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 Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2024 1:53 am
 Samhain was drawing near, just a few nights away; ancient tradition dictated that on that night the barrier between the living world and the worlds of the dead would draw thin. There were rituals once, for dealing with that kind of thing. But they were lost now with the Last Winter, and all that he could do was the thing that seemed the most sensible: spend the night outside of the woods, flee to the familiar grounds of the Skysong in the valley beyond. But this year would be different. This year, Jon wouldn’t be the only Soquili around to deal with the ghosts. And somehow, the fact that it was these Soquili who were by his side—that was a bigger help than he ever would have imagined. He’d only known Ullita for a year (a year!) and Phyrera was even newer to him. But already they were starting to feel like family (which Foss already was). So on this cold, dark night, with the spooky spectre of the Ghost Night rapidly approaching, they were spending time in each other’s presence, reveling in an activity that normally brought joy to Jon: the telling of spooky stories.
Addie and Galla had found a truly enormous pumpkin mushroom, this one nearly as large as an usdia. It was truly impressive, and its glow, flickering like a fire, cast light across the faces of those gathered around. The ferret and chicken were asleep right now, curled up around each other under Phyrera’s tail. They had declined to stay up, and given the number of lanterns they’d been harvesting in anticipation of the holiday, they had earned it.
To the other Soquili, Jon grinned. “Since we’ve still got a few days until it becomes dangerous to tell ghost stories…”
Phyrera raised an eyebrow. “We’re telling ghost stories?”
“Jon loves ghost stories,” Ullita said with a grin. “But he says that if we tell them on Samhain we’ll attract the attention of the ghosts of the Last Winter.”
“Right.” Phyrera nodded. At Ullita’s insistence, Jon had agreed to tell Phyrera the truth of his herd’s death. She didn’t believe in the story. She believed it happened alright, but she didn’t believe the supernatural elements. She didn’t believe in gods or curses. She said that what had happened to his people had been gruesome and tragic, but not an act of divine retribution. Jon wanted to believe her. Her confidence made it easy while she was around, as did the way she talked about his family, as if the profane way it had happened didn’t diminish the horror of the Last Winter. Watching her, Jon waited for Phyrera to scoff at the idea of a ghost story.
But he found himself blinking at her in surprise when she nodded. “I’ve got a ghost story, actually,” she said. “I could go first?”
“Go ahead,” Jon said, intrigued in spite of his shock.
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2024 1:55 am
Phyrera had come to the Gloomwood in search of her best friend from childhood. Ullita had been a dear companion, always making up the best stories, helping Phyrera get over her shyness, encouraging her even when others their age teased her for being more interested in learning than in playing. She’d learned so much from Ullita, and she’d been heartbroken when her friend refused to stay with her in Sungrove. So what else could she do but track her friend down? Especially when she had news to give her of Petallea’s takeover. Ullita had taken it well, all things considered. She’d found a new home, in a forest very different from the one they’d played in as a child.
Looking at Jon…Phyrera understood. He wasn’t her type, stars no. But he was Ullita’s type. Tall, strong, handsome, roguish. A dreamer. A romantic, so far as she could tell, though she was still getting to know him. But Ullita wouldn’t just trust anyone blithely. She wouldn’t trust him unless she got to know him and see that he had a good heart. It was a hidden depth in her friend that Phyrera admired. If Ullita trusted this fae and superstitious stallion, then so could Phyrera. Especially when trusting him let her stay here with Foss.
Foss…now, Foss was her type. Interested in learning and knowledge, more down-to-earth. Still big and strong, too. Bigger, in fact. Stronger. Solid. Reliable. And the way he looked at her, especially right now, as he hung on her words—as they all did—well, it was a good thing she was laying on the ground, or she would have gone weak in the knees.
But they were waiting for her to tell a story. She straightened her throat and straightened herself, pulling away from where she had been leaning against Foss’s side. “So, uh…this is a story that happened to me a couple years ago.
