Marla Medizza and the Miopsa mirror. Chapters fourteen and fifteen.

Chapter fourteen.

Motorcycles and madness.

A distinct aroma of sizzling pork propels Marla from a heavy slumber. Sitting upright and wiping her eyes as the dawn chorus of birdsong awakens her senses. She beams at the mound opposite her. It farts. This time she does not sneer. The sound and stench of his bodily functions assure her he is alive. She stretches and twists as her leg flops over the edge of the bed. Reaching into her suitcase, she plucks out clean pants and a t-shirt.

‘Are you awake, little man?’ she whispers to the mound of bed covers. The mound stirs. A furry ear flops out, then a big brown eye, pursued by a prodigious grin.

‘Hello, you, did you sleep well?’

‘Marla dearest, I cannot recall falling asleep in such a luxurious bed.’

‘Good, well today is the last push to auntie’s house. We can grab the potion, spell, or whatever. Zip back to Nans and seal Cornelius Darkus behind the mirror for eternity. Simple.’ she utters, attaching her prosthetic leg.

‘Does it hurt Marla, dearest?’ asks Babulous, observing her.

‘The leg?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, I am used to it. When the accident happened and they removed my real leg, it took many years of rehabilitation to get me back on my feet. Pardon the pun. Coupled with the glares and nasty comments, it was an ordeal. That was a long time ago. I guess you just learn to get on with life and ignore the haters.’

‘I am sorry Marla.’

‘No need to be sorry Babulous, it is what it is.’

Babulous farts again. This time Marla cringes and opens the window.

‘I am going to have a shower. I won’t be long, do not get up to any mischief.’

A few moments later, Marla returns from a warm, invigorating shower. Babulous is perching on the corner of the bed. She sits next to him.

‘Can you smell that Babulous?’

‘I can certainly smell something. What is it Marla dearest?’

‘That Babulous, my furry little companion is my favourite foodstuff. That is bacon, come on let’s head downstairs.’

They descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen. The barmaid from last night is busy flitting around the kitchen. The pungent bouquet of bacon lifts Marla as she floats toward the table.

‘Good morning, I trust you both slept well. I am cooking bacon and eggs. I hope the breakfast is acceptable, lassie.’

‘Bacon and eggs are marvellous, thank you.’

‘Take a seat at the table. Breakfast will be ready soon. There is a teapot and cups, milk, and sugar. Help yourselves,’ she expresses, beaming. Marla is transported to her home and mornings sat at the kitchen table while her Mum prepares bacon sandwiches.

‘Bacon and eggs for you, young man?’ she inquires.

‘May I have pie please?’ asks Babulous.

‘Pie? err, possibly, I will see what I can do for you.’

‘You will end up looking identical to a pie Babulous,’ whispers Marla.

‘Here we are, bacon and eggs and a slice of pie, please enjoy,’ suggests the lady placing the plates of goodies onto the table.

‘Thank you, I am Marla, and my friend is Babulous.’

‘Pleased to meet you both, Marla and Babulous. I am Agnus.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Agnus,’ replies Marla, plucking up a knife and fork and slicing the succulent, crisp bacon. She places it into her mouth and grins as she munches. She has just opened the pearly gates to bacon heaven. The salty taste transports her for a moment to her place of sanctuary, Marlopia. She is wrapped in a myriad of wonderful colours, her senses captured by the sweet and salty aroma. The sound of a pig grunting wrenches her from heaven as she crashes back onto the seat of the chair.

‘Nice Babulous?’ she chuckles as she observes him shoving the pie into his mouth.

‘I am unsure how long it will take us to reach the Isle of Muck in the car. I just wish there were another way, let me see,’ mumbles Marla, flipping through the pages of the book of magic.

‘What are you doing, Marla dearest?’

‘I am searching for a flight spell.’

‘Marla, you are a white witch. Everybody knows there is only one way you can fly.’

‘What are you babbling about Babulous?’

‘A whittler Marla, or as humans call them, a broomstick.’

‘Okay, fabulous, we will find ourselves a broomstick and fly the rest of the journey.’

‘Your quest may prove somewhat problematic Marla dearest.’

‘Problematic, how?’

‘In this land, sit four trees in the dark realms. One in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. They offer their branches to the witch who seeks flight. Only a pure white witch can release such a branch, one who is true of heart. Anybody with a blackened heart attempting to steal from the tree is torn to pieces, their skulls a reminder to those who seek to steal.’

