Spineless Peach and the Crackle Hag

 

Chapter One – The Ice Wind.

“The beard dream visited last night,” Peaches told her smooth faced

reflection, “but sadly I see no beard on me.”

Wiggling fingers and toes she made her daily inspection, “No, not a hair. Same bald knees as yesterday, and all the yesterdays before. Oops, forgot my back.” She twirled to catch a glimpse, “No – not even a shadow of a prickle.”

 

A rainbow of unworn ribbons watched as she pulled on her uniform.

“Sorry, I’ve no-where to tie you,” she mused, “but, maybe one day I will

wake up hairy then I’ll put bows in my beard like everyone else.”

 

The wind called through the wall cracks, “Oooo-hurry….”

“Grandma, wake up!” Peaches cooed into Grandma’s fuzzy ear. “The Ice Wind is calling, I have to go.”

“Oh no! The Ice Wind is back?” groaned Grandma. “Yesterday the

Wind of Change blew in. Double danger if they meet – they’ll summon up a Crackle Hag.”

“A Crackle Hag?” asked Peaches.

“A Witch with a heart of solid ice and eyeballs made to match,” explained Grandma.  “Frosted evil.”

 

“Did you have bad dreams again Grandma?” asked Peaches with a smile.

“No!” insisted Grandma, “when I was a girl, a Crackle Hag stole all

my teeth from under my pillow, I kept just one…..”

“That’s the tooth fairy…”

“No, my head was hiding under my pillow. She took them from my

mouth!”

“Grandma, you said you lost your teeth from eating toffee sandwiches.”

“Did I? I just remembered the real reason…”

 

“Grandma, yesterday you remembered flying to the moon in your

bathtub, but you’d not left your bed. It was a dream.”

“This time I’m right,” said Grandma, “there’s only one way to kill one.”

“And how’s that?” laughed Peaches.

“Sugar. No Salt… or spice, I can’t remember, what was I saying?”

Grandma sniffed, “I smell change in the air.”

“No, you smell soup!” said Peaches, “I made a spoon pulley-bridge

from bed to fire-pot so you can easy-slurp.”

 

Grandma rattled as the Splurzle Cough shook her.  Peaches rubbed her back until she found some air. With her lonely tooth wobbling in her beardy face she said, “Thank you Peaches. Oooo, I wish I had more teeth. I’d love to dunk a chunk of Chewzzle bread.”

“Grandma, we don’t have enough Muckles to buy Chewzzle bread, and even less for teeth. But I hid some Chocolate Suck Cake under your pillow.”

Peaches lifted the blankets and slid in a fire brick to warm Grandma’s hairy feet. “Oooh, scrumple-dumptious,” said Grandma. “Now, Hurry and Flurry! You’ll be later than a snow flake in July.”

“I know, I know, hurry along and flurry my hood up against the bite of the Ice Wind or it will snazzle my skin…”

“..like a kettle of boiling water takes the scales off a fish,” they sang together.

“I’ll take extra care.  I know my hairless face is too soft to fight fierce Ice Teeth.”

Peaches’ lips tingled as her Goodbye kiss mingled with Grandma’s white prickle whiskers. “I wish I had a beardy face and hairy skin, I can’t bend in my scarf wraps and leg layers.”

“Child, you are one of a kind, smooth and soft. I wouldn’t change you for all the midnight stars, but I fear the chomping cold will snag you. Do you have your toe mittens? And the finger bonnets I knitted?”

Peaches danced and flapped purple wool wrapped hands and feet. “Yes Grandma, don’t worry. You keep snoodle toasty under the blankets or …”

“The Splurzle Cough,

will hack and burn,

it’ll crack your ribs

and blue you’ll turn.

          Swallow syrup, nice and sticky,

          else you’ll die purple sickly,” they sang together.

 

Grandma stroked Peaches’ velvet cheek with her hairy backed hand. “Be off. You’ve missed so much school looking after me. Watch out for the Crackle Hag.”

“I will, but I fear the mountain ice more. The slipperiness loves to trip me. Sleep well,” whispered Peaches as sleep dragged Grandma down into her pillows.

The thatch lid of the house rose up and down with Grandma’s snores as Peaches stepped into the arms of the wild world. Her back-bag sat snug as she pulled her hooded cape tight. With only her eyes free she slizzled down the path.

The Wind of Change blew hard.

In front.

Behind.

And side to side.

“Beeeeware….,” he howled.

But Peaches ears were woolly muffled and heard only the blood rushing round her head.

 

 

Chapter Two – Spessy-Min

 

Ice gargoyles glared down at Peaches from the broken school roof. She rubbed her snowy tipped eyes, “Where is the chimney? And why is there an iceberg in its place?” The iceberg shifted, poking out a giant ice tongue.

