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Chapter 13: Peter and Habetrot

This is the 13th chapter of my current Work-in-Progress.

It has undergone one edit so far.

Let me know what you think.

Chapter 13

Peter and Habetrot

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater

Had a wife and couldn’t keep her

He put her in a pumpkin shell

And there he kept her very well

Note: It was stated earlier in this report that the fair folk had no deleterious effect upon the Squash Light. Being that Banshee are half fae by design, that position is easily defended. However, some may have doubts, as did your acolyte, about the upcoming fairy godmother. The following description is meant only to complete the chain of custody. Be assured that there were no stones, talismans, or sets of bones and shells left unturned. There is still no reason to believe that Wat Waghalter was affected by inter-dimensional forces. Thus the case is well within the purview of the Lost Soul Society mission mandates.

Cepheus Peter, consumer of pumpkins was enjoying his hunting trip. Time away from his wife, though he loved her, was exactly what he needed. He adjusted his gear, patched and pied, for his wife was many things, but definitely not a seamstress. He did not mind that so much, but sometimes domesticated life proved difficult for him. He had been a soldier for the crown and then a security guard for some of the most successful merchants in the kingdom. He had traveled the world, the Old World anyway, and it was difficult to adjust to civilian life. The worst part was what he left behind, for he loved someone once, long ago. If it weren’t for the explosions by the bog, he wouldn’t be seeking her out now.

He had heard them all, and though he tried his best to fight the urge, he had to investigate. There, in an irreversibly decimated patch of vines and vegetable guts, sat an unusually orange pumpkin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up rigid. He knew magic when he saw it. He wished he did not, but there was nothing for it. He had to find out, so up the magical squash was gathered into the arms of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. Wat glowed furiously.

They were several leagues from whence he could call on her. He did not want to do so, for as soon as he saw her, he knew he would fall in love with her again. And that just wasn’t proper. He was a married man now, after all. But he knew her name, and she was the only one he could consult about it. One with discernment could not leave magical flora lying about close to a center of population with good conscience. That wasn’t proper either. It was how wars got started, or worse, royal weddings.

Peter did not enjoy the journey. If he never smelled ripe pumpkin again, it would be too soon. His nickname, of course, was a title of honor bestowed upon him by the king for one of his many heroic acts of bravery. The details were not so glorious at the time. They never are.

It took most of the day, but he made it to the closest border. It wasn’t necessarily a national border, more like municipal no-man’s land. But it would do. Peter sat Wat down in the crisp fallen leaves. He could see the glow quite well in the fading evening’s light.

“Habetrot … Habetrot … Habetrot!”

Most of the fair folk will never lie, but they will bend over backwards to avoid telling the whole truth. That’s why their true names were rarely known to men. It would be foolish to give them so much power. But this man knew her name, for he once loved her, and she him. The fae cannot ignore the call, so in a glimmer of sparkles and chimes, she appeared before him.

“Peter Peter Pumpkin eater, we’ve to stop meeting like this. You are married now, my friend.”

“I know. I know. But there is a problem that must needs your attention.”

The fairy godmother, that was her life’s mission, did her best to deter his attentions. She had many young maidens to care for along her borders, maidens who could not knit or spin. She did her best to dim her glamour, but that did not matter, for he loved her, not her magical presence. And against her better judgement, she once loved him. But alas, it was not to be. He was so old now. Almost thirty! In all her centuries upon this world, her heart had never fallen for a mortal man, save him.

“Now Peter, we both know …”

Habetrot never completed that sentence, for the pumpkin’s otherworldly glow finally came into view. Her eyes widened. She knelt down to inspect it thoroughly. Peter stood back to let her work. Besides, it hurt his heart to be so close to her again.

“This is the work of witch craft, I’m afraid. However, I do not sense malice. That’s surprising.”

“Aye. ‘‘Twas by a cottage belonging to a hedge witch.”

“She’s no witch at all. I know of whom you speak. She’s an herbalist. Comes from a long line of them. The reputation is good for business, though.”

“Makes sense. But what was this doing in her garden by the bog?”

“Ah, that’s right. The peat bog is nearby. I wonder …”

Habetrot inspected the ridges of the squash’s rinds. She pulled lightly on the vestigial vine atop what would have been Wat’s head. Then she laid both palms and even her forehead upon the glowing vegetable. With it, she communed. After a Long moment, she bolted upright and ran over to Peter.

“You were wise to call me, my love. This pumpkin is a living soul! There is much chaos surrounding his aura as well, but forces are at work help him. That chaotic mixture is confusing, but I nor any fae can be involved. We cannot intervene, I fear.”

“Preternatural dibs?”

Habetrot nodded. Then she realized what she had called him. She covered her mouth. But it was time for her to get over herself.

“Yes, very much so. You need not return it to the garden, but take it away from my borderlands with care. Set him upon the side of the road, but not so close he gets smashed by a horse and wagon, mind you. I sense that someone else is now looking for him.”

“Habetrot,” Peter whispered through his tears. She touched his face and wiped them away,

“I know, my love.”

“I won’t call upon you again. Isn’t fair to either of us.”

“No. It isn’t fair. Go forth, my love. Do this one last favor in my memory, then grow old and be happy.”

The sparkles and shimmers appeared around her, and she faded into the ether. Peter wiped his eyes and picked up the pumpkin. He decided that after his task was done, he was going to cut the hunting trip short. He wanted to go home to be close to his wife. As for Habetrot, he encased her memory in a little pumpkin shell deep within his heart where it would stay until the day he died. Wat kept on glowing in the night air. It was all he could do, and it wasn’t fair.