest. It’s a fact, Goyles have near perfect night vision and he worried little about the normal run of the mill humans, they could only see his stone form as he slept.

  He decided to take to the roads for ease of passage and many cars passed him by without as much as a beep of their horns. At one point he even had to wait at the curb for a gap in the traffic so that he could cross.

  “Hooligans!” He cried angrily and shook his fist, as car after car sped by and splashed him with dirty rain water. “Why don’t you just run me over and have done with it?”

  Soon he was at the crossroads in the middle of the village and had to wait as several couples left the public house and got into the back of taxis. By the time the moon had settled in behind some clouds for the night the whole village slept. Gargle had waited for the last of the lights in the cottages to be extinguished, and then he patiently waited another hour for the humans to fall asleep.

  As he looked up at the church tower he frowned when saw that the time was already three o’clock in the morning.

  “Dead man’s hour!” He growled and looked over at his target house. Scurrying across the village green he took the potion from around his neck and clasped it tightly in his hand. There was no hurry, he kept telling himself; he could take all the time in the world. Winter nights were long and the sun wouldn’t be making an appearance for ages yet. But he couldn’t help thinking, the sooner it was over the better.

  He pushed the gate open and riled furiously when its rusty hinges groaned. “Stupid gate..! Ssh.” After waiting nervously for several seconds for a bark or growl he approached the door.

  Potions and magic are all good and well, but if Gargle could get away without using them he would. On this occasion his luck was out, the door was locked and all the windows firmly closed.

  He’d drank enough magic potions over the years to know that he could trust the old Witch. She might be a complete mad woman but she needed him. Infact, Gargle suspected that she’d fall apart without him.

  The stuff was disgusting to taste but had no discernable smell. Even so, Gargle still felt the need to block his nose. He tilted his head back and poured the liquid straight down his throat, until the last drop had left the vile.

  “Here we go!” He whispered as he felt the magic coursing through his veins. All it needed now was instructions. “You are what you eat... You are what you eat... You are what you eat.”

  Suddenly a moth emerged from his ear and crawled down his snout before flying over to the door and settling on the letterbox.

  “Go on my son.” Said Gargle and opened the letter box slightly, allowing the moth to crawl inside. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on the moth. At first the images in h
is head were hazy and intermittent, but they improved with time. After a while Gargle could see everything the moth saw as it flew around the house.

  The dog was sleeping soundly in the conservatory and there was no one else downstairs. A table lamp had been left on in the living room and it took all of Gargles powers of persuasion to keep the little moth away from the intoxicating rays.

  “Moths and lights! What’s that all about?” Gargle whispered.

  The insect grudgingly flew up the stairs and onto the landing. All the doors were shut so he silently glided down to the carpet and walked underneath them. He searched each room in turn and finally found the infant stirring in his cot.

  “Right... Here we go then..! This is really going to hurt!” Gargle grimaced. The magic in the potion had invaded every cell in his body, and tingled as it awaited instruction. “You are what you eat... You are what you eat.”

  The old Goyle said the words over and over again. Agyness had tried to teach him the curse, but he couldn’t speak gibberish. So the clever old Witch had hidden her magical spell behind, in between and under five simple words that he could easily remember.

  Gargle slowly began to sink down onto the doormat as first his feet and then his ankles turned into hundreds of cockroaches. He sank even further into the pile as his legs succumbed to the magic, and soon all that was left of him, sat atop a huge squirming mass of insects, was his head.

  His eyes darted about in terror as the swarm moved over his eyes and up his nose before completely burying their former incarnation.

  The spell complete and the cockroaches organised, they began to move on the house. The smaller ones managed to clamber under the door, the other million or so headed up the walls toward the letterbox. Meanwhile a small number of moths fluttered outside windows on guard against human movement.

  It took several minutes for the insect exodus to gain entry, and once inside they swarmed up the stairs. There was so many cockroaches that the steps became nothing but a seething mass and many thousands decided to take to the walls and banisters.

  After a monumental climb the first of them waited exhausted outside the target door. The magic called to the others like a siren, spurring them on, and soon they began to pile up.

  At first a toe appeared, not a greyish greenish Goyle toe, but a little pink toe. As more and more cockroaches converged a foot began to take shape and then a leg and a knee. Soon both legs had taken shape and the spiders that had been waiting patiently could get to work. They started at the bottom and began spinning webs around the legs.

  By the time the cockroaches had built almost up to the naval, the spiders were just finishing off a pair of blue jeans.

  The insect building site continued skyward as the little workmen rushed to finish on time. Weary cockroaches trudged up to become shoulders or elbows as busy spiders spun a pink blouse around them. Often the two would get in each other’s way and a fight would break out. One cockroach arrived too soon, he was an earlobe and the head hadn’t even been started yet. So he climbed into a freshly made pocket and waited, and soon the little insect was fast asleep.

  Once the arms, hands and fingers were completed things became much easier, and the build was completed when the spiders had settled on his head and become blond hair.

  Gargle turned and looked in the mirror and smiled at the ugly face staring back at him. “Hello Poppy..!” He growled in her voice and then frowned. One of his ears didn’t seem quite right so he moved closer to the mirror for a better look. He prodded and he poked, then he pulled and he tugged but nothing he could do would make both ears look the same.

  It happened while Gargle was standing there puzzled, that a certain little cockroach woke up. He raced out of the pocket and was spotted immediately by the Goyle, who for reasons known only to magic, still possessed some of his ‘Boneshining’ abilities. In the blink of an eye his long slimy tongue darted out of his mouth and dragged the unfortunate insect to his doom.