“The world gift-wrapped in snow and ice is a very changed place,” gasped Peaches, her breath cutting a trail into the air. “All colour has been drained and replaced with ice-blue. I don’t like it.” Peaches gasped as newly broken windows smiled at her with icicle teeth.

 

“Eeeeek-eeeek,” called the school sign, dangling broken from its hinge.

“Miss Crow’s School,” Peaches read aloud, fingers tracing the blood paint.  “Who is Miss Crow? Where is Mrs.Wisp?”

 

Itchy-scratch jumper wool nibbled her tender skin. She tingled with a wrongness she could not place. Grandma’s voice whispered in her head, “Beware the Crackle Hag.” 

She bit her lip, “don’t be so silly, there’s no such thing!”

But her toes curled inside their mittens begging, “Run away, run NOW!”

Too late!

Her feet slid, one to the right and one to the left as the door sprang open. “Oooohhh,” she yelped as a black cavern mouth opened to swallow her.

“Stop dithering!” ordered a pair of claw hands pulling her into the

gloom. “You’re letting in warm air…”

 

Peaches’ feet skidded on icy steps as the new teacher dragged her down, down, down. Her back-bag bumped the walls in time with her beating heart - Thump -Thump –Thump - Thump.

 

“Ooooouch, oooowchhh.” She was dazed as she landed. Blinking hard to clear her head she made out children shadows lit by flickering candles.

“You are late!” yelled Miss Crow owner of the claws. “I hate late!”

“I’m sss-sorry, but I have to comfy Grandma in her bed before I leave her.” Peaches’ eye backs played a cinema of Grandma tucked up bedly soft and smiled.

“Don’t grin!” growled Miss Crow. “Do you know what I do with late children?”

Peaches shook her head.

“I boil them and spread them on toast. Mmmm, butterlicious.” She slurped out her tongue to lick her lips. “I’m not like soft Mrs Wisp.”

“Www-where is Mrs Wisp?” Peaches’ tongue asked before her head could stop it.

“Gone…,” said Miss Crow, “blown away by the Ice Wind.”

“No!” said Peaches. “She’d never leave us.”

“Pah! Forget her,” Miss Crow curled back cracked lips to reveal a set of sharp blue teeth. “She is not here. But I am. And you, have too much to say. Who are you?”

 

“Peaches,” said Peaches holding out a smooth hand.

Miss Crow hit it away with tufted fingers.

“Ugh, what a strange bald little hand… I don’t want to touch that!”

Peaches trembled as a rash of goose-bumps tingled up her back. Her nostrils flick, flick, flicked against the sour fog drifting around the room.

 

Miss Crow ripped at Peaches’ hood. “Get this tatty cape off, I don’t allow warmth in my school.” A rush of air flapped against her bald head as Miss Crow jeered, “Ewww, what are you?  Spin around, let me look at you. What a strange specimen.”

“Spessy-what?” asked dizzy Peaches.

“SpeciMen!” yelled Miss Crow.

“What’s a spessy-min?”

          “An odd thing. Like you - a girl with no hair,” drawled Miss Crow. “Ha, ha – you are silk skinned like a worm.  You’ve no seed of hair for prickles to sprout from. Thank goodness our candle light is dim or I would be dazzled by your shiny head.  Is your brain as empty as your skin?”

 

“I..I..I don’t think my brain is empty..” said Peaches.

“It must be. Only a Hollow Head would be stupid enough to answer me back.” Miss Crow thwacked Peaches’ tender back. “I wonder what this Peach has on the inside.” Miss Crow’s talons bit her arm. “Come along.”

 

Peaches’ feet skated in the frozen air as the room whooshed by.

“Click, Clack, Sccccrrrrraaaaaatch,” scraped the huge blue claws poking out of Miss Crow’s sandals.

 

Peaches gagged on a lump of terror.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three - The Marked One.

 

Miss Crow flung Peaches to the back wall. Shelves judder-clapped and jars rattled.

“You can sit among my specimens,” Miss Crow said her bead eyes sparkling. “You’re odd like them.”

Peaches gulped as Miss Crow towered over her. ‘She’s a woman mountain of prickles,’ thought Peaches.

 

Holding up a flickering candle, Miss Crow cooed, “See, I have a fish with a nose, the fifth leg of a six legged sheep, a cat with three eyes, a rabbit with a rat tail, a whole jar of wrong shaped tongues, assorted eyeballs and even a snake with legs.”

 

Peaches stared at the specimens in their frosty prisons. They stared back with sad iced eyes. Miss Crow shook the fish jar. His nose wobbled like a jelly elephant trunk. “Isn’t that the funniest thing? Ha, ha, he drowned.”

“Poor thing…,” said Peaches through a teary knot.

“Poor thing? Don’t be so soft. You’re lucky, you’ve seen my jars for free. At fairs and fetes people pay Fifty Muckles a peep. I have lots more jars to fill, then I’ll charge One Hundred. How tall are you?”