“I was raised in Sungrove. It’s, well, it’s a grove of trees in the valley. Birches and aspens. It’s near Petallea, where Ullita grew up.” She nodded at her friend. “So Ullita might remember where this happened.”
Ullita nodded. She was laying next to Jon on the other side of the giant puffball mushroom the Gloomwooders called a ‘pumpkin lantern.’ “I remember Sungrove. Where in Sungrove was it?”
“Near the creek,” Phyrera said. “I was walking home late one night from looking for herbs. The unicorns in Petallea—”
Ullita hissed.
“—trade well for herbs,” Phyrera finished. “Yes, I know they’re charlatans and grifters, but it pays to be nice to your neighbors. No one wants a war with the unicorns. If they’ll trade for herbs, then we’ll sell them our herbs. So anyway. I’d gone down to the creek to get the herbs. This was the creek in the gully, with the rocky sides. You can’t really jump over them, they’re too tall, and there’s shrubs all around. I went out by myself, and I’d spent so much time looking for the herbs—well, I’d lost track of time. By the time I found everything I was looking for, it was dark. So I grabbed my leaves and roots and I started heading back to the part of Sungrove where the rest of the herd was.
“It’s dark outside, with only a little bit of moon showing. A little bit of crescent moon, kind of putting a silver sheen over everything. Enough to light the way, but not enough to really help when things got too dark. But as I was walking around, I saw a light in the woods off to my left. I turned to see what it was, but there was nothing there. After a second, I realized that I could see the leaves on the plants over there moving, and I could hear them rustling, like something very small was moving through them. But I couldn’t see anything.
“As I watched, though, I finally saw what it was. The movement stopped, and suddenly there was this big—glowing—mountain lion! It was silver, like the moonlight, like a full moon, and it was big, as big as a Soquili, and it was watching me. I started to move away, and it started to move too, but as soon as it did…” Phyrera shrugged. “It was gone.”
At her side, Foss shuddered. “Spooky!” he said.
“Oh, it wasn’t gone gone,” Phyrera said. “It was still there. Because I could still hear it, going swish-swish-swish through the undergrowth. It sounded like a mouse or something, but it was coming from the same direction. I couldn’t smell the mountain lion, but I could see its eyes moving along above the ground. As soon as it realized I’d stopped, it stopped too, and I could see it again. It was like it was stalking me—I mean it was, it was stalking me, but I don’t think it realized that I could see it when it stopped moving. So long as it thought I was watching it, it would stop moving so I wouldn’t see it, but that was when I could see it. So I walked home backwards the whole way. It took me ages, but I could see it the whole time, glowing in the bushes, waiting for me to turn around again so it could go back to stalking me. I left the gully behind and I couldn’t see it anymore, but I kept walking backwards. And ever since—I never go out alone after dark.”
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2024 2:00 am
“Honestly, a wise choice,” Foss said. He scooted closer to Phyrera, careful not to disturb her tail, still wrapped around the ferret and chicken. “Nighttime can be dangerous when you’re all alone.”
Phyrera turned to look at him, and the look in her golden eyes was enough to stop a heart from beating forever. “You think I can’t take care of myself?” She sounded like she was joking. Foss was pretty sure she was joking. He was normally a good judge of character. He could reliably detect when someone was lying, he could guess a person’s motivations and understand where they were coming from, why they wanted what they wanted and what they would be willing to do to get it. But Phyrera was a blind spot for him. For some reason, this lovely mare was hard for him to read, to predict. Maybe it was her loveliness, or maybe it was something more. He’d met pretty mares before, stars knew, but he’d never met one that made his heart sing like Phyrera did.
He knew that everyone knew that too. He couldn’t hide the way he felt about her. But Jon hadn’t teased him about it. Addie had, because Addie showed affection by teasing. And Galla hadn’t, because she thought that there were just some things you shouldn’t tease a person about. But Jon hadn’t teased him about it, and it was plain to see why. The way Foss felt about Phyrera was the way Jon felt about Ullita. Jon must have felt that teasing Foss about his affection for the fox-like mare would be a blow beyond the ribs, so to speak. For that, Foss was eternally grateful. I guess we’ve both grown up from what we were like as colts.
