Ghost Walk

Posted on Mon Nov 4th, 2024 @ 19:25 by Alastair Temple & Sarah Bright & Jonathan Monroe

Chapter: Besieged
Location: Avalon Grounds
Timeline: Late Evening - 25th January
3213 words - 6.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Gathering an enthusiastic group for what had been pitched as a 'ghost walk' hadn't really drawn a crowd. In fact, as Jonathan stood out of the front of the Institute's main entrance, he was aware of only two other willing participants: Sarah and Alastair. They made, as it seemed, a little bit of an odd trio.

"You still want to do this?" he asked, directing the question at Sarah, with whom the idea had coalesced. "I'll be honest, it might be better than having half the faculty here..."

Sarah fought the urge to smirk. She really wasn't the type to delight in an 'I told you so,' but she did remember saying something about how most of the faculty would rather be inside grading papers, than outside wandering around in the dark. But that didn't mean she wasn't looking forward to doing so. Sarah didn't really believe in ghosts in the spiritual sense, but she was open to whatever insights might be gleaned through scientific curiosity, and her time at Avalon was certainly giving her ample opportunities to reconsider long-held notions of how the world worked.

"Let's do it." Sarah said with a decisive nod to Jon. "Al, you ready to hunt for ignis fatuus?" She added as she looked to Temple with an arched eyebrow. She'd done a little more research on the local Spunkie, and figured the former guitarist of Somnium Tenebris might enjoy some more latin to chew on.

"I don't know what an Ignis Fartus is," Fart jokes were still funny in the advanced year of 1993, right? "... but if they're out there, sure, I'll go see 'em," Al grinned, glancing over at Sarah from underneath the brim of his top hat. He stuffed his gloved hands deep in the pockets of his heavy, black, wool greatcoat. Mostly he was just here for a distraction, and for some spooky atmosphere. He found the location inspired him, and inspiration was what he needed for his new album, tentatively called 'On Raven Wings'. If only they'd decided on a project name as well, though he would still advocate for 'Temple of Zhao'.

"Fair enough. After you, milady," Jonathan gave a somewhat sweeping bow in deference to Sarah. "You're the expert here. We're counting on you to find us the most spooky thing you can this evening." He shot a grin over at Alastair, suspecting the man wasn't the easiest to spook.

"Latin for foolish flame, you might know of them as the will-o'-the-wisp.'" Sarah said, not surprised. Few people except folklorists knew the term, and even fewer knew enough Latin to manage their own translation. Though, she would be willing to bet that both of the men with her still knew more Latin than most. Sarah was nearly fluent in the dead language (among other dead languages), thanks to her ivy league education and specialization in medieval literature. And by nearly fluent she meant practically fluent. One had to be extremely ignorant and/or arrogant to declare themselves fluent in a dead language. Al wouldn't have been amiss with his remark about fart jokes though, had he voiced it aloud. The foolish flames, or whatever you happened to call them, were known for appearing in bogs, and other malodorous places with concentrations of methane gas.

"Challenge accepted." Sarah replied with confidence, returning a smooth curtsy in exchange for Jon's bow. She was, at least, dressed befitting the mood, if not the physical atmosphere of their outing with her usual sweater and skirt combo. but she was bundled up with the appropriate winter accessories (coat, gloves, hat and scarf), plus an extra pair of tights and some thick wool knee socks to further insulate her feet inside her wellies.

"We need to get away from the castle, there's too much light here for us to see anything out of the ordinary. And the dock lighting there rules out a direct route down to the loch." Sarah said, gesturing down to the boat house and dock, which normally would've been the safest and most comfortable place to look out over the water. "I suggest we start our walk heading up there. It'll serve as a good vantage point, if nothing else." Sarah continued, pointing to the darkened silhouette of a creepy old cemetery atop the nearby hill. the final resting place of many of the castle's previous occupants... those who weren't buried in the castle's crypt, anyway.

The music teacher did know more Latin than most. It came with being a metalhead, and equal parts pretentious and cheesy. After all, omnia dicta fortiora si dicta Latina. Many of Somnium Tenebris' songs had a latin chorus, though a proper scholar of latin would easily find mistakes in the translations, in the words chosen. That came with the complication that the words had to fit a meter and a melody/ The phrase Somnium Tenebris was itself latin, literally meaning 'sleep darkness', but phrased as 'dark sleep' by Alastair, Robert and Sylvain, while they were still a trio, rather than Al being the only survivor.

"Sounds good," he answered Sarah's suggestion. "Lead the way, but mind your footing in the dark."

A tiny flicker of blue-hued illumination sparked to life in Jonathan's fingers. "No need to worry about that." He smiled faintly. "Spooky blue light man here to lead the way..."

Sarah fell into step with the two men as they headed toward the gated entrance and causeway that connected Avalon to the surrounding highlands. The blue light--she couldn't even tell if it was a flame--was quite the appropriate distraction for the night's escapade, and Sarah had trouble drawing her attention away from it, to the point where she almost stumbled due to not minding her footing. She didn't repeat that mistake again, but the near-incident still sent her mind wandering off on tangents about what sort of phenomena people had encountered that led them to coin terms such as the foolish flame.