“I don’t..…” started Peaches as Miss Crow pulled out a tape measure and trapped her in it.

“Hmmm, interesting,” she said, her eyes measuring a large empty jar. “My prickles say you will be useless in the class.”

 

“Bbbbut I am not useless. Look, I have my back-bag full of my paintings and makings.”

“Pah-rubbish,” snapped Miss Crow. “You are a Marked One.”

“A Marked One?” asked Peaches.

“Your bald head and prickle-free back say you are a Marked One! Have you never noticed that the rest of the world are hairy faced and furry?”

 

Peaches sniffed back her tears. “I know I am different, I’m named for a Peach because I am smooth. But Grandma says I must be proud.”

“Proud?” sneered Miss Crow, “your Grandma is monkey-mad.”

 

Peaches peeped along the rows of jars. Bits of insides and bodies of outsides lined the walls from floor to roof. Tucked in the corner was a splinter chair held together with luck.

“I will hide… I mean sit here,” she whispered.

 

“Just right for you the dingy dark,” barked Miss Crow, “I don’t want to look at you all day.”

As the chair snaggled her legs, Peaches bit her lip to stop herself crying.

 

“Har-Har-Har,” cackled Miss Crow. Her stinking breath bubbled out popping the sour air. Opening a jar of dried flies on her desk, she stuffed a few in her mouth. “Mmm, delicious…”

‘Ugh,’ shuddered Peaches, then shook her head, ‘can’t be flies, must be raisins.’

 

“See class, our newest brat sits quiet as a mouse with no mouth,” said Miss Crow.

Peaches watched as the children held their breath like swimmers until Miss Crow passed by. Their nostrils twitched testing the air before breathing again.

 

Peaches tried on a watery smile. She needed a friend. But, today, the children found her furless face funny. Giggling snuffles echoed in Peaches’ ears. Hairy hands pointed. Furry grins danced above bearded chins.

 “Oooo! Yucki-smooth!” they chanted. 

Miss Crow clapped, “Well done Vermin, sing with me! Yuck, yuck, yuck, smooth little girls make us chuck.”

          Peaches melted into the dark as the song bounced around the room.

Finally, Miss Crow bellowed, “Stop! Too much excitement will warm the air. My ice sculptures must never melt.”

 

Peaches swallowed a lump of sorrow and wiped her blurry eyes.

“I must not let her break me,” she promised her heart.

She wrote in her book. “I am not a spessy-min. I am not a Marked One. I

will show you Miss Crow…”

 

 

Chapter Four – F E A R

 

Miss Crow wagged stabby fingers all day.  Peaches squinted to make out marks on the dagger digits. Her pointing finger said F. The next E, the next A and the little finger said R.

 

She wrote, ‘Miss Crow: 

F – Frightens the children.

E – Explodes with rage.

A – Attacks.

R? I don’t know what that’s for.’

Her stomach pancake flipped as Miss Crow went,

“ROAR”.

‘I see a FEAR fog spinning around the room with Miss Crow,’ Peaches wrote copying the scene. ‘The children all wear frightened faces. Except Spike Bully, Miss Crow loves him. All his answers are wrong, yet Miss Crow laughs. She squeedles him and sings, “Spike! My star – I dreamt you will be worth your weight in gold. Have another cream cake.” Now his face is coated with cream and sugar like a hairy doughnut.’

 

As she sketched him, Spike blew a giant raspberry. A shower of spit rained down on the children sticking in droplets on their hairy noses.

          “Spike, my funny bunny!” shrieked Miss Crow. “Spit again. Give them all dog-pox and barking cough.”

 

Miss Crow’s screeching burned holes inside Peaches’ head. Her back pained from ducking to avoid the books and pens Miss Crow temper-tossed. Peaches shrank closer to the mouldy wall with every Miss Crow head spin.

“Please don’t let her ask me a question,” she prayed to the ice sculptures. “Don’t let her flapping arms and fiery spit hit me.”

 

Miss Crow’s temper whipped up a wind throwing children from their seats. “Owww,” moaned Peaches’ fingertips as they grew gripping blisters from holding tight to her chair.

“Sing!” screamed Miss Crow waving wild arms. With prickles standing like giant cobras, she yowled, “Louder brats!”

 

Peaches sneaked a sketch of her twisted teacher as she spattered the class with strings of smelly spit. She wrote, ‘No air – and so cold. The children are fear-washed under their fur. Their knocking knees sing, “Tap-tap-tap.”’

“I can’t sing anymore,” croaked Miss Crow. 

“Phew,” went the children.

“But I can still shout!” She boomed so loud a shelf fell down knocking out four children. “What fun,” she sniggered.

