The Call

House, Home, Mansion, Spooky, Eerie
Pixabay

Douglas Ambrose had been gatekeeper at the estate for nearly a decade. In all that time, he had not once been summoned to the Great House. Today, however, the call had come. It’s purpose was mystifying, both literally and figuratively as he trudged through a thick mist that obscured the residence from view.

As he walked, worries and self doubts began to fill his head. Had the Squire heard of his dice playing at the tavern, or of the dispute with the green grocer where he overturned the apple cart on his exit from the merchant’s shop.

As the shadowy form of the Great House began to emerge from the cold December mist, Douglas set his path to the servants’ entrance. On arrival he was met by Will Youngblood, one of the footmen who informed him that the Squire expected him at the stable block.

Ambrose thanked him, and headed across the gravelled court to the block, where Hilton, the butler, nodded to an open stall door.

On entering, Douglas was faced by the Squire and his eldest son, Richard. Quickly doffing his cap, he mumbled “Good morning, Sirs.”

“Good morning, Ambrose. How are things at the Gatehouse?” the Squire enquired.

“Well Sir, Thank you, Sir.”

“Good – good. Now I have heard some disturbing news Ambrose,” the Squire began.

Oh my Lord, please no, Ambrose thought beginning to sweat at the brow.

“It has come to my attention that your son, Arnie is it? Has joined the Yeomanry as a trooper.”

“Yes, yes Sir. That is so.” Ambrose stumbled.

“It seems that he is taking that nine year old Mare of yours to serve the Crown with.”

“Yes, that’s the truth as well.” Ambrose stuttered.

“That will never do, Man. Here take this gelding. It’s strong, and should well serve the reputation of this house.”

“Take, Sir?”

“Yes – yes, take. It’s a gift. And Ambrose, Happy Christmas.”


Padre

Tale Weaver – Gift

FOWC with Fandango — Great

The Challenge

USMC Lapel Pin Small | Devil Dog Headquarter
devildogheadquarters.com

“Hey Mister, what’s that badge you have on?” the boy asked.

“It says who I am,” the elderly man replied.

“Like a name tag?” the boy prodded. “But, I don’t see any writing on it.”

“More than a name tag. A lot more, and it doesn’t need any words for those that understand its meaning.”

“Well it’s kind of pretty, anyway,” the boy observed.

“Yes I guess it is, but even if it wasn’t a shiny one it would be just as important,” the old timer responded.

“Can I have it?” the precocious child asked.

“You might be able to earn it some day,” the man said with a bit of a smile. “But only if you’re good enough.”

The child thought about it for a moment and then said, “I think I will be good enough.”

“That’s the attitude,” the man replied. “You stick with that, and it just might be yours someday.”

—————-

Padre

Tale Weaver – Badges

Thistle

Fae, Fairy, Fairytales, Magic, Fantasy, Elf, Woman
Pixabay

As far as fairies go, Thistle was difficult to get on with. There was no doubt that she lived up to her name, as she had a truly prickly disposition. Before you begin to go on about hedgehogs being prickly and yet sweet, Thistle was no hedgehog. She was in fact a rather ill-tempered Brownie.

Most things seemed to displease, Thistle. There was no dancing under the moon for her. She far preferred to drag branches across forest paths and then sit back to see who might stumble over them in the night. Yes, for our dark-mooded Brownie, that was a thing of pleasure.

But while Mother Nature is tolerant of the actions of the Wee Folk, she does have her limits. So in the fulness of time there came some payback. Our prickly malefactor awoke one morning to find that the tables were turned. It seems that the while she had laughed heartily at the merchant she had tripped up the evening before, she hadn’t realised that her little trick had been accomplished with a bough of poison oak.

Spotty, itchy Thistle got her just desserts. Well they do say what goes around, comes around.


Padre

Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – Fairies

Bubble

Bubbles, Water, Globule, Sphere, Wet, Liquid, Shiny
Pixabay

When it comes to bubbles I will use verse

Because when it comes to bubbles

They often burst

And when the bubbles meet their end

They are impossible to then mend

Think way back to South Seas trade –

Many a fortune in a bubble were made

But when the bubble did then pop

The entire trading empire made a flop.