Foss smiled at Phyrera. “I think you can take care of yourself,” he said calmly. “But I also think we shouldn’t tempt fate.”
Phyrera nodded. “That’s fair. So, do you have a ghost story?”
“Sort of?” Foss tilted his head in thought. “I’m honestly not sure if they were ghosts, goblins, or some other manner of beastie.
“So when Jon and I were foals, we were playing near the Tanglethorn.”
Jon chuckled. “You’re going to have to narrow it down, Foss, we played near the Tanglethorn all the time.”
“Yeah, this was the last time,” Foss said.
“...Ah.” Jon nodded. “That time.”
Ullita turned to look at him. “What time?”
Jon nodded towards Foss. “He tells the story better.”
“Right,” Foss said, as the mare turned back to look at him. She was new to the Gloomwood, but he was glad she’d found it (and not just because her presence had summoned Phyrera). Ullita reminded him a lot of Jon, actually. She could be playful, but she seemed to know when to be serious. She was a good match for Jon. He hoped they would be happy together. Now they were all looking at him, and the normally level-headed stallion pushed back the sensation of embarrassment and carried on. “So Jon and I used to play hide-and-seek near the Tanglethorn. One evening in late summer, we were playing on the edge and I’d found this good hiding spot. I mean a really good hiding spot. I was still pretty small back then, wasn’t yet my full size. So I managed to just barely fit underneath these brambles.
“So I wriggle under the branches and wait for Jon to find me. A few minutes go by. Then more minutes. After a while, I started to wonder if Jon had forgotten about me.” Across the pumpkin lantern from Foss, Jon opened his mouth, but Foss continued on quickly, before Jon could interrupt his train of thought. “But while I was watching, I saw this movement in the vines. It was getting dark outside, but I could see these lights in the vines. Of course, I think this must be the pumpkin lanterns, because this is the Tanglethorn, and that’s where the mushrooms grow. There’s always ferrets and foxes and squirrels and mice harvesting them all the time, so it doesn’t surprise me when I see a whole bunch of creatures dancing through the brambles, all carrying pumpkin lanterns bigger than they were.”
Foss closed his eyes, trying to remember the details now. “They were all singing a song. I couldn’t catch all of the words, and I can’t remember the ones I did hear. But it was some kind of parade, some kind of dance through the brambles, all carrying the lanterns. I start humming the song, because it was a fun-sounding song, and I wanted to join in, and well, frankly, I thought I’d been abandoned in the brambles.
“As soon as they saw me coming, the pumpkins all stop, and they start moving towards me. As they get closer, I realize that they aren’t foxes and ferrets. They’re pumpkin lanterns moving on their own. They’ve all got long, spindly legs and when they turn to face me, they’ve got sharp teeth growing out of their flesh. Suddenly they’re not singing a happy song, they’re shrieking and laughing at me. They’re coming at me, and they’re all screaming how they’re going to eat me.
“So I got up and I ran, ran as fast as I could until I found other Soquili, Jon and his mother.”
“I’d gotten waylaid,” Jon added at last. “We weren’t supposed to be playing near the Tanglethorn, and my mother was giving me a tongue-lashing for it.”
Phyrera frowned. “Are Soquili not allowed around the Tanglethorn? Is that what Foss saw, some kind of Tanglethorn guardian?”
Jon shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask Addie when she gets up, she’ll know more about the Tanglethorn than I do. Adult Soquili can’t get in, and foals aren’t supposed to go near it, so I’ve got no idea.”
“It could just have been rats or squirrels messing with me,” Foss admitted. “I don’t know what I saw, all I know is, I didn’t need a lecture from Sweet Agnes to not go near there again, at least not without someone who knew the place supervising. I thought they were goblins or gremlins or something, and I’ve honestly been too scared to go back to that place to find out.”
“Could be,” Phyrera said. “I don’t know much about the Gloomwood either.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in evil gods and curses,” Jon said.