 

Peaches’ Fear Book filled with terrible pictures of Miss Crow. Her pencil wore down sketching the children’s hairy feet waving in the air, as their owners landed head first on the floor. ‘This picture looks like a stormy ocean,’ wrote Peaches, ‘but it’s the mish-mash of torn pages Miss Crow throws.’

          “Must never let her see my book,” Peaches promised herself, “or I’d be butter on her toast.”

 

When the sun swapped places with the moon, the day was over. Yawns echoed as Miss Crow clattered open the door locks. Rattling a jar of tongues at the class, she warned, “Keep school in your heads and not spilling from your mouths brats, or I’ll have your tongues too. Now clear off!”

 

Frozen toes found life and ran the children from the school.

 

“Peaches,” called Miss Crow blocking the door, “My ears will be flapping for the clicking of your tongue. If you tell Grandma about my jars, the wind will whistle your words to me. It won’t be the Splurzle cough that’ll carry her off, I’ll bring a coffin to carry her off in. Understand?”

 

Peaches nodded as her skin iced over. Her tongue would be still as moon shadows on the frozen pond.

 

 

Chapter Five – Chocolate Web.

 

Peaches wriggled her numb bottom. Her eyes had nettle sting from squinting in her dark corner. Her stomach rumbled, “Hunger, hunger….”

 

“Brats, your kiddy stench is making me sick. I need some air,” screeched Miss Crow. “Get outside.”

“Hooray!” chorused the stiff legged children.

“Not you Peaches!” ordered Miss Crow. “The sunlight bouncing off your shiny face will dazzle my eyes, I don’t want a headache.”

“I will sit in the tree shadows Miss Crow,” promised Peaches. “I won’t be a bother.”

“No. Your smooth back and ping-pong eggy head annoy me. You’re an itch that makes my fur tingle and twirzle,” spat Miss Crow. “Stay inside. I don’t want to look at you.”

“Please,” begged Peaches, “Miss Crow, please let me feel the sun. I am so cold with no fur to warm me …”

“Girl!” bellowed Miss Crow with a huff of breath that could have melted brickwork. “You dare talk back to me?”

“At-ish-ooo,” exploded Peaches as the stench flew up her nose.

 

“I hate sneezers,” said Miss Crow. “Keep your snotty germs up your drippy nose. What have you got? Fester-flu? Wallop-cough?”

 

“Aaaa-Tisssssh …” began Peaches.

Miss Crow snapped a peg onto Peaches’ nose before the escape of the “ooooooo”.

“Ha, that’ll stop you, another sneeze will blow the top of your baldy head off!”

Big tears pooled in Peaches’ eyes. The peg bit.

 

“Tee-hee-hee, see if you were hairy, the peg wouldn’t pinch,” said Miss Crow. “You smell of chocolate cake. Give it to me!”

“But it’s my lunch Miss Crow and I’m starving.”

“Give it to me NOW!” Miss Crow growled into Peaches’ face, “I can’t have you getting fat, or you won’t fit.”

“Fit what?”

“Oh, nothing.. I mean, I don’t want you to break your chair.” Miss Crow grabbed Peaches’ back-bag. “Is it in here?”

 

“NO!” yelped Peaches terrified her Fear Book would be found. “It’s here in my pocket.” Miss Crow snatched the cake from Peaches’ outstretched hand, stuffing it whole into her mouth.

“Mmmmmm, yum, yum,” she drawled, dribbling a chocolate river down her chin. Miss Crow marched to the door, her front smeared with a chocolate map. “I must check the brats aren’t messing with my ice sculptures.”

 

Peaches saw her chance. “I’ll show you Miss Crow,” she whispered. Grabbing chocolate cake from her other pocket, she spun it in the ancient spider-webs that dangled in her corner.

“Miss Crow,” she called all sugar and sunshine, “I have another piece of cake - I think you deserve it.” Her little hand shook as it held out the sparkling slice.

 

‘Slurp’ went Miss Crow’s tongue as it sloshed around her lips. “What’s this shimmer and shine?” she demanded, prodding the cake with a buckled finger.

“Sparkle dust, Grandma’s secret recipe for a beautiful face,” Peaches fibbed, fingers crossed behind her back. “I can eat it if you don’t fancy to.”

 

Miss Crow’s suspicious eyes swished over her and Peaches’ cheeks grew hot. Ping-Ping-Ping, sweat beads popped on her brow.

“No!” Miss Crow growled, her face hair crunching up jungle thick, “It’s mine.”

With greedy snorts Miss Crow gobble chomped. In her hurry she missed the dusty stickiness of the cobwebs. But they didn’t miss her. The webs glued to her throat in a thick blanket.

 

Miss Crow splutter-coughed all afternoon until her voice washed clean away. ‘Don’t smile lips,’ Peaches thought, ‘or she will know that it was me.’