Aside for a few words of commentary Sarah remained quiet for much of the several minute journey to the top of the nearby hill where the cemetery was situated. There was an established path, but was clearly not one that was frequently traveled, evidenced by a number of small rocks and debris wandering downslope and now in the way, that no one before them had been around to kick aside.

When they reached the top. Sarah politely asked Jon to extinguish his flame so that their vision could adjust to the very low light. The cemetery before them was not large, about the size of Avalon's larger classrooms, and had a low, rusted metal fence surrounding it that looked at least a hundred years old, due to its Gothic Revival vibe. The headstones were mere silhouettes in the near-total darkness, all modest and weatherbeaten, with moss and lichen clinging to most and some leaning eerily askew. If there were any markings left visible on any of them, surely it would've taken superhuman sight to read them. The cemetery and its surrounds were cold, windy and as dark as night could be. It stood in the starkest contrast imaginable to the castle below, which was illuminated with modern lighting and looked full of life even at the increasingly late hour. Another detail that Sarah noticed as her eyes adjusted was the lack of weeds, shrubs and tall grass. The cemetery might be old and have an aura of neglect, but it was dutifully landscaped. Overall the place had a peaceful feeling to it, which made Sarah hesitant to break the silence with even a low whisper.

"Here lie the working folk of Avalon from ages past, and we'll begin our night by paying our respects to them. We don't know their names or their stories, but we can imagine the work they did. The maids, butlers, cooks, and carpenters, to name a few. Maybe even a librarian." Sarah added in a grim smile. "They rest here now, but they see the increase of life below. Some may feel called to it, back to their old tasks. I dare you to wake in the pre-dawn hour, even before Valjean begins his morning preparations. Go to the kitchens, and tell me if you too hear the faint clatter and scrape of baking pans, and the even fainter aroma of baking bread." The darkness made it almost impossible to tell whether or not Sarah was being serious.

"The ghosts of years past, graves undisturbed. Beaten down by rain and snow, yet they stand. Memories forgotten but whispered in the stones as they endure, a monument to the richness of life, and the grief when it ended," Alastair quietly spoke. In any other situation his words might have sounded very cheesy, but in the context of a musician writing a doom metal album, considerably less so. "I should come back here when it's light and I can actually write down my thoughts," he added. "This place is very inspiring."

Sarah nodded, her expression softening, though she dared not lighten the mood by smiling. Not that anyone could see her expression, unless their night vision adjusted quicker than hers. In the dark of the new moon, she couldn't see either of her associates really, just their silhouettes amid the gravestones around them. It made their near-disembodied voices that much eerier.

Whether you believe in their presence of not, we can take comfort in the knowledge that the spirits of those resting here were once mortal humans, just like us. They had the same thoughts, feelings and motivations we can understand and relate to. But they might not be the only spirits lingering in places such as this." Sarah said with a sweep of her hand. "And we should not assume that all of those spirits were once human too." Sarah lowered her voice, trying to make it sound as dark and foreboding as their present environs.

"Foolish fire, fairy fire, spunkies, will o' the wisp... the names differ from place to place, but all who named them seem in agreement that these spirits were never human. and that their intentions are seldom anything but tricksome and malevolent. Some say they and cemeteries go hand-in-hand, though the reason why may be more mundane than anything else. Both tend to frequent places near water, especially swamps and lonely overlooks... just like this one. Places no one would consider to be prime real estate." The wind tugging at their coats reminded them all why the castle was built down below, instead of up atop the hill.

"They lie in wait especially for the lost and forlorn, but also anyone foolish enough to be outdoors at night. They appear as ghost candles, or linkboys carrying torches... illuminated guides that one would hope would lead them towards places of warmth and safety. But alas, all the stories agree that the opposite is the case." Sarah motioned toward the rocky decline that sloped down toward the loch below, a perilous route for even the wariest of souls.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Jonathan asked softly. "You ever wonder if any of those old tales were maybe stories of old mutants or people with powers...and old-time folks trying to explain what it was they saw? Like if they saw us now, what would they make of us?"

"Probably," Al replied easily. "There's no telling what mutants of old could do, but probably safe to say they'd have been hunted down. The Salem witch trials, things like that," he calmly walked along, keeping his eyes out for anything out of the ordinary, though it wasn't easy to see in the dark like this. Part of him considered going bird form and looking from above, to warn the others if he did see something.

Sarah motioned for them to resume their walk, and she led the way through the cemetery, to the path leading down the hill's far side, leading them further away from the lighted castle. "Mutants are often left out of the historical record and literary texts for a reason. I tried to look into this a bit since our last chat." Sarah glanced at Jon for a moment before elaborating. "I don't think they could be controlled. The people with money, who paid for the books to be written, were more interested in stories about themselves. Or, at least, anything that wouldn't make them look small. Stories about mutants would. I think there were many communities like this one back then. Who would stop them? And with what?" Sarah looked at each of them men before her in turn before continuing.