The fox-like mare shook her head. “I don’t. But ever since that ghost cougar, I believe in ghosts. Then again,” she added. “I believe in people playing pranks or protecting sacred places by frightening people.”
“Same,” Foss said. Either one seems likely to me.” He turned to Jon and Ullita. “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go last,” Ullita said slowly. “Jon, how about you go? You must have ghost stories.”
“Oh, do I!” Jon said. “Oh, do I.”
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2024 6:57 pm
“So my story,” Jon said, “takes place a couple years ago. I guess around the time Phyrera’s story took place. Mine took place on Samhain, and it’s the only time I’ve been in the Gloomwood at Samhain since I was a foal and we had the rituals to keep the dead away.”
He glanced nervously over his shoulder and noticed that Ullita and Foss’s eyes, at least, glanced around themselves as well. “I wanted to see if the rumors of what goes on at the Bridge of the Worlds was true.”
“Is the Bridge a place, or a time?” Ullita asked.
Jon nodded. It was a reasonable question. “It’s the name of the funeral ground in the northern part of the woods. It’s where we used to put the bodies of the dead, back when we were able to hold the funerals. Our ancestors were buried there, Foss’s and mine.”
“I’ve never been there,” Foss said. “I guess I should go at least once, though, visit my grandfather’s final resting place. Not on Samhain though,” he added.
Jon thought he could see a question eating away at Phyrera, but he plunged on with his story, hoping that it would answer her question outright. “Samhain is when the gateway between the world of the living and the world of the dead is open. The restless undead become more active when the gateway is open, and even our ancestors in the stars can visit us in dreams and walk alongside us. There’s rituals to keep us safe from the undead, but we can’t perform them anymore because everyone who knew how to do them is dead. They never passed down their knowledge. So usually I just…avoid the Gloomwood on Samhain. Come back the next night when the gateway is closed. The last thing you want to do is go to the Bridge of the Worlds on Samhain. That’s the place of the dead, and on that night, they don’t take kindly to the living trespassing. They could kill you, or steal your spirit, or put a curse on you.
“But a couple years ago, I wanted to see them. I wanted to see my family. I wanted to see my ancestors. And I guess, I wanted to know if the old stories are true. I wanted to know if Samhain is real. So I went to the Bridge to see the ghosts.”
“Is the Bridge an actual, literal bridge?” Ullita asked. “You haven’t taken me there yet.”
“I will soon, I promise. It’s an island in the middle of a small lake. There’s a bridge, or there used to be a bridge anyway, made of old logs and dirt compacted on the top. But it’s been so long since anyone went there. The last time I was there, it was part of the funeral detail for the people who had died during the Last Winter. The old druids, the people who had died, all of them. We took them to the island for the scavengers to have, and when we come back, we stack the bones. Stacking the bones of my father was…” Jon shook his head. “That’s when I decided I never wanted the old ways to continue. No more druids. No more propitiating these cruel gods. If they can’t protect us, then they can handle themselves.”
“I thought you still wanted to do the rituals?” Phyrera said. “You keep saying we need the old rituals—”
“We need new rituals,” Jon said firmly. “New rituals, new ways to lay the old curses and bad luck to rest. We need a new way of living with the Gloomwood. No more Last Winters, no more Windgrims. Some traditions can stay. But others have to go. Anyway. So I want to see if my father’s ghost will return. I want to talk to him about what happened, and what to do, and what he thought of it all. So I decide I’m going to go to the Bridge, hide in the undergrowth, and be there when my father’s ghost arrives. If it arrives. But I run into a problem. See, none of us have been to the Bridge in years, not since the Last Winter. No one in the Gloomwood, not even former members of our herd, will bring the dead there. There’s too many bad memories there, and there’s no point if there’s no rituals. So the old trails? Yeah, they’re gone. They’re broken down, overgrown. And the literal bridge leading to the island is in rough shape too. I get turned around and lost, and by the time I’m anywhere near the lake, it’s already after dark, and the gateway is open. Samhain has begun.