 

 

Chapter Six. – Rusty Glasses.

 

Days added to days and soon cooked a stew of weeks. Peaches’ grew used to the twists of fear in her stomach. Sometimes they tickled so she almost giggled.

 

“Peaches! Hide your ugly-buggliness from me,” yelled Miss Crow.

“How?” asked Peaches, “I stay in the corner, what more can I do?”

“I’ll tell you, what would really impress,” Miss Crow snortled. “Grow some hair and prickles!”

     “I can’t,” Peaches cried. Her heart beat against a slosh of tears. “I’ve tried lotions and potions, creams and steams, ointments and linaments, rubs and scrubs. Nothing works. Grandma says I am special, that the stars wrote I should be hair free.”

 

“Special? Ha!” said Miss Crow walking her claws across Peaches’ head until it tingled with electric disgust. “You are Spineless in looks and Spineless in ways!” Miss Crow watched Peaches. “Are you feeling teary, deary?” she drawled.

Peaches’ knees wobbled. “Not at all,” she lied.

 

“Hmmm, I have a wonderful idea. I shall have a bonfire,” Miss Crow danced on the spot, “your bag sat on the top. I’ll take the ashes to Grandma and tell her they are you!”

“No! No! Please Miss Crow. Grandma’s 101, too old for upset. I’ll do whatever you want….”

 

She winced as she saw Miss Crow beam with victory. “And… I don’t like your eyes,” said Miss Crow in a voice of lumpy lemons. “You never look as afraid as you should. You need glasses – really, really strong ones.”

“My eyes are okay,” said Peaches.  “I scrunch them up if they get blurry but, I see just fine.”

“Liar! I have seen your nose so close to the paper it draws snot trails on the page!”

 

Rummaging in her desk she plucked out a pair of ancient glasses. The rusty wires were sharp twists holding lenses made from old bottles, one green and one red. “I order you to wear these, you silly specimen.”

 

Peaches slid the heavy frames onto her nose. Blinking hard, she told her eyes, ‘Don’t allow a tear waterfall, or she will win.’

 

Spike stood on his chair, pointing and owl hooting. Peaches swallowed a sob as Miss Crow held fingers shaped as “0”s in front of her own beady eyes.

 

          “Blinky Peaches Blurry Eyes,” she sang. “You are a Peach - all velvet soft on the outside and squishy flesh on the in. I bet you have a Peach stone for a heart. Ha, if you don’t get some hair I shall have your heart bouncing in a jar.”

 

Peaches slunk back into the shadows.

“You have two days to get prickled or….,” said Miss Crow. ‘I will have you pickled,’ she mouthed silently.

 

That night a dream visited Peaches. Miss Crow swirled above her bed singing,

“You’ll be sad, and you’ll be sorry,

if you don’t find hair in a hurry.

Missing prickles are not funny,

you’re like Easter without the bunny.

I’ll have your peach heart in a jar,

a smooth girl pickle, you’ll be my star…”

 

“Never,” yelped Peaches kicking Miss Crow under her eye. The pain in her toes woke her as Miss Crow melted away.

 

The dream woke more than just Peaches. Deep down in her soft insides, a nugget of grit awoke and throbbed. “I must get some prickle hairs,” Peaches whispered to the night. “Or I shall be pickled. Worse still, Grandma will die of shock if Miss Crow visits with a packet of ash and says it is all me. I can never grow prickles, so I will grow a plan….”

 

 

Chapter Seven - Armour Coat.

 

 “What are you doing Peaches?” asked Grandma. “Watching you scuttling and scurrying is wearing me out.”

“Art project,” she fibbed. “Can I borrow the fur rugs?”

“Yes, but wash them in the tub first. They are so full of dust and soot, they could stand up like doormen.”

“No, Grandma, I need the dirt for gripping my stickings.”

“Funny child, you make me laugh,” yawned Grandma. “You make me happy as my wedding day when I tied beards with your Grandpa.”

 

The velvet moonlight watched Peaches stitch the rugs together. Grandma’s snores sang to keep her company.  Peaches puffed as she dragged Grandma’s old scissors out from under the bed. Careful of the giant blades, she cut out arm holes. “Now I’m ready to sew in stockings for arm and leg sets,” she mused. “Then a wig of moss and twigs to finish.” 

 

With fingers wearing blisters badges, she glued in rose thorns and conker shells, thistles and straw.

“A glory of prickles,” she said to the new sun as it watched her slip into the hairy prickled armour coat. Her neck moaned as it scrubbed rough kisses. “Being prickly is not comfy, the heaviness bends me,” she told the mirror.  “But, Miss Crow can’t pickle-jar me now I am hairy prickled, the same everyone else.”

 

Grandma opened one dreamy eye to see the flash of a little person dashing out. “How very odd,” she mumbled, “a furry Peaches dream.”

