This is a story I started to work on when I wasn't so well recently when my kidneys were playing up and I was having to spend a lot of time in bed. I have some other chapters more less how I want them and surprisingly for me most of the storyline sketched out already.
Let me know what you think, - all criticism welcome.
'Pooka' © Anne Welborn 2015
1st Draft.
(Author's note: Source Wikipedia.
The puca (Irish for spirit/ghost), pooka, phouka, phooka, phooca, or puca , is primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be bringers both of good and bad fortune, they could either help or hinder rural and marine communities. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses, goats and rabbits. They may also take a human form, which includes various animal features, such as ears or a tail.}
Chapter One: Death in the Family.
They'd left him kneeling in the Autumn leaves beside the open grave, that was something that didn't surprise Pokk in the slightest. Why not? - the show was over, - or at least this bit was. On on to the next exciting installment. Run run to the shiny motorcars and drive away. Pokk scowled, crouching behind an old Oak tree that was the only refuge in this nasty sterile modern cemetery with only flat bronze plaques with words on to mark each burying place was not what she would wish for on such a day.
For Her there should've been a funeral pyre on the shore the air full of the sound of the sea. Folk weeping, and laughing and dancing for the joy of the memory of Her. And the drinking too and the storytelling. If She was here now She would be saying, 'No scowling or ill temper now Pokk,' but She wasn't, She was in that box in that hole awaiting somebody to shovel earth on top of her. The only ones around the graveside who'd meant anything they'd said, - excepting him of course, - had been the priest, Rare enough in these unholy times, but there you go there's still a surprise or two to be had. At least now the priest was gone which was a relief because such as herself and the church had not been ones to see eye to eye too often.
Only now there was a decision to make and this great old Oak tree she was resting the palms of her hands on was no help to her either. Put here in this melancholy patch of dirt no wonder the poor thing had nothing to say to her. The way of it was that the debt they had between them should have been paid well and truly on Her death, only she'd gone and made her promise to stick by him and see that he'd be alright. It shouldn't've been the way of it at all, but She'd been persuasive and like a fool she'd gone and agreed to it. Nothing for it then, loosing a sigh so deep it nearly came from the soles of her feet Pokk let go of the Oak tree's trunk and walked out from under its leafy shade. On the way across Pokk thought it might be a good idea to make herself human sized so it was just as well he was kneeling with his back to her. And then she remembered about her tail so had to quickly wind it around her waist under her tartan miniskirt and poke the end into her fundament to make sure it didn't go dropping down and scaring anybody. Wearing a smiley face tee shirt wasn't so appropriate either so she made it black all over so it would look decently funeral like. The clothes she had on were a gift from Her bought from Woolworths all that time ago. A time back when things had been simple and the future filled with innocent hope.
He was weeping, no big snotty sobs or anything, just tears running down his face. To be left like this on his own was a ->-bleeped-<-ty thing for anybody to do to him and for all that lot who'd been standing round the grave to go off and leave him said plenty for the depth of what they thought of him. Reaching out Pokk put her hands lightly on his shoulders working the touch so she wouldn't scare the life out of him.
'Oh,' he said looking up at her his face all pale and streaky, 'It's you.' Getting a better grip on his arm she helped him to his feet. Mud had stuck crumbly brown Autumn leaves onto the knees of his trousers, only with him being so wobbly on his feet Pokk thought they'd keep for later. No sense in trying to tidy him up only to have him pitch over into the grave.
'You're Maeve's friend,' he said to her in a tired and vacant sounding tone of voice while leaning on her. He waved a hand vaguely at the velvet collar she always wore around her neck. 'The Irish girl, - you had an accident.... you can't speak.......' Taking a better hold of him she eased him around to face the direction of the roadway running through the cemetery. He wasn't so heavy to hold up, but Pokk hoped that it might come to mind before not too long for him to start leaving off being so limp and useless. 'Yes I remember now, - your name's Pokk.....'