  As Gargle chewed on the tasty morsel he realised that he would have to wait until he changed back into himself before he would, once more, be complete.

  In the deep of night nothing stirred, nothing but hedgehogs foraging for slugs, foxes slyly going about their business and owls on the wing. Then of course there was the odd phantom, ghost or ghoul doing whatever it is they do- Jesse believed himself to be part of the second list. He was bored and wished he could sleep; he hadn’t slept since it happened and he couldn’t even remember what it was.

  He had helped his dad put the swing up in the tree just the summer before and now the little boy spent most nights just swinging backwards and forwards. He looked up at the closed curtains of his mum and dads bedroom and wished with all his heart that they might look down and see him sat there, even if it was for just one second.

  He knew that he had to find a way of telling Poppy the truth and then maybe she could speak to his parents for him. They wouldn’t believe her though, ghosts don’t exist-everyone knows that. Anyway, who would want a son that they couldn’t hug or kiss, one that would never go to school or grow up.

  As ghostly tears welled in his eyes Jesse heard a noise and glanced over at Poppy’s house. He could see her standing in the front door; she was carrying something in a bundle and seemed to be trying to close the door without making any noise.

  He was about to shout her name when she turned and glared at him. Jesse suddenly felt very uneasy and jumped off the swing.

  “What are you doing out at this time of night, Poppy?” He said and then saw what she was carrying. “Where are you going...? Can I come?”

  Gargle Skuttlebucket swallowed hard and tried to look less shocked than he really was, he could kill two birds with one stone if he played his cards right, Agyness would be pleased. “We’re just getting some fresh air!” He said. “Why don’t you tag along?”

  Jesse wasn’t sure, there was something wrong and he had a bad feeling, but he could trust Poppy. She wouldn’t let anything happen to the baby. “Does your Mum know you’re out here with him?” He asked.

  “Yeah… Course she does. It was her that told me to take him for a walk!”

  “So why isn’t he in his pram? And where’s his outside clothes..?”

  Suddenly a cockroach scurried across Poppy’s face, the inner Goyle loath to miss a snack opportunity did what any Goyle would do, he ate it.

  Jesse stepped back in disbelief. “Who are you? You’re not Poppy.”

  Gargle smiled and said the magic words. “You are what you were…You are what you were!”

  In an instant thousands of cockroaches appeared as if from nowhere. They swarmed out of the pink blouse and blue jeans and covered Poppy’s body from head to foot. Engulfed in a thick blanket of insects the change back to Goyle took only a matter of seconds.

  Jesse panicked and vaporized, he remembered this Goyle; it was none other than Skuttlebucket. Reappearing on the other side of the road, he crouched out of sight behind a car and tried to think.

  “Where are you? You little runt... Come to uncle Skuttlebucket, I won’t hurt you.”

  Jesse listened in fear as the Goyle made an halfhearted search for him. That monster, ‘Skuttlebucket’, was the Goyle traitor? As the creature closed in on him Jesse disappeared again, this time reappearing on the bough of the tree in his front garden. He had to alert the Darke’s, but he couldn’t afford to lose sight of the baby. It was a tough decision and as Skuttlebucket disappeared across the village green, Jesse knew that he had no choice but to follow.

  Chapter 19

  Poppy awoke in a sweat and took a few seconds to recognise her own room and realise that it had only been a nightmare; the monsters of her dreams had thankfully remained in their murky world, there to be fought another night.

  She knew her Mum hadn’t been in yet because her curtains were still closed. The material was too light and far too thin to keep out the first of the sun’s rays and she was grateful for the return of daylight.

  The digital clock to
ld her it was seven in the morning and time to get up. The house seemed unusually peaceful for a Monday morning; normally her mum would be up by now preparing breakfast or even vacuuming. She threw the sheets back and swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Mum!” she shouted wearily. “Where’s my school uniform, we’ve got hockey practice later, have you washed my kit?”

  There was no such thing as silence in the Darke household and anything close to it was unusual. “Mum!” She shouted louder this time, but there came no reply. “Anybody...!” Wondering where everyone could be she crept onto the landing. “Midnight... Come here boy!”

  Poppy stopped for a second and pinched herself, perhaps she was still dreaming, maybe this was just a trick and the monsters were hiding behind one of the doors. “Mum!” She shouted nervously and put her hand on the bedroom door handle. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded in her chest. “Stop messing about Mum! Where are you?”

  This was all real, it had to be. Gently pushing the door open she stepped inside. Something was stirring in the bed. “Is that you Mum?”

  The thing or whatever it was groaned. Poppy wasn’t sure and took another step towards it. “Mum! Are you getting up it’s after seven..?”

  It groaned again and this time the noise almost sounded human.

  “Are you sick or something?” Poppy demanded as her imagination went into overdrive. “Mum... Please... You’re scaring me, just wake up!”

  “What time is it? I feel so... Tiered... So sleepy.” Anne dreamily replied and squinted as she tried to focus on her daughter. “What day is it...? How long have I been asleep?” She asked and began rubbing her eyes and then suddenly stopped and looked at Poppy through the gaps between her fingers. “Do you smell that?”

  Subconsciously Poppy had detected a faint odor; it was a strange smell that reminded her of Christmas but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. The more she concentrated on the scent the stronger it seemed to become until, quite suddenly, it vanished.