 

The armour coat hurried Peaches along as she tried to escape its nibbling. As it pushed her into school, a GASP rocked the room. Then a giant SILENCE landed with a thud. Everyone’s eyes were eggs on sticks.

 

“A new girl?” asked Miss Crow in a candy floss gasp. “No, Peaches is that you? You have prickled up!”

 

Warm pride glowed inside as Peaches’ brain yelled, “My prickle plan worked. She thinks I am hairy! I am not a Marked One anymore. She won’t want me for her speccy-mins.”

 

“No!” yowled Spike, jumping up and down. “She’s still smooth but wearing a stupid coat!”

“Spike, your cleverness is big as your roundy stomach. She tried to trick us,” sneered Miss Crow, “with a smelly rug with stuck in prickles – ridiflicous.” A hideous grin split Miss Crow’s face as she ordered, “Off with it!”

 

Spike tugged at Peaches’ wig. Snap, snap, snap, the twigs powdered away. “Nearly done,” Spike shouted slapping Peaches’ hands away, “one more PULL.”

 

Split! Crrrrrunch - moss scattered to the floor.

 

“Trample the wig!” encouraged Miss Crow clapping her hands. “Now rip the coat!”

The class thundered, “Off, off, off, off…..”

Peaches shuddered as terror burnt her veins. The armour coat stitches screamed.

“Yipee!” squealed Spike.

 

As Peaches saw Spike’s face light with pure pleasure, the lump of grit sparked deep inside her. It lit a firework which exploded in her brain.

“Grrrrrr-off,” she roared.

 

The noise shocked her. But it shocked Spike more. He stumbled backwards landing on his bottom was a powerful crack. The class rippled, “OOOOoooo- Wowwwweeeee-eeeee!”

 

Peaches flashed out the door.

 

Miss Crow stood statue still as the wind whistled in where Peaches whistled out.

 

Chapter  Eight – River Girl.

 

Peaches ran blind in a teary fog. When her chest burnt with puff that was quite puffed out, she stopped.

 

“Look at my coat all tattered and battered,” she cried, “my stitches all frayed and ragged.” Her fingers wobbled the prickles that dangled dangerously. “Even the hem is looped and drooped.”

 

A train filled with laughing hairy faced people chugged over the river bridge. “No-one must see me, they’ll just laugh more,” she yelped diving for cover.

 

The river lilies opened a crying nest in their leaves. The rattle and clatter of the train threw a silence blanket over her noisy sobs. An ocean of Peaches’ tears exploded, chasing in a waterfall down her nose - tap, tap, tap, tap to splish into the river.

 

Peaches stared as her tears awoke a smooth faced River Girl who watched Peaches from her watery bed.

 

“You–You-You,” sang the River Girl. “Look-look-look-deep-deep-deep.”  Weeds danced a swirling wig of green curls across the girl’s head. Tiny fishes lined up across the girl’s nose until her face looked hairy.

 

“You are me, how I should be,” whispered Peaches.

“No,” burbled the River Girl. “You are you and me is me. You missed the point in all those prickles.”

“I’m spineless,” said Peaches.

“No! Wrong as a fish in a tree,” sang the River Girl. “No good running away. You take yourself with you. Your smooth back will follow you everywhere. No escaping it, best learn to love it.”

 

River Girl and Peaches locked eyes, willing each other to understand.

“I want,” said Peaches, “my before-life back, with kind Mrs Wisp and children who liked me in my silky skin.”

“Life goes forwards not backwards,” River Girl told her. “Show Miss Crow – she can’t break you.” She swished her emerald mane and frogs leapt for cover.

 

The lilies heard uncertainty creaking around Peaches’ bones and chorused, “even we are not all the same.”

“She’s going to pickle me in a Spessy-min jar,” cried Peaches.

A cloud opened and sploshed away the River Girl but Peaches heard her echo, “No, warm her heart then wash her away.”

 

The lilies waved to kiss dry Peaches’ tear stains. Gathering herself a cloak of courage, she headed back to school.

 

 

 Chapter Nine – Shadow Man.

 

 “Welcome back, Peaches,” oozed Miss Crow in a dripping with honey voice. “Lovely to see you, um… dear.”

 

Scurrying to her seat, Peaches gulped - Miss Crow, being nice? 

Miss Crow’s beaky lips squelched with scarlet lipstick.

‘Don’t let her kiss us,’ the boys’ eyes begged, ‘she’ll drown us.’

 

Miss Crow’s face dripped with make-up. “How curious,” whispered Peaches, “she should look better covered in colour but somehow she looks worse.” Her fingers itched to draw a portrait of the thick false eyelashes swishing up and down like window blinds, but there was no time.

 

Miss Crow waved a lace gloved hand, “Sit down Peaches, um,  sweetie.”