Well that'd gone and done it, he'd said her name while she was under the hold of a deathbed promise so there was nothing for it but to put up with it. 'Didn't see you at the funeral,' he said as she got him moving towards the place where his car was parked. 'Don't blame you, - pack of bastards.......' At least he wasn't labouring under any illusions that was one good thing to say about it. 'I loved her you know......,' that was all he got out before he broke down and started sobbing again. And there it was, the reason why the promise had been wrung out of her. After a moment or two she got him moving again. Truth be told she had no desire to linger any longer amongst these rows of forgotten dead so her reasons for keeping him walking were not entirely honest.
Finally she got him to where his car was parked, a great huge thing all gleaming black and shiny plated metal. Seeing how he was now sagged against the bodywork told Pokk that he was going to be incapable of driving. As much as she didn't like motorcars because of their mass of iron all bound up together in one place Pokk put out her hand towards him. He frowned back at her for a moment or so then said, 'Keys,' before fumbling at his trouser pockets. Pokk supposed he wasn't too much of an ugly sight for a human and she could see how it was that her former mistress had fallen for him with his dark hair and chiseled features. Not that he was at his best at the moment, but then if he'd been any less than the pitiful sight he was now she never would have left the shelter of the Oak tree to honor her promise.
'Keys,' he said holding them out towards her. The urge to sniff the keys before taking them from his hand was almost overpowering. Delicately she lifted them from his hand her grip careful and sure on the one key in the bunch that showed the safe colour of brass. The ring they hung upon was steel and the fob was leather with some showy badge on it made from plated base metal. To her relief Pokk discovered that the rest of the keys were also brass, but plated so it wasn't easy to tell if they were steel or not until she had them close. In the old days iron forged from ore taken from Mother Earth by dint of human sweat and muscle in the heat of a charcoal fire was sorely dangerous to her kind, but this modern stuff full of recycled scrap metal and made by machines was a lesser thing. It could still bite, but not so deep.
'That one opens the door.' He poked his finger at one of the keys. 'Sure you can drive this?' He was looking at her now assessing whether or not she could be trusted with his expensive motorcar. Then he laughed, 'Doesn't matter if you dent it anyway, the bastards will be coming for it soon.' Using the key he'd pointed out to her Pokk opened the front passenger door and stood back. 'Nicely done,' he told her, 'We'll make a good chauffeur out of you yet.' Climbing into the passenger seat he sat back and sighed. Closing the door Pokk walked around the great gleaming black monster to the driver's door. How difficult could this be? afterall she'd watched her former mistress driving her own car often enough.
Once seated on the fine leather upholstery and with the driver's door closed Pokk drew in a steadying breath. It was hard not to think of herself as sitting in the belly of the beast. 'You should be driving with bare feet you know.' He was looking at her slumped back in his seat, 'But I won't tell anybody if you won't.' Sighing he rubbed at his eyes, 'Haven't slept properly for days, - glad you came along. Don't even know how I managed to get here in the first place. Reaching into his suit jacket he drew out a flat silver flask and took a drink. 'Promised myself I wouldn't touch a drop until it was over.' Offering the flask he asked, 'Don't blame me do you?'
Pokk shook her head 'No' before accepting the flask. It contained whisky and a fine one at that. Silently she said, 'Rest thee well Maeve O'Brien,' and took a good swallow before handing the flask back. One more drink and her new master's head started to nod. Not having an audience at her first attempt at driving suited Pokk just fine so she reached across and with a light touch on his forehead sent him deep into sleep's country. Just to be sure she also put his seatbelt on. She wasn't planning on crashing, but having her new master flopping about the car didn't seem like a way to make a good beginning either.
Working her way through the keys she found the one that fitted the ignition. So far so good. Because she'd seen her former mistress do it so often Pokk reached up to the rear view mirror and had a fiddle about with it catching flashing glimpses of her untidy thatch of red hair and her wide eyed expression before she supposed it must be set in the proper place. Turning the ignition key yielded a soft rumble from the engine which shortly afterwards settled into a contented purr. Pushing the foot pedal on the right hand side made the engine rumble more, but apart from that nothing else happened. Then Pokk remembered about the thing in the middle that made the gears work and after a short struggle was able to pull it back.......And the car immediately bounded forward to the accompaniment of a sharp squealing sound from the rear tyres. She knew the big wide pedal in the middle made cars stop so Pokk jumped on it with both feet and very uncomfortably and suddenly kissed the windscreen as the car lurched to a halt with more sounds of protest from its tyres. After a long moment for reflection and another sip or two of whisky Pokk decided that because she was still on the road and hadn't hit anything her efforts with driving must be counted a success.
