The Ghosts of Talverton Keep

Seated at the head of the table is Josephine Talverton in a long dark dress, with full trailing sleeves. The change from the suit jacket to period clothes is dramatic but with her fierce eyes, she retains the regal bearing of a woman in charge.

As you approach, she stirs from a hushed conversation with Dr. Jerome Kerr.

"From what I understand, this can be addressed if we speak with Nyree . . ." Jerome says but she cuts him off as you approach. She stands and fixes a warm smile on her face.

"Welcome Brenna. I'm so grateful you could join us. Come, eat. The food is absolutely divine."

She waves you towards the seat on her right.

"Of course it is, that's how it always is with these places, right? More delicious than the real thing?" Josephine continues. Her voice is light and playful as she refills her own bowl with a roasted root stew. You join them at the table.

Jerome catches your gaze, with a little hunger in his eyes but a genuine smile on his lips at your arrival.

"Was the room alright? Will it work for your stay?" He asks.

"Yes! It's great, thank you." You answer, picking at a few of the platters, inspecting for meat.

"We're good, Isla, you can go." Josephine waves the ladle at Isla with good humor. "I can manage a ladle on my own."

Isla, who had tucked herself near the door, gave a little startled yelp. "Yes, Lady Josephine. Sorry, Lady Josephine." and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchens through the side door.

Jerome points towards the stew. "You are a vegetarian, right? I think I saw that somewhere. The stew is safe - I asked Miss Cassiday about it when we got the room set up."

You give him a grateful smile, taking a bowl and a full slice of the dark bread. Pumpernickel? No, it smelled deeper, earthier.

"Thank you for the clothes." Josephine gives you an apologetic face.

"Sorry about yours, I should have warned you. Apparently, that's not as much of a concern in other pocket worlds?" Jerome shoots you a slightly worried look but you are ready, the long walk through the keep providing ample time to get into character.

"Each world is different, the rules can vary on any number of factors - from the way the water tastes to the entrance and exit experience." You begin. "Speaking of which, I really must say, the arrival by your well house was one of the smoothest entrances I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Refreshing and instantaneous."

Jerome's face transforms from mild concern to a slight blush on his raised cheeks.

"It had to be smooth, couldn't have any cargo shaking loose in transit." Jerome answered, more to his soup than you or Josephine.

"Don't let that shy boy act fool you, Jerome is mighty proud of his work. As well he should be." Josephine adds.

The soup is delicious, warm and filling, although the rain and wind are beating out a tattoo with the shutters.

"Also, thank you for the shoes!" You say, grabbing a second helping of the bread.

"I'm glad you like them, that was my idea. Can't bring sneakers in but we can make something decent out of what we've got here. The materials must be local but the idea of laces and tread, that's just an innovation." Josephine takes a drink of wine from her goblet and waves it towards the fourth, empty, seat at the table.

"Where's McCormac?" She asks.

"Sean got held up at the dig, some issue with the workers." Jerome answers. "Probably Caelen, him and his sister are always getting the villagers all worked up."

"Why do you think I shoo-ed Isla along?" Josephine answers. "The walls have ears. Whatever the situation, McCormac will handle it." You take a sip of the wine, strong and warm. The hearthlight plays on the ceiling, the candles splutter in time with the wind on the shutter.

Somewhere, deep in the castle, there is a sound. Not quite a howl, not quite a moan, but a sound that felt like gulping bile and biting aluminum foil. It hangs in the air, an ugly, disturbing sound and then the echoes fade.

Jerome turned to Josephine, but her face betrayed nothing but the faintest impression of sweat on her brow and the smallest trimmer of the lip but in a moment it was gone and replaced with a firm smile.

"Well, I think that's a good enough sign that we should get down to business, eh Brenna? Dr. Kerr, please bring our esteemed consultant up to speed on our current predicament." Josephine pours herself another glass of wine as Jerome begins.

"When I had done the initial etching on the well house minarete . . uh . . . " He glances over at your confusion.

"Minarete?" You ask.

Jerome pulls out a roll from a basket and peels off the crust, flipping it over in his hand.

"The initial brackets that we had recovered from the well house needed to be melted down, attuned and then recast before we put them to use." He takes a large hunk of cheese and with a knife, slices off a slender shaving.

"We remade the metal into a minarete." He places the shaving all the way around the husk of the roll, a thin lining around the inside of the circumference. "We etched the metal with the parameters of what we wished to create." Jerome flipped it over, holding it aloft for a moment over his plate like a breaded floating saucer.

"When we completed the etchings and activated the metal - the archway of the well house had become our portal to this place." He pushes a small roasted potato underneath the shell of the roll, from one side of his plate to the other. "A pocket universe fixed in place."

"Not just any universe; my ancestral home, in the year of our lord 1532, right down to the abysmal autumn storms off the North Sea." Josephine said. "Dr. Kerr really pulled off a miracle here."

"It's a brand new field," Jerome said. "A sustainable transdimensional portal - universe made to order. The possibilities - well, I'm sure I don't have to explain this to you, but yes. It is very exciting."

"That's all great, but can someone please tell me what the fuck made that sound?" You demand, somewhat shocked by your own forcefulness. Clearly you were a little more rattled than you let on.

"Yes, sorry, getting there." Jerome apologizes and you can swear you see Josephine smile behind her wine glass.