“By this point, I’m pretty sure I know where the path is, and I’m well on my way to finding my way back there. But I hear movement ahead of me on the path—loud movement. Like something big is coming my way. Not like a bear, but…something big. So I duck into the undergrowth by the side of the trail and I wait to see what’s coming my way. And around a bend in the trail up ahead, I see the figures, glowing faintly in the dark. I can see the outlines of them, and the outlines of their bodies, all faintly green, the color of new growth. And I can smell them too, the smell of rot and decay. And I can see who they are too.” Jon leaned in close to the big mushroom between them. “It’s the old druids themselves. Cold Casper North and Vast Oak Ivar, Black Zell Onyx and Pearl Claw Webba and all the old druids of our times. They’re walking down the trail towards me. Ivar has that hole in his chest, torn open; Casper’s head is lolling at his side, his antlers still dripping with Ivar’s blood. Zell was shuffling along, limping with arthritis, and Webba would cough as she walked. Even the druids I’d never met I could name just by how they looked and how they died, because each of them were showing how they died.
“I didn’t dare make a sound. I didn’t dare step out of my hiding spot. They walked past me, sighing and mumbling to themselves. It was like a parade, or like they were going somewhere. Once they’d left, I stayed right where I was all night. I didn’t dare go closer to the Bridge. I didn’t know if there were more of them or if they were going to come back…so I stayed there and watched. Close to morning they all came back, and they looked even worse than before. Flesh was dropping off of their bones and their bones were falling apart. It was like they were decaying as they walked.” Jon shuddered. “I went back to the Bridge a couple days later. That’s when I found out that the logs had to be repaired. I managed to get over there by swimming, though, and the bones are still there, it doesn’t look like much has disturbed them in the years. But stars above, I’ll never forget what I saw that night.”
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Posted: Sun Nov 03, 2024 7:59 pm
There was silence at the end of Jon’s story. Ullita shuddered. She still didn’t know what to think of Jon’s superstitions. But if even Phyrera could see a ghost, or a ghost-like thing…then maybe ghosts, at least, were real. She’d never been one for making things up. “That’s going to linger,” she said at last. “I’m going to wake up tonight in terror thinking I’ve heard the ghost of a murderous bison outside our shelter.”
Jon laughed, but Ullita could hear the tension in it. “I’m sure we’re safe,” he said. “We’re still a few nights out from Samhain.” But he didn’t sound convinced, and Ullita couldn’t blame him.
She took a deep breath. “So, my turn?” There was general ascent around the circle, and Ullita nodded. “So…until tonight I thought my experience was just a hallucination, or a dream that I only thought was a real at the time. But since it seems we’ve all had ghost encounters, maybe it really was a ghost encounter.”
“Mine was more of a goblin encounter,” Foss said with a smile. “But I don’t think that detracts from your point.”
“Okay, that’s fair enough. But my encounter? It was either a dream, or a hallucination…or it was a ghost.
“Years ago, when I was just a yearling, I went to take a walk across the valley. It was a foggy morning, and I wanted to get some fresh air.” And get away from her sister, who was sick again, but she wasn’t ready to tell her friends about her sister yet. Phyrera already knew, but she wouldn’t say anything until Ullita was ready to talk about it. “It was cool and quiet, as the foggiest days were. Not far from where I’d started, the fog was already thick enough that I could barely see the end of my own nose. The fog closed in around me, silver and dim, hiding the grass and the flowers and the trees of Sungrove beyond the hills. Not a bird could be heard, nor an insect. It was just me. Alone with my thoughts.
“But the longer I walked, the more I began to notice…a sound. Somewhere nearby. Just a hint at first. Nothing loud enough to notice. The swish of my mane, perhaps.” Ullita shook her head, letting her mane tumble across her neck. “Or maybe just the sound of my own thoughts. No matter. I didn’t pay attention to it at first. Why should I? There was no one and nothing around me.