An hour later and parked in the driveway of her new master's mansion house Pokk finished off the rest of the whiskey and reached the conclusion that she might let some time go past before she tried out this driving thing again. On the plus side of things she hadn't dented the car even though a lot of other drivers on the road had seemed to be very set on denting theirs.
Waking her new master up and getting him out of the car occupied a good few minutes of her time, but when Pokk was finally able to get him into the house she discovered the house seemed to be full of people who were having a party, all of them busy with eating and drinking and having themselves a good time. Though she did make them stop and stare for a while when she blundered through the double doors leading to the biggest room in the house awkwardly half dragging her new master along with her. Nobody shifted themselves to help her while she struggled to sit him down on the sizeable leather couch by the fireplace, the thing so big it must've cost three cows their hides. It was only after Pokk straightened up from her labours and was able to look about herself that she realised that she'd last seen all these people in the room at her former mistress's funeral. Then somebody spitefully commented to their neighbour, 'Out drinking with some slip of a girl and his wife not yet cold in the ground.'
With her hands safe inside the pair of fancy gloves she'd picked up from the floor Pokk gleefully slammed the huge front door of the house and shot the bolts across before leaning back against its solid woodiness grinning from ear to ear. Now that had been fun, much more like an Irish wake should be even though she'd been the one delivering the largest part of the fisticuffs. It was a crying shame her new master had fallen asleep again and missed it. With a sigh she pushed herself away from the door and walked down the wide hallway back towards the big room. She was nursing a small hope in her heart that she might find a bottle of whiskey all on its lonesome amongst the mess when somebody started pounding on the front door and violently ringing the bell. For a moment or two she weighed up whether or not to answer the door then decided she wouldn't. Being without a voice meant their demands would remain unanswered which would only lead to her hitting them when they became uncooth over her silence so it was better for all if the door remained closed.
Chapter One ends. 06/02/2015
I'm not entirely sure how this story came about. Like so much of my writing it grew from a small seed of an idea in my head, though this one seems to be vigorously sprouting which some of my stories don't do and simply wither away after a few pages.
Why I would want to write about an Irish fairy who was tortured and abused by humans and as a result can't speak I don't really know. Then on the other hand Pokk spends a lot of her time doing her best to pass for being human so perhaps I'm coming at the issues of someone different and not accepted by society doing her best to fit in from a really different direction than your average transition story.
(Pooka illustration by Sam Weber because I can't draw for toffee)
(https://www.susans.org/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi783.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fyy111%2FWilda_Greenbough%2FMy%2520photos%2FSam%2520Weber%252077_zpsrwpggtsh.jpg&hash=86bbc22a264b4e1bd433b6cbd1753c34e23b9992) (http://s783.photobucket.com/user/Wilda_Greenbough/media/My%20photos/Sam%20Weber%2077_zpsrwpggtsh.jpg.html)
And here's Chapter two. As always criticism is appreciated.
'Pooka' © Anne Welborn 2015
1st Draft.
Chapter Two: The Morning After.
Somebody was shaking her fit to drive the sleep out of her which was just as well since she'd been having this awful dream where her name was being yelled at her. Opening an eye made the shaking less than it was and when she tried for two it stopped altogether. 'For feck's sake Pokk what does it take wake you up!' Raising a hand to ward off the yelling Pokk wriggled around until she found the bones and muscles she needed to make herself sit up. By all the Fates a hundred imps were playing a rowdy game of nine pins in her head.
'You'll get no sympathy from me, - lying asleep in a pile of dirty tablecloths cuddling an empty whisky bottle, - what you're suffering from is no more than you deserve.' Blinking her eyes she finally succeeded in focusing on her new master's face crouched down as he was beside her. If she was looking worse than he was himself in his yesterday's shirt and all unshaven then she must be in a poor state of condition herself. He was scowling at her with eyebrows bordering on the dangerous and his eyes were like blue flints so it was a fair guess that he was upset over something. 'What did you do yesterday?' he demanded without giving her a moment's respite. 'The Police were here this morning looking for you, - numerous complaints of assault they said.' He thrust a piece of paper at her with a photocopied sketch of something that mostly looked like her own face on it. Pokk could recognise her own wide mouth and cheekbones right enough, but she didn't think she could ever look so fierce as what was drawn on this sheet of paper. 'And to top it off they wanted to know if I was driving my car yesterday afternoon, so what was that all about?.' Leaving off crouching beside her he started pacing the room which wasn't such an easy thing for him to do because somebody must've charged a bull through the place judging by the wreckage.