‘So, you are informing me, only one tree grows in Scotland that can offer broomsticks?’

‘Yes, Marla dearest, the Elixium Elm tree, a tree that sits in the forest of death.’

‘That sounds inviting, not.’

‘Where do we find this death forest thing?’

‘Ah, that is a mystery, Marla dearest. The forest does not exist on any map. It is a place a white witch finds herself when the time is right.’

‘That makes little sense Babulous.’

‘More pie, young man?’ asks Agnus, standing with a silver platter of meat pie.

‘Oh yes, please, Agnus dearest, that sounds fantastical,’ he grunts excitedly.

Marla glares as Babulous devours the second slice of pie. The speed with which he shoves it in his mouth is eye-watering to behold. Within minutes, he sits, his bloated tummy the only reminder of what he has eaten.’

‘One day you are going to choke on your food, you need to learn to chew.’

‘Sorry, Marla dearest. I shall try,’ he responds, belching.

‘I overheard you mention you were heading to the Isle of Muck; I expect you may struggle to get to it in that enormous car of yours, as the roads are exceptionally precarious in places. You can leave the car here if you prefer. It will be perfectly secure. I cannot give you a broomstick, but I have the perfect vehicle. Finish up your breakfast, I will go with you to the barn around the back of the tavern.’

‘Come on, greedy guts, we need to make tracks if we are going to arrive at my auntie’s house before sunset,’ whispers Marla. Noticing Babulous eyeing the pie, sat on the kitchen worktop.

‘Thank you for a marvellous breakfast and the best night’s sleep I have had for ages. How much do I owe you?’ asks Marla, rifling through her purse.

‘Put your money away, it’s unnecessary, lassie, come with me.’

‘Thank you, that’s generous of you.’

They follow the Agnus outside toward the back of the tavern; she swings open the barn door.

‘Here we are.’ she announces, dragging a sheet of tarpaulin.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a motorcycle and sidecar, of course.’

‘Wow, it’s kind of ancient-looking, does it even start?’

‘Start, oh it starts alright. This is a nineteen sixty-seven Kingfisher silver sprite. In its day, the fastest motorcycle and sidecar the world had ever seen. My husband William, god rest his soul, created chaos in the village on this machine back in the day. Here, take it,’ suggests Agnus, handing Marla a key.

‘Thank you, err, look Babulous, a motorcycle and sidecar,’ announces Marla, her expression one of worry and confusion.

‘You will be much safer on this lassie, than that car of yours. Trust me, if you wish to make it to the Isle of Muck, then this beautiful lady is the transport that will get you there. She is rusty in places and can be temperamental, like all us women, ha. So go steady, I wouldn’t want you flying off the road and tumbling down the mountainside.’

‘Me neither,’ Marla retorts in a nervous tone.

‘Heed my words, lassie. She is a ferocious beast. Treat her with respect and she will take you where you wish to be.’

‘I will. Thank you, Agnus, for the kindness you have shown us both.’

‘The pleasure is mine, lassie. I wish you a safe passage. The car is in excellent hands, I shall hold on to it until you return.’

Agnus hugs Marla and Babulous, before waving and wandering back inside the Tavern.

They both stand, gawking at the motorcycle. Marla scratches her head.

‘Have you ever driven a motorcycle before, Marla dearest?’

‘Plenty of times Babulous, stop asking so many questions,’ she replies.

‘Shall we be on our way?’

‘In a moment, I am just checking it over,’ replies Marla, examining the motorcycle with a confused expression on her face.

‘Are you sure you have driven a motorcycle, Marla dearest?’

‘Of sorts, err, I used to ride my Dad’s scooter on the fields at the rear of our house. It was smaller than this, but a motorcycle is a motorcycle, right?’

‘If you say so, Marla dearest,’ Babulous replies nervously.

‘Look, it cannot be any worse than what we have recently encountered on this trek, Babulous. Let’s do this.’

‘Fantabulous,’ screeches an excited Elveer as he hops into the sidecar. Placing an oversized helmet on his head and huge goggles on his eyes.

‘Come, Marla dearest, hop on,’ he yelps excitedly.

‘Yes, okay, the Isle of Muck, here we come,’ she announces, clambering onto the seat and pushing the key into the ignition.