And in these times when Covid does abound

They say in bubbles social comfort can be found

Until one member gets a new cough

And all of you end up behind doors locked

Bubbles may seem a good idea

But remember they are a fragile panacea


Padre

Tale Weaver

Alligator Fears

USS Alligator 0844401.jpg
USS Alligator – Public Domain

“So we are going to climb into that thing and do what exactly?” Petty Officer Brown asked.

“Well, it seems we are to supposed to go destroy a bridge, and remove some obstacles the Rebs have put in the channel.”

“Underwater?”

“Yes, the Alligator is perfect for it.” the engineer said.

“Yes Sir, if you say so Sir,” the sailor responded.

“You sound doubtful,” the engineer observed.

“Well Sir, it seems to me that keeping afloat is what the Navy is about, and this sinking on purpose seems a little daft.”

“Well, times are changing Petty Officer, you will see.”

“I hope I will be able to when this mission’s done,” the sailor replied crossing himself. “I just of this gator’s not a crock.”


Padre

Tale Weaver – #298 – Underwater – 22nd October

Witch’s Garden

Meadow, Herbs, Halme, Flowers, Nature, Plant, Herb
Pixabay

It could hardly be called a garden; in fact, it was little more than a herb patch.  The scrawled labels on the small beds bore names such as Dead Man’s Wart, and Feverfew.  Alex passed through it with some apprehension as he approached the Canny Woman’s cottage.  

He knocked the door and stood uncertainty on the step. After a few moments, a silver-haired woman wearing a threadbare shawl opened the door.

“Yes,” she said in a weak voice.

“Um – I’m . . . , ” he began.

“You are Alex White,” the old woman said.

Taken slightly aback, Alex said, “Yes, Mam.”

“What can I do for you, Alex White?”

“I have a runny nose, and my eyes won’t stop watering,” the young man replied.

“Wait here,” she said and shuffled past him into the garden. She then plucked several peppermint leaves, and a few dried stems of what seemed a dead plant. She then pushed past him again and went to a mortar and pestle in the cottage. She put the stems and leaves into the bowl, and then took a small glass container from under her worktop. She poured a little of its contents into the bowl and crushed all together.

“Take a little of this each day until the blossoms fade on the trees,” she instructed. Be sure to do it in the morning when the dew is still on the grass.”

“Yes Mam,” Alex responded, and took the little parcel of mixture and placed it into his shirt pocket. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Alex White,” she said and closed the door as he stepped away.

Turning back to her workplace she lifted the glass bottle and weighed it in her hand. “I’ll need to get some more Benadryl soon,” she said to herself.


Padre

Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – #297 – The Witches Garden

Stranger

Man, Bridge, Lonely, Walk, Wintry, Winter, Landscape
Pixabay

The stranger approached slowly through the snow. To say he was tall would be an understatement. At seven feet in height, he towered over the party he was approaching.

“Hallo,” Briany greeted.

“Hello,” the stranger replied good-naturedly.

“Where are you heading all alone?” Briany asked.

“Wherever the road takes me I guess,” the tall man replied. “And you?”

“We are heading to Farmington,” Briany responded. “Have you come from there?”

“No, from the East Woods,” the stranger replied.

Briany found herself drawn to the man’s eyes. They were green, but not like a cat’s green, more like green of a spring acorn, and his pupils were tiny, mere pinpoints in the glare of the snow.

“I am Briany or Brin,” the young healer said offering a hand.

“I’m Cory,” he responded taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake.

A strange sensation surged through Brin’s body. For her entire life she had felt the illness and frailty of others when she touched them. Often their maladies passed into her, draining her physically, but leaving them healed. This man, Cory was different. What she felt was not the influx of disease or depression, but a surge of energy, almost as if it were he that was healing her.

Briany shivered involuntarily.

“I hope your journey is pleasant,” the tall stranger said, giving her a wink. With that he nodded to the party, and continued on his way. As he passed Maya she too felt a pulse of energy that left her feeling refreshed. She looked back at the man as he began to leave the road and enter a nearby copse of trees.


Padre