After checking to make sure the whisky bottle was truly empty Pokk experimented with standing upright. Having some success with that she went over to where he was pacing up and down and held up the sketch while pointing a finger at herself. That earned her another glare, but at least he told her what she wanted to know. 'I said you were an Irish friend of Maeve's, I didn't know your name beyond a nickname and I didn't know where you lived.' Turning his back on her he stood arms folded across his chest staring out of one of the tall windows that were such a fine feature of this room.
Well that was good then, being dragged away by the Garda was not a fine way to start the day. Which had to mean her new master had a touch of honour in him. Her former mistress had often said her husband was a difficult man, but with a fair mind in his head to temper the set of his personality. Going over to where he was standing at the window earned her the third glare of the morning, only this one went soft around the edges after a second or two. Running his hand through his hair and thereby making himself look dashingly tousled whether he meant to or not he turned to face her and sighed, 'Look you were the only one who stuck by me yesterday so I wasn't going to rat you out.' By way of a reply she gave a wee nod of her head and smiled. Standing in the spill of sunlight from the window was making her feel better so she let the moment drift. This was a good house and it was a fine thing that she didn't have to leave it even if she still found herself expecting her former mistress to be about the place.
'Maeve always spoke well of you you know,' he told her after a couple of minutes had passed them by and gone. 'She told me once that you could be a walking disaster more often than not, but that you were completely loyal and she could always count on you.' Pokk thought her new master was being very English now that the mood had left him, but she could forgive him that because he could say 'feck' like a true born Irishman. As for being a disaster it was no use or purpose to argue with the truth.
'On those nights when I couldn't be with Maeve, the nursing staff told me how you would always be there at her bedside.' He chuckled, 'They would complain to me that they never could find out how you got onto the ward after visiting hours.' After that he went silent and Pokk could see that the sadness was starting to drop over him again like a soft grey cloak. Taking her new master by the hand she led him like a small child out of the big room and towards the kitchen where she planned on cooking him a good stomach buster of a breakfast. Most problems looked the better after a good feeding, that was what her old granny had always told her.
Of course if you're cooking breakfast for one you might as well do it for two so after a whirlwind fifteen minutes spent at the stove while her new master sat dejectedly staring into a cup of tea at the kitchen table she put together a fair sort of feast for the both of them. Plonking down a plate loaded with sausage, bacon and tomatoes with a pile of crispy fried potatoes in front of him Pokk pointed a meaningful finger at him and then at the plate in front of himself.
'Look thanks for all the trouble you've gone to, but I'm not hungry.....' Not in the mood for hearing weak sounding protests over her cooking Pokk pointed at the food and then at him for a second time making her gestures a bit more sharp to let him know he had no say in the matter. Serving herself up a good heaped plateful she sat herself down opposite at the table. Holding his eye with a good firm stare Pokk picked up her knife and fork in a business like grip and nodded at him to do the same. It took about a minute, but in the end he sighed and picked up his own knife and fork.
Watching him closely Pokk speared a sausage with her fork and holding it aloft like a prize put the whole thing width-wise into her mouth. She'd been meaning to encourage him to eat, but instead he was now gaping at her like he'd never seen a girl eat a sausage in his life before. Suddenly he burst out laughing which Pokk wasn't so sure if it was him taking the piss or not.
'Oh Pokk,' he said once he'd caught his breath, 'Thank you, - just thank you.' Wiping his eyes on the cuff of his shirt he continued, 'I don't know a blind thing about you, but I'm very glad you were there at the cemetery yesterday to pick me up and bring me home.