‘She’s hidden the FEAR letters,’ thought Peaches. ‘She’s lost her squawk and stolen a soft voice. I don’t understand.’

 

Before she could think, a strange man stepped out from the shadows.

“Children, I’ve been sent ahead of the Thaw Winds,” explained Shadow Man. “I’m a Talent Inspector searching for a Pure Talent, who’ll win a place at my art school, plus Ten Thousand Muckles to spend.”

 

“What about the teacher of such a child?” demanded Miss Crow.

“Ah, they will win the weight of the child in gold.”

Miss Crow’s eyes shone coin bright. “I will have your winner,” she promised winking at Spike.

“Madam, your class has one hour until I judge.” The man bowed before leaving, “Good Luck.”

 

Excitement crackled the air and tension gripped the room.

“Set to work!” screamed Miss Crow. “I must win.”

 

“With Ten Thousand Muckles I could buy Grandma a set of golden teeth,” said Peaches, “I’ve got to win for her.”

The room washed with colour. The smell of oily paints twanged Peaches’ nostrils. Soon, every child was spitter, spattered with flying rainbow droplets. 

 

Peaches dashed a look at the other children. All were silent. Each fuzzy face wore a mask of furry concentration.  Tongues dangled, eyes stared and fingers blistered. Peaches listened to their thumping hearts and ticking brains. “They all want to win to escape Miss Crow,” she told her brush.

 

          Miss Crow danced around the room singing,

“I hate these smelly brats,

but from their doodles,

I’m going to win,

Troodles and Oodles

of gold coins to snoodle.”

 

A picture of Grandma bloomed under Peaches’ brush.

“New teeth,” she hummed as paint danced across the page and the world melted.

 

Suddenly, Miss Crow spotted Peaches’ picture. She breathed hard – IN – OUT – IN – OUT and yelled, “Peaches! This is far too good! You cannot win! I don’t want your skinny weight in gold. Give it to Spike, he’s much fatter than you, I’ll get more for him.” 

“No!” squealed Peaches as Miss Crow snatched her picture.

Spike rushed forward grabbing a corner, “I’ve got it Miss Crow.”

 

“Pull!” screamed Miss Crow.

“I’m pulling!” yelped Spike.

 

Two sets of hairy hands pulled against one set of smooth. The picture stretched until it could take no more.

 

Rrrrrrr-iiiiii-pppppp

 

A rain storm of coloured confetti fluttered down, patterning the floor with sadness. One square stuck to Miss Crow’s lipstick. It huffed in and out on her puff breath.

 

“My picture is a hundred pieces,” Peaches sobbed.

 

 

 

Chapter Ten – Blobs and Dobs

 

“Miss Crow, my picture of you is better anyway,” soothed Spike. “I will win. Peaches can’t see properly. How could she paint?”

 

“Of course!” screamed Miss Crow grabbing the green and red glasses. She dug them onto Peaches’ nose scratching a line from tip to top. “Wear these! I saw you leaning too close to your picture. Your nose almost rubbed in it. Your eyes are like you – USELESS!”  Miss Crow smeared orange paint over Peaches’ sore nose. “See! You have paint all over your face. Arghhh, you dirtied my lace gloves. I’ll have to clean them before the Inspector comes back.”

 

Peaches wanted to sob but deep inside the lump of grit throbbed. The River Girl burned in her heart, singing, “Paint me!” 

 

Behind blurry glasses, Peaches worked.  “I better be quick, while Miss Crow is out of the way.” The grit glowed and settled her racing heart.

Peaches swirled.

She dabbed.

She dobbed.

She smoothed.

She stippled.

Colour spread and colour weaved.

 

“Time’s up!” announced the Inspector blowing in as the paint ran out.

Miss Crow tugged his sleeve. “Look at Spike’s picture,” she begged. “I taught him everything.”

The Inspector ignored her. He marched around the room. Peaches sucked in her breath. “His spines have peacock feathers,” she whispered in wonder, “hiding under his coat tails. How beautiful, and how useful for looking at the pictures behind him.”

 

He studied at every picture and shook his head. Until, he found Peaches.

“Don’t bother with this odd specimen,” shrieked Miss Crow. “She’s useless. I only keep her out of kindness.”

The Inspector growled. Miss Crow stepped back.

 

He leaned forward. And back. And forward again.

His feathers swished open so all the eyes could see. The waft of their fan cooled Peaches’ hot cheeks.

“Hmmm,” he said, “very curious.” He squeezed his eyes shut.  He popped them open wide again.

Miss Crow moaned, “See the paint down her nose? She is so stupid she can’t keep it on the paper!  Such a mess - just a lot of blobs and dobs, dribbles and dibbles.  No talent at all.”

 

The Inspector frowned as he stroked his beardy thinking face.

“Look at Spike’s picture,” yelped Miss Crow. “His is much better than her swirly mess.”