‘What are we waiting for, Marla dearest?’

‘Hush Babulous, I am just getting my bearings, it’s been a while. I am building up to it,’ she counters.

Marla pulls on the clutch, presses her foot against the gear change, and adjusts her goggles.

‘Are you ready Babulous?’

‘I have never been more ready in my life, let us leave Marla, dearest.’

Marla turns the ignition key, snaps the gear lever into first gear, and releases the brake.

The motorcycle speeds across the carpark crashing into a bush. Marla flies off the seat into the brush. Babulous is flung into a pile of underbrush. A somewhat perturbed and sore bottomed Marla drags herself from the privet, tugging at the twigs nestled in her hair.

‘I am a bit rusty, sorry about that Babulous, are you alive?’ she inquires, yanking at the underbrush as a muffled voice becomes audible.

‘Gosh, Marla dearest, I thought you said you could drive it?’

‘I can drive it Babulous, I just need to aim it in the right direction,’ quakes a somewhat disgruntled Marla.

‘Apologies for that. I am rusty,’ she declares, dragging the motorcycle from the bush.

‘I think you are better at being a witch than a motorcycle driver, Marla dearest. But, for the two seconds we were zipping across the ground, I found the experience extremely exciting.’

‘Trust me when I say, things are going to get a lot more exciting,’ she groans.

‘Okay round two, come on girl, you can do this. It is just like riding a bike,’ she gulps, pulling her displaced goggles back over her eyes.

She revs the two-wheeled beast gently as it gradually paces out of the carpark and onto the road.

‘Okay my furry little friend, next destination the Isle of Muck,’ she announces as the motorcycle crawls.

‘Marla dearest?’

‘Yes Babulous, what is it?’

‘Err, does it go any faster?’

Marla glances at the speedometer, nine miles per hour.

‘I am building up to it. Stop moaning,’ she snaps.

The whimper of the steel beast transforms into a roar as the trees whizz by. Babulous jumps excitedly, hoisting his arms into the air. His excitement increases the faster it runs.

‘Go, Marla, go!’ he yells.

Marla glances into the side mirror. Behind her, a cloud of dust.

‘Agnus was right, she is one powerful machine Babulous,’ she yells excitedly.

Babulous howls excitedly as the silver serpent slivers speedily.

Marla notes each town she passes.

Douglas.

Babulous farts and falls asleep. Marla chokes on a fly.

Glasgow.

Babulous wakes up, his goggles covered in splattered insects.

Inverarnan.

Marla is close to losing control of the motorcycle. Babulous farts, they both swallow bugs.

Fort William: Marla yawns, spits out a fly. Babulous yelps excitedly.

Mallaig, Babulous wakes, Marla breathes a sigh of relief. They have arrived at their destination. Her last part of the journey, to cross the water to the Isle of Muck. Her perils are over, or at least that is what she hopes.

Chapter Fifteen.

Muck, mysterious maps, and monsters.

‘Wow, this place is magnificent. I wish my family were here to see this. It is serene. Perhaps not Stella’s’ thing, but definitely me Mam and Bell.’ marvels Marla.

She stares over the water. Lunar light, dripping a waterfall of silver crystals against the wave of a black velvet surface.

‘What do you think, my friend?’

‘Babulous?’

She twists to examine a mound of motionless mud perched on the seat of the sidecar.

‘Ptui’ he clambers out, mopping the sludge from his face and fur.

‘We made it, Marla dearest. I had absolute confidence in your ability as a bike vehicle driver!’ he announces, with a sprinkle of moonlit crystal relief in his tone.

She chuckles, scraping at his mud caked coat.

‘I was never in any doubt. I am an expert.’

‘Whatever you say, Marla.’

‘There is the harbour over there. We need to find someone to ferry us over to the island. Come on Muddy, let’s get a shift on.’

Babulous farts, Marla does not flicker an eyelid.

They both amble toward the sailboats bobbing on watery black and silver blanket.

‘Can I help you, lass?’ asks a white-haired man sporting a green argyle jumper and waders.

‘Hi there, we are searching for someone to ferry us across to the island.’

‘Aye, lass.’

‘Do you know of anybody who can help us?’

‘The island, lass, do you mean the Isle of Muck?’

‘Yes, that’s the one. Can you help us, please?’