"One man with the power to control fire could turn an entire battle line of knights into a useless howling mob, more desperate to get out of their scalding hot armor than anything. Another man with the power to transform into a winged creature could fly over the tallest fortification and set an entire castle alight with a single well-placed ember, all while dodging any arrow loosed against him."

Sarah shook her head. "Kings and Lords would not have commissioned scribes to write about those men. They would've forbade it. But they would've left them alone... and vented their frustrations into wars against their neighbors instead." Sarah swallowed as she sighed. "Or reprisals in the form of witch hunts against people they didn't fear." Sarah looked down, considering how some things had changed, and how other things hadn't.

"So what stories are we left with, then?" Sarah asked, forcing herself out of her dark reverie as she transformed the shadowy, windswept cemetery into her own lecture hall about medieval conspiracy theories.

"Vampires. Werewolves. Zombies. Witches. Monsters of folklore, cryptids of all sorts. Every story, every legend has a core of truth, even if it's just a small grain," Alastair offered, the slow thud thud of his long strides to keep in step with the two shorter people. "These stories and legends are bound to be based on some form of misunderstood old mutants," beat. "At least, that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it."

"Absolutely. I can get on board with that theory," Jonathan nodded. "Most myths and legends are." He glanced at Alastair. "Maybe Edgar Allan Poe was visited by one of your ancestors?" he grinned.

"For some time, perhaps. And eventually, nevermore," Al winked.

Sarah snorted softly, an unfortunate noise she sometimes made while trying to suppress a laugh. "You're not wrong. Oral traditions are what I was alluding to, the stories told by everyday people, some passed down like family heirlooms, others as cautionary tales. Though the latter seem to have more staying power through generations. Which is unfortunate, but seems most reasonable here." Sarah paused for a moment as she sought to explain her reasoning.

"Maybe your grandmother told you about the time she was a child, when a strange woman calmed her deadly fever when nothing else could, or about the man who was somehow there to save her from the accident she never saw coming. You might tell those same stories to your friends and family, but they probably wouldn't go much further than that. But everyone loves a scary story. Think about how easy they get passed on from one campfire story session to the next..." She trailed off for a moment, expression scrunched in concentration. Had she heard something out of the ordinary? She wasn't quite sure. For some reason, she found herself looking over her shoulder at the men walking behind her with a momentarily confused expression, but it only lasted a moment before she resumed her pace.

"Like a game of Narrative Telephone," Jonathan nodded. "The story changes each time someone new tells it. Then it becomes almost impossible to know what parts are true and which are embellished."

"Stories based on what people think they saw, trying to reason it away with their limited understanding of the world, rather than what actually happened. The actual truth underneath," Alastair reasoned. His senses sharp, looking around, trying to see in the dark - as if concentrating harder would help with that. "Next time we should bring Isebeart, the janitor. I think she can see in the dark? That would be very useful around now."

Sarah's creepy gothic storyteller vibe slipped as they got more into the discussion. Part of her was excited to explore the the shared theory further, but that eagerness also honed by something different, something wild. Normally being outside in the dark did not bother her, especially not while she was distracted by the company of others. But something definitely felt... off. She couldn't explain it.

"Oh, we definitely should bring..." Sarah trailed off as the realization struck her that Al may not have mentioned Maggie in regards to this particular activity. "Wait... you heard that too?" She said, stopping and rounding to face Jon and Alastair.

"I'm hearing something. Not sure what," Alastair offered, looking up at the sky, brows furrowed, as if the darkness was going to reveal its secrets just because a tall musician tried to peer into its soul. He took a step forward, tilting his head. "Can't quite .... figure out where it's coming from?" he added quietly.

"Too dark to see..." Jonathan agreed, extinguishing his temporary light source to see if that helped any. "Sounds like an aircraft."

Sarah looked up as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and squinted, as if that would help her any. Her ears fared little better, barely able to pick up the presence of the noise, let alone try and figure out what it was. Her senses were not the sharpest, but on a night like tonight, a clear sky and on the new moon? The idea of it being an aircraft didn't sit well with her.

"Aren't aircraft supposed to have those blinky lights? You'd think on a night like tonight, we'd be able to see those long before we'd hear anything."

"Normally, yes. I could shift forms, fly up, see if I can get a better look at - whatever's up there?" Al offered, his baritone rumbling.

Sarah hesitated in her reply. Her curiosity nudged her to second Al's suggestion, but after tonight's activities and discussion, her thirst for the truth was all but slaked. There was a lot more to the unseen world than just airplanes and ghosts, regardless of whether or not one actually believed in the latter. If Al could fly, it stood the reason that there would be other mutants who could do the same. If he wanted to go up in the air and look, he would have to do so alone, and Sarah didn't like the thought of that.

"I think we should stick together... like they said in the meeting." Sarah added the latter in a bit too quickly, in hopes of masking any apprehension in her words. "But if we keep hearing it we should probably inform Claire."

"We probably should regardless," Al offered, satisfied with Sarah's reply and electing not to fly up. Mostly since he really wasn't in a mood to spend the energy that shifting forms always took out of him; he was tired enough as it was.