“Silence!” ordered the Inspector. “I can’t hear myself think above your crowing!”

The children’s giggles turned to gasps as Miss Crow’s eyes iced over.

 

 

Chapter Eleven – The Winner.

 

Peaches gulped as the Inspector stared at her.

“Odd….” he said.

“I know I am odd, I am not hairy or prickly….” she began.

“Not you child,” the Inspector said, “your picture! I like it. It’s magical, but I can’t quite see it clearly.”

          “Try my glasses,” offered Peaches holding them up in painty fingers.

          “That’s it!” gasped the Inspector. “It’s a miracle! It’s incredible. You are amazing!”

“Amazing?” asked Peaches. “Am I?”

“No!” screamed Miss Crow.

“Through these glasses the painting is in 3D!” chuckled the Inspector. “Everyone, line up and take a turn with the glasses. You must see

this marvellous picture.”

 

A scuffle of hairy feet pushed children forward. “Ooooo-Wow-eeee,” they gasped, waving furry fingers trying to grasp within the picture. “It’s alive.”

“This is the best picture I have ever seen,” said the Inspector. “Peaches you are a wonderful artist, with your glasses and without.”

He bowed, “Peaches – you are the winner!”

Miss Crow screamed, “No! I gave her the glasses! I am the winner.”

“Yoww-eeee,” yelped Spike as Miss Crow pushed him aside. He tumbled to sit on his portrait. When he jumped up her evil face was printed over his rounded bottom cheeks.

 

“I want my gold!” boomed Miss Crow. Spinning herself into a fury she kicked Peaches’ back-bag up into the air. Peaches’ notes and drawings of Miss Crow’s evil fluttered around the Inspector’s ankles.

 

The Inspector huffed.

And he puffed.

Then he, tut-tut-tutted.

“Take off your gloves Miss Crow,” he spat like boiling gravel. “Show me your hands.”

F  E  A  R – said the fingers.

“Miss Crow,” he thundered, “Peaches’ pictures tell the story of your cruelty. I will have you locked up until your prickles are white as water lilies.”

“Idiot! No-one can lock me up,” shouted Miss Crow grabbing Peaches and holding her tight. “Peaches is mine - my prize specimen. You can’t take her.”

 

Up close, Peaches saw a line of black bruises under Miss Crow’s eye. “It wasn’t a dream,” she gulped. “My toes made those marks.” With her face squished into the skin folds of Miss Crow’s neck, her eyes found a hidden necklace. “These beads are teeth, children’s teeth,” she yelped.

“I got them long ago from under a silly girl’s pillow,” giggled Miss Crow.

“My Grandma’s pillow, my Grandma’s teeth,” gasped Peaches.

 

Peaches pushed her palm against Miss Crow’s chest and felt for a heartbeat.

Silence.

Her fingers numbed as a chill seeped out. “You’re an ice hearted Crackle Hag.”

“Yes,” sang Miss Crow, “and nothing can defeat me!”

“Inspector, light the fires,” shouted Peaches recalling the River Girl’s advice, “warm her heart, heat the room.”

“No,” growled Miss Crow shaking Peaches until her legs flapped.

 

Peaches’ foot caught the jars and they began to topple. Domino shelves fell, clatter-clatter. The crashes and smashes opened the jars releasing their sleeping prisoners.

“My collection,” wailed Miss Crow dropping Peaches. With scrabbling hands she tried to gather up her treasures. “Ouch,” she yelped as the warm air revived them and they nipped her fingers.

 

Peaches began to giggle. All the children laughed as the freed animals bit Miss Crow’s huge bottom. Their laughter warmed the air and Miss Crow began to shrink.

 

          “Inspector, help me trap her in the big jar!” yelled Peaches.     

“No!” screamed Miss Crow her eyes filling with furious tears.

“Are you sorry?” asked Peaches.

“Never, never, never,” sobbed Miss Crow through melting eye balls.

 

As the ice sculptures drizzled, a giant CRACK split the room.

“Her ice heart is splitting,” said Peaches, “her salt tears are melting her from the inside out. Grandma said there was only one way to kill a Crackle Hag…...”

 

“Salt,” said the Inspector as Miss Crow melted into a puddle with a necklace floating on top.

“Grandma will be so pleased to get her teeth back,” said Peaches scooping it out.

“Hooray for Peaches,” chanted the children. “When we are grown we will tell our hairy children the story of the smooth soft girl who saved us.”

 

Peaches’ life became colour filled. Every day she made dobby pictures. People queued for hours to look through the strange glasses and watch them come alive in 3D.

 

Peaches glowed from her shiny nose to the ends of her hairless toes.

“I am different. I am proud. I am a prickle free smooth one with blurry eyes. This is me,” she told her paintbrush.

“I am Spineless Peach.”