“I did notice the sound though, eventually. It was getting steadily louder and louder until it was unmistakable what it was.” Ullita patted her hooves against the ground in a steady walking gait. “It was the sound of other hoofsteps, walking alongside me. I looked around, everywhere around! It wasn’t my hoofsteps I was hearing, because I could hear the sound my hooves made on the ground, and I could hear the other hooves, and they were not the same. And it wasn’t an echo—there were no echoes that day, the fog had clouded it all, shrouded the world in its silence. So no, it couldn’t have just been myself I was hearing. It had to be someone else. Another Soquili, my size perhaps, or a little larger, walking alongside me. I could not sense them. I could not feel them. But I could hear them, yes, as though they were every bit as real as you and I are. I stopped, and they stopped too, one step behind me, until we stood level with each other. I reached out with my leg—” Ullita mimicked the motion “—trying to come in contact with the other Soquili…but there was no one there. I was all alone with the sounds of other hooves. Hooves that belonged to someone who was. Not. There.”
The other Soquili around the circle were watching her, wide-eyed. “I was starting to get a little spooked, so I decided to return to the rest of my herd. Perhaps someone was playing a prank on me. Perhaps I could go back to the camp and find out that someone had followed me to mess with me. But as I started walking back, the hoofsteps keeping pace, a voice I’d never heard before, the voice of a mare who I did not know, began to speak to me.” Ullita’s voice turned into a strange hiss, like the one she’d heard so many years before. ‘When darkness closes in, in the land of winter’s blight, the ones who purge dark sins will stalk the endless night.’
“I didn’t dare say a word, I just started trotting.” Ullita’s hooves sped up slightly on the ground, changing tempo. “I wanted to get away from the voice. But it didn’t stop. It started trotting with me, and it kept speaking in that same voice, ‘Claws and ghosts and jagged teeth, drip with blood and ire, cross the dry and stolen heath to find a lost desire.’ I started cantering, going faster. Soon I was galloping, but it did not matter, because the voice kept up with me.” Her hooves pattered against the ground like a gallop. “‘Find the druid, lost, forlorn, to vanquish bloody lies. From your flesh and joy be born to leave you to your cries.’ I did not say a word. I kept running.” Now Ullita’s hooves beat a terrible and panicked tattoo, as if she were running for her life. “I didn’t stop until I made it back to the rest of my family. The voice stopped just before I reached them. But as I looked across the camp, the breath burning in my throat, my sides heaving with breath, and the sweat soaking my ribs, I saw that everyone was there. No one was missing. No one was sweating like I was, as if they’d just run a mile. But not once in that long run did the voice stop speaking, and not once did it sound out of breath. I never heard it again. But then again, I never again walked away on a foggy day when I couldn’t see the nose in front of my face.”
Once again, silence settled on the group until at last it was broken by Phyrera shuddering. “That’s terrifying, Lita. You never told me about it.”
“I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” Ullita admitted. “You’ve never believed ghost stories.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Phyrera shrugged. “That was before I had a ghost story of my own. I believe in them now.”
“You’re an amazing storyteller,” Jon said softly. “Absolutely amazing.”
Ullita ducked her head. “I always wanted to be a storyteller. But back home in Petallea I was just an amateur. I didn’t think anyone would want to hear my stories.”
Jon nuzzled her. “I would like to hear more of your stories,” he said. “But it’s getting late, and we should all get some sleep.”
“Agreed,” Foss said. “It’s nearly midnight, and we’ve still got pumpkin lanterns to put up. Time for sleep.”
With many murmurs, and with the gentle nudging of the ferret and chicken to get them to move, they all made their ways back to the sleeping shelters. Hidden by the branches, Ullita leaned against Jon’s side. “I wish I knew what the voice’s words meant. Do you think they were a prophecy?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The bit about the druid is worrying me, honestly.”
“Me too. But I suppose the Gloomwood aren’t the only herds with druids, right?”
“Right. We can’t be the only ones.” Jon sighed. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. It’s too vague to act on now.”
“You’re right.” Ullita closed her eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
“Me too. Good night, Ullita.”
“Good night, Jon.” And with that, they drifted off into an uneasy slumber.((WC: 5,092))
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