‘You and your cat, you say you wish to visit the Isle of Muck, lass?’

‘I am not a…’

‘Yes, if possible.’

‘That Isle of Muck lassie, the one over yonder in the bleak of night, you ask?’

By this point, the obscured part of Marla, the lost patience, is revealing itself inside her core. She is frigid, fatigued, and famished. Her prosthetic limb is hanging on to her stump. She is in no mood for word games tonight.

‘Did he just refer to me as a cat, Marla dearest?’

‘Hush Babulous, I will handle it!’

‘Yes, are you able to ferry us across the water?’

‘The Isle of Muck is deserted lass. Has been for hundreds of years.’

‘Could you humour me and ferry us, I will pay you?’

‘Aye, if you are sure, lassie. I will take you and your cat across to the bleak, macabre Isle of Muck.’

They climb onto the cramped wooden schooner. Marla steadies Babulous as he clambers on, fearing he may plop into the water.

‘Around these parts they call me Hamish McTavish and you are?’

‘Is that your name, or do you have another name? You said around these parts, suggesting they may refer to you by another name elsewhere?’ asks an inquisitive Babulous.

‘Aye.’ he responds, leaving Babulous confused and speechless.

‘I am Marla Medizza, and this is my friend Babulous.’

‘Babulous, you say?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Similar to fabulous, with a b?’

‘Not similar to, it is Fabulous with a b.’

‘I do not mean to offend. I am making small talk, my furry friend. The crossing will take half an hour. I cannot fetch you until tomorrow afternoon because of the tide. You will be imprisoned in the darkness for the night, stuck, unable to flee. Imprisoned on the infamous Isle of Muck.’

‘That’s splendid, thank you.’

‘I wish he would shut up,’ she mumbles.

The boat slides through the platinum tide. Marla stares at the moon while taking great mouthfuls of the brisk evening air. Babulous is busy picking dried sludge from his fur.

‘You are not from these parts, are you, lass?’

‘I am from Manchester and my companion is from. Babulous, where are you from?’

‘From Marla dearest?’

‘Yes, where were you born?’

‘I was hatched from the mallous egg in the cave of curiosity, Marla dearest.’

‘Hatched from an egg, you say. You do not appear to have wings, little furry creature person.’

‘How astute of you, I am not a bird, I am an elveer.’

‘Aye.’

‘Here we are, brave ones, the dreaded dark and the desolate Isle of Muck,’ Hamish stutters, tethering the schooner and helping Marla and Babulous disembark.

‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Keep your money lass but listen and listen.’

‘Yes?’

‘Stay on the path, steer away from the trees. The sound of buzzing may not be bees. Eyes of bright and blackness of night. If they come for you, prepare to fight,’ are his final ghostly verbal offerings. Marla watches as the blackness consumes the boat.

‘Did he just recite poetry, Marla dearest?’

‘I am not sure, but I am glad I am not still in that bloody boat with him, weirdo.’

‘His words to Marla, were as useful as a chocolate teapot at least we have arrived in one piece. Now we just need to locate my great aunt’s home. Nan gave this to me,’ she states, removing a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and unravelling it.

She studies the words.

One mile walk after the stile, you will encounter an oak. Tread with care. The danger is nearby. Accept the path to the right, you will observe a light. Repeat the words when here, her home will appear.

‘Another recital of gobbledygook. Thanks for nothing, Nan.

‘Come on, let’s just follow the path Babulous.’

‘I am worried about the advice the boatman gave us. He advised us to stick to the path.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘What sort of evil lurks in the trees, Marla?’

‘I don’t know Babulous, but what I do know is I don’t want to bloody think about it!’

‘The sooner we arrive at my great aunt’s home, the better. This place is giving me the shits.’

They stalk the eerie blackness. Each sound resonated through her eardrums, chilling her to the core. The blackened trees, a cloak for the evil which lurks witnessing their every step.

‘I am frightened Marla, perhaps we should go back.’

‘What is wrong with you, I thought you were a warrior?’

‘I don’t like the dark Marla.’

‘Hush Babulous, I am sure it cannot be much further.’

‘But the boatman said….’

‘Balls to the boatman Babulous!’

‘My feet are bloody killing me. The sooner I can run a nice warm bubble bath the better.’

Visibility is non-existent as they claw further and further into the unknown.