With breakfast eaten and inside them both Pokk let her new master know that he needed to tidy himself up by sniffing pointedly at his shirt and taking off one of her gloves and rubbing a thumb over the bristles on his chin. Oh to be sure it was the pot calling the kettle black, but he took the point she was making and let her push him out the kitchen door. 'Alright, alright, - I can find the way myself now thank you,' he told her before he disappeared along the passage and up the stairs. Left to her own devices Pokk took care of the dirty pots and dishes by rolling them up into tiny balls between the palms of her hands and tossing them in the bin. Satisfied with the kitchen's now tidy state she ventured down the passage in the other direction heading towards the big room. That sort of mess would be needing more than a bit of hedge magic so she was hoping she could find herself another lonely bottle of whiskey to help along her thinking.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror Alan Richmond admitted to himself that he was feeling better now that he'd showered and shaved and changed into fresh clothing. Having eaten properly for the first time in god knows how long had made a difference too which showed how far he'd let himself go in the days following Maeve's death. With bankruptcy in the wind following the collapse of his business dealings he'd had to let the house staff go and it would only be a matter of time before the vultures came calling to fight over what was left. The funeral yesterday had been a farce he could see that clearly now. Spending money he didn't have to put on a good show to ease his conscience and lessen the weight of guilt pressing in on his heart. Not one of those who'd been standing at the graveside with him could be counted a friend so why had he subscribed to the lie and let them laugh at him behind his back while they stuffed their faces and drank expensive booze toasting nobody's health but their own.
The sound of the front door bell broke in on his thoughts which was just as well because he didn't like the direction in which they'd been going. Quitting his private dressing room Alan made his way towards the house's main staircase. There didn't seem to be a sign of that peculiar girl Pokk about anywhere which might be a good thing given her ability to cause disasters at a moment's notice. Alan had to chuckle though, he wouldn't have minded being awake to see her drive that pack of hyenas out of the house yesterday afternoon like she was some mad red headed christ driving the moneychangers out of the Temple.
Opening the front door revealed two men wearing white jackets with 'Deluxe Caterers' embroidered in blue over the breast pocket. One of the pair had an impressive shiner of a black eye and the other one's nose was splinted with strips of white medical tape. 'Caterers Mr Richmond,' said the one with the shiner, 'We've come to collect our gear, - or what might be left of it.' The man's voice held a bitter note which was understandable since the catering staff had in truth been the innocent victims of Pokk's wrath. The man with the injured nose was holding a folded newspaper which he shoved into Alan's hands as they walked past him on their way to the ballroom and the wreckage which that room contained. As Alan followed along behind them he unfolded the newspaper and the headline leapt out at him immediately, 'Riot at Richmond Funeral'. Pausing at the ballroom's double doors Black Eye informed him, 'We're taking legal advice Mr Richmond, you may depend you will be hearing from our lawyers shortly.' Taking hold of both the door handles he then opened the double doors wide.
The three of them could only stand and stare. The ballroom was empty, - apart from the leather couch beside the fireplace there was not another thing in the room. The floor in all its expansive glory was totally clean with not so much as a single spot of spilled wine on it's polished surface to mar its perfection.
Hurrying after the pair of furious caterers as they strode across the gravel drive to their van Alan offered, 'Look my wife's cousin is staying with me at the moment she may know what has become of your equipment.'
'Not that red haired demon bitch I hope,' said Sore Nose with menace in his tone as he rounded on Alan both fists clenched.
'Of course not,' lied Alan with a practised ease that he found strangely disturbing, 'That was another woman entirely; - some aggrieved friend of my wife.'
'You seemed to be friendly with her yourself Mr Richmond from what I saw,' said Black Eye in a snarky tone of voice. 'We've had quite enough of you I'm going to call the Police.'
'I told you catering an Irish funeral would be trouble,' said Sore Nose hauling the door of their van open as if it had personally offended him and climbing in.
'For heavens sake it wasn't an Irish funeral,' protested Alan before he had to turn away to avoid getting a face full of gravel as the van suddenly powered away fishtailing its way down the driveway. 'Feck,' he said with considerable feeling before walking back towards the house. 'The woman is a bloody walking disaster.'
Chapter Two end,
Chapter three is still being worked on but is two thirds done, - and I really do need to get it right because a lot of questions get answered about why, how and where the late Maeve O'brien became involved with Pokk in the first place.