Petronella & the Trogot

 

 

 

 

Cheryl Bentley

The rig
ht of Cheryl Bentley to b
e identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved

© Sparkling Books Ltd 2012

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author
'
s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or places is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted by any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. Except in the United States of America, this
publication may not be hired out, whether for a fee or otherwise, in any cover or binding other than as supplied by the publisher.
 

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Coverdesign based on an image © Kevin Cochran

Other images © istockphoto.com and Steve Zmina, Kimberry Wood, 4x6

1.0

BIC code: YFD

 

ISBN:
978-1-907230-47-9
 

 

ISBN of printed edition:
978-1-907230-45-5
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

To Marian and Percy Spall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Petronella Chewnik had just moved to the outskirts of a pretty little village in the middle of the rolling downs of Westshire. She had bought a thatched cottage in Westshire's thick dark woods hidden at the bottom of a woodland track. It was simply the most lovely place that anyone could ever live in. Except for one thing. Behind the cottage stood an enormous black tree. It towered above all the others in the woods. When she'd bought Charis Cottage, she hadn't noticed this monster of a tree. The thought that the tree had appeared after she'd moved in kept racing round in her mind.

But how could a huge beast like that have grown in such a short space of time?

She knew it was silly. She must be seeing things. But that black tree just looked so much like a hairy giant - one with thick branches, growing downwards towards the ground, looking like drooping arms. The trunk split in two at the bottom, like two sturdy legs. The treetop was in the shape of a wild head of straggly hair.

Black leaves grew on the black branches. And, when it rained, black water dripped down and had formed a big circle on the ground around the tree. It was so black that Petronella thought it must be a hole - like a well - deep and dark. And the tree stood right in the middle of this pit. There must be an edge there, somewhere. If she stood near that ridge and lost her balance she would surely fall into the well and never be seen again. No, she would never go near it. Not in a million years. If she didn't go to the tree, it wouldn't come to her, would it?

‘
Get yourself together,' she told herself.
‘
Loneliness can do strange things to people's minds. When you haven't got anyone to talk to, you think too much.
'
Her cat, Maalox, was her only company. A VERY big black tomcat with shiny green eyes that glowed in the dark, and a strange white patch on its breast, in the shape of a shield. He had come with Charis Cottage. Already behind her front door mewing his head off on the wind-swept night she'd moved in. He had a name-plate tied to his neck: Maalox. No address, no owner's name. Being a kind soul, she let him stay. Sometimes she spoke to him. But it was mostly her and her thoughts. Thoughts that sometimes got very weird indeed.

At last, she believed she'd found some peace. She'd been forced to move from one place to another, time and again, by cruel remarks shouted at her in the streets. These were usually about how ugly or weird she was. And nasty boys and girls played tricks on her out of spite. This hidden cottage, away from all the horrible people she'd known, was perfect.

As far as looks went, she was not exactly a front-cover face for a glossy fashion magazine. A strange health condition didn't help. Her liver did not work properly and this coloured her skin a light shade of green. Her nose was on the big side, with a hump in it about half-way down. Her teeth were uneven and yellowish. One of them had grown a bit outwards and upwards so it could still be seen when she closed her mouth.

When she went out she usually wore a black hat, thrown at her by a someone who'd said it would suit her because she looked like a witch. She would push her long black hair up into this hat to look neat.

But she did have beautiful brilliant-blue and lively eyes.

 

 

Summer had soon come around and Petronella decided to go to Fort Willow's village ball. She knew that, as usual, when she went to parties she would sit on her own. What a lonely soul. She had to make the effort, though, because she hadn't given up looking for a husband. And this summer party was a brilliant chance. More than anything in the world she wanted a child. A little boy or girl to love and look after. But no man would marry her. Stop daydreaming, Petronella, it'll never happen.

In Fort Willow, all the lamp-posts had been decorated with coloured balloons for this big event. Pretty red and green party lights had been hung up by shopkeepers along the main roads leading to the white pavillion marquee, creating an exciting atmosphere. And, at the entrance of the marquee were festoons and sprays of roses.

Petronella was getting herself ready for that special evening when she would meet the people of Fort Willow for the first time after hiding away in the woods so long. She powdered her face and carefully outlined her lips with bright green lipstick. Then she bent over to pull on her best army camouflage boots with steel safety toes. Usually, she went barefoot, but for parties she always wore her army boots. She threw her silver glittery shawl over her shoulders: now she was ready to go. Through the woods she stomped, then down the High Street to the field. This field, like many others around the village, belonged to the self-important pudding-faced and pot-bellied Farmer Giles, the Mayor of Fort Willow.