‘I do not like this place, Marla dearest.’

‘Yes, I get it Babulous.’

A branch snaps, Marla halts. Then another. Lifting Babulous and placing him on her shoulders, she scurries along the pathway. She does not look back, dreading what evil lurks behind her.

‘I am so frightened I fear the dark, hurry Marla dearest.’

Marla picks up the pace, Babulous holds on steady.

After a while, they stop at a chunk of wood protruding from the dust.

‘This must be the stile Babulous. According to the directions, one mile from here we should locate an oak tree. Let’s keep moving.’

‘Marla dearest, can you hear that?’

‘Babulous, please, stop. You are getting yourself in a right state. I cannot hear anything; we just need to keep moving.’

Marla picks up the pace. Her ears prick as the sound of groaning and high-pitched screaming stabs her eardrums. She paces faster, staying on the path and away from the trees.

‘Marla dearest, I have heard those screams before, many years ago. If my fear rings true, we are…’

‘It’s nothing Babulous, just hold on tight.’

The screams resonate through her core, tearing at her insides and dragging the fear from her gut. Marla looks behind her. Her primal fear warranted as a silhouette of a demonic-looking creature spreads its wings and hurtles toward them.

‘What the heck is following us Babulous?’ she shrieks, sprinting as swift as her tired legs will allow.

‘It is death personified, Marla dearest. The beast behind us is a Harpy.’

‘A what?’

‘Hurry, Marla dearest, down into the ditch,’ requests Babulous.

Marla lunges downward into the darkness, crashing into a damp dark ditch.’

‘What is a Harpy, Babulous?’ she whispers.

‘Evil incarnate Marla dearest. Part bird and woman. We call them the snatchers. They occupy the seventh circle of purgatory.’

‘Legend has it that folk who try to take their own lives are met by the Harpy just before they close their eyes for the last time. The Harpy tears their hearts from their body, transforming their soulless carcass into trees.

‘It is these trees they feed on, with each bite of a branch, the screams of the hopeless.’

‘What the heck does it want with us, I am not planning on ending my life.

‘Your farts stink of rotting corpses, but that is not reason enough.’

They observe the beast pacing a few yards away, its skeletal frame twisting and turning as it raises its vile face sniffing at the air.

‘What is it doing Babulous?’

‘It is seeking to pick up your stench Marla dearest.’

‘Babulous.’

‘Yes, Marla dearest?’

‘Please, do not fart.’

‘Maybe I can cast a spell to make it disappear.’

Babulous places his palm on Marla’s arm ‘You cannot defeat it, you are not yet powerful enough, Marla. A seasoned witch may overcome a creature such as this. Many witches were slain by the Harpy. I may have been able to defeat it as a younger elveer when my power was stronger.’

‘What do we do?’

‘We sit, we wait, Marla. If it does not pick up your stench, it will move on.’

‘Stop saying stench, I had a shower earlier.’

‘My apologies Marla dearest.’

‘Ugh,’ whispers Marla.

‘Worms are crawling over my foot; we need to get out of this bloody ditch.’

‘Marla dearest, wrigglers are the least of our dilemmas. If the Harpy picks up your stench, apologies, scent. It will attack and bite the flesh from your face.’

‘Should we make a run for it, auntie’s house must be nearby.’

‘We cannot escape it on foot, Marla dearest. We have a greater chance of getting out of this alive if we stay here.’

They watch as the Harpy paces the ground a few yards away from them. The vile creature sniffs the air again and then the unthinkable happens; it turns and stares in the direction they are laying; it snarls and scrapes its clawed feet into the ground.

Oh, that is not good,’ whispers Babulous.

‘What is it doing Babulous?’

‘Getting ready to attack, we have to go and now, run Marla, run.’ Screams Babulous as Marla lunges into the darkness, the demon wails, and speeds toward her, she falls, it jumps, lunging at her.

‘Fantastimo decimi!’ screams a voice in the dark. Black turns to sheer white, chill to blistering heat, the ground explodes, a scream of utter pain fills the void, and then nothing, sheer silence. Marla pulls her arm from across her eyes. The Harpy is nowhere to be seen.

Marla and Babulous climb to their feet as the dust settles. In the darkness a shadowy silhouette materialises. Eyes piercing Marla's soul. She fears the worst is yet to come.