Petronella hadn't noticed that Maalox had been following her all along. So big he was that, from a distance, some people mistook him for a small dog. A group of boys along the roadside started throwing stones at Maalox. The cat ran towards them, snarled at them and showed them his sharp claws. The more the boys looked at Maalox, the bigger he seemed to get. His body just swelled out. The boys were frightened out of their tiny little minds, quickly back tracked and took to the hills as fast as they could. Petronella recognised her cat's screeches anywhere. Twisting around, she shouted: “Maalox, go straight home and don't let me tell you that again!”

But Maalox had a mind of his own, thank you very much. Rolling his eyes downwards, in pretend obedience, he started walking in the other direction and made out he was going back home, but when Petronella wasn't looking anymore, he hid in the grocer's doorway. There he stayed until she was well out of sight, then Maalox made his way to the marquee, too.

Outside the marquee many cats of Fort Willow were gathering. Probably in search of scraps of food. Maalox had a soft spot for Belinda. The prettiest of the female cats in the village. When Maalox saw her, she was proudly striding up and down a narrow wall holding her tail straight up high. She glanced at Maalox, then turned her snobbish little head in the other direction. She wasn't going to have anything to do with him. Maalox was so disappointed that he found a space near the marquee and started clawing up the earth as fast as he could out of rage. Soon there was a little pile of soil next to the hole he'd dug up. He clawed some more, but his paw scratched against something hard. It was a smooth round object. Like a football. But as he dug more and more around it, it became clear that it was definitely not a ball. It was a skull! Yes, a human head. Maalox gripped the jaw of the skull between his teeth and ran off home with it. Not knowing what to do with his find, he dropped it in the coal scuttle next to the fireplace in the living-room. It could stay there until he worked out what to do with it.

In the meantime, Petronella had made her entrance at the summer ball. The villagers all sniggered behind her back. Both men and women were whispering nasty remarks about her. Petronella ate a couple of cupcakes at the tea stall. Then she went up to the first single man she saw, Mr Pomshort, the local butcher, and asked: “Will you marry me?” The man had just slurped up a mouthful of beer and spurted it out all over her shawl in laughter. “You're joking, woman!” he said, “I'd rather live on a desert island on my own all my life than marry you.” Then he started laughing so much that he had to hold on to his belly, wobbling about like a jelly all over the place.

Not being one to be easily put off, Petronella went to Farmer Giles and tried the same question on him: “Not until a black tree gobbles you up,” he answered. How strange that he knew about the black tree. Was it the same one as hers?

Petronella suddenly let off a terribly high-pitched shriek. “I damn the lot of you,” she shouted. Then she threw herself into the dance she knew best: the Bosa Nova. First her face twitched, then she started shaking her shoulders; and throwing her arms up and down all over the place while she hopped from side to side. What a clumsy show. After that, everyone in Fort Willow giggled about Petronella's dancing for weeks. Twitching around, whenever they saw her in the street, and creasing themselves in half from laughter when they were taking her off.

Petronella decided she'd stay away from them all as much as she could - nasty chicken-brained little villagers.

 

 

A lot of people who have lived on their own for a long time develop some pretty weird habits. Petronella was one of those. Her hobby was hunting out snails. Other people may like p
utting stamps in an album but Petronella got fun out of collecting snails. She popped them in the bunker she'd make at the bottom of her garden. A
long the hedgerow she had sectioned off an area and filled it with soil which she kept nice and moist by watering it every day. She visited her snails two or three times a day to see if they were OK. Snails like coming out at night, when the soil is dark and moist. When it rained, Petronella would go out snail hunting and add to her collection. She would tread the soil barefoot in the moonlight to the sound of owls, finding snails under rocks and stuck to logs and smooth stones. She loved their slippery pale skin and the different patterns on their shells.
 

No human voices to spoil the pitter-patter on the quiet woods. She enjoyed watching the wet shades of green in the distance, and the fresh rain fall on everything: on the pine trees, on the ivy, on logs, on the little lake, and on her face and arms. Raindrops snaked down her skin in the same way they did off the leaves on the trees. She didn't mind that it muddied her long black skirt. It rained on her thoughts, making her feel like a real child of nature in the sad beauty that was all around her.

One night while she was doing cartwheels in the woods, she heard an eerie rustling noise and thudding of horse's hooves. She hid behind a thick tree trunk. But the horseman had seen her from a long way off and stopped. His face was hidden in a deep black hood. No way could she see who he was. In his hand, he had an old yellowy-brown note which he held out for Petronella to take. Trembling with fear, she quickly crumpled it into her pocket, and hurried back to Charis Cottage. Once she was inside and safe, she ironed out the note on the table with her hands, then looked for her glasses. She could not make it out. She tried turning the piece of paper around. When she held the note up straight, the scribble looked like the letters TCO. What did this mean?