"We chose this time and place because we wanted the original vein completely untouched, however able to be retrieved," Josephine explained, taking up the narrative. Her eyes were expressive and deep, but you found yourself watching her lips, the way they wrapped themselves around her words and firmly pushed her thoughts into the air. Focus, you urged yourself.

"We wanted a local population that could readily be brought to task assisting with the mining operation but without a significant language or cultural barrier. Where better than here? The twilight years of the iron age, at the dawn of the renaissance. Late enough that we don't have to introduce the concept of material extraction but early enough that we can eliminate any serious resistance with minimal fuss." She gives you an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, it sounds so terrible when I say it that way, but business is business and they aren't really 'people' in here, right Jerome?"

"Ehhhh . . ." he gives a waffling gesture. "I'm not sure we can say that. They certainly have agency, free will . . ."

"Maybe." Josephine interjects. "They could be simply following the parameters you set forth in the minarete."

"They have substance, they have conscious thought, I'm honestly not sure that we can say they are not people." Jerome turns to you. "What do you think Brenna?"

The question catches you off guard and you take a bite of your soup to consider.

You reflect back on Kai, the sweet girl from the clam divers, who vanished when you returned to the real world together. Or maybe she became a tattoo on Eric's arm - that part was unclear.

You remember the voices in the pirate's hold, speaking of a crashed ship of lost souls, clearly an intelligence. But that was all of them at once - what of the individuals themselves?

Your thoughts turn to Mary, wanting so fiercely to define her own life in the City of Glass. Her resolve - like a tightly coiled spring inside of her, ready to burst out. Was she driven to escape her original programming or simply living out another story? She seemed so intense, so alive, pressed up against you in the steamy bath in the London apartment, straining to be something new and different. Her soft lips pressing against yours . . .

You shake your head, coming back to the present.

"I can't honestly say whether or not the people we interact with on the inside can be considered 'people' but I do know that they should be treated with respect."

Josephine thumped the table as Jerome jumped in.

"See, we don't know. You hear that Josephine, we don't know. That's what I've been saying - it's not something we can definitively prove." says Jerome.

Josephine holds up her hands in mock defeat. "Aye, aye, put down the sword Jerome. The theological discussion is above my pay scale."

"Respect." A deep voice booms from the doorway. A broad man, clad in a thick workman overcoat strides into the room. "You both missed the important part. Mrs. Sampson is right, alive or not, they deserve our respect."

Sean McCormac pulls off his gloves and beforing sitting, offers a hand. "My apologies for being late, Mrs. Sampson, my name is Sean." His grip is firm and brief.

"It's Brenna, please." He nods and takes his seat.

"Everything alright?" Josephine asks.

"It's been addressed." He answers but does not elaborate, instead filling his plate. Josephine shrugs as Jerome continues.

"After we had done all the tests I could think of - verifying that it was truly a pocket dimension and not time travel or some sort of causality loop, establishing the time variances, etc, we moved in." Jerome continued. "The keep was vacant at the time so it was a simple matter for Josephine to take on the role of her great great great great great . . ." he waves his hands onwards, ". . . great grandmother. Once established, we started putting the residents to work digging into the mountain."

"There were some logistical challenges," Jerome begins.

"Aye, just a few." Sean gives you a wink.

"But nothing we couldn't resolve with modern thinking, until a few months ago."

"A few months RT. Real time. That's almost a year here." Josephine replies.

"Yes. That's when they began appearing." Jerome said. "At first, we thought that they were simply figments of the overactive imaginations of, well, sexually frustrated catholics."

Sean snorted. "Oh, aren't we all?" Josephine laughed but Jerome continued undaunted.

"But as the stories came more frequently, we knew it had to be dealt with - strange sounds in the middle of the night, animals gone missing or suddenly reappearing possessed by some terrible spirit. People talking in tongues, or seeing departed loved ones walking the streets at night. Then there was the first body."

"Friar James. Good man." Sean says. "Not really a church going person myself but I liked the fellow. Made a great wine."

"His body was found in the town square, completely devoid of life or color. I conducted the autopsy myself." Jerome said.

"That's right - expert in experimental physics and serves as a physician - he's our resident genius." Josephine quips.

"Well, easy to be a wise man in the era of leeches." Jerome says apologetically. "The good Friar had been manhandled, bloodied and then the life was simply drained out of him. Like he had spent two months wandering the desert with new food or water in the course of a single night."

"And he wasn't the last." Sean, having made some progress on his meal, joins the conversation. "Since then, we've had other deaths, and more. This morning, someone had taken all the tools from the said and stacked them in a great big pile in the center of the worksite, one atop another in some sort of a pattern. I told the men it was nothing but a childish prank but they cursed it as witchcraft."

Sean turns to Josephine.

"That's why I was late actually. Caelan wanted to talk . . ."

"I knew it!" Josephine says.

". . . about doing some sort of cleansing to the space - a folk tradition, it involves a book of prayers and some supplies from the parish in Lairg. I told him he could go, provided he took his own horse and was back by nightfall tomorrow."

"So you understand why we require someone of your expertise, Brenna." says Josephine. "I have a business to run, I cannot allow the continued disruption - but what am I to call? An exorcist? There is no 21st century solution to a haunting."

"I can see the challenge. This will take some work." You mind races with the possibilities but you remember Maurie's words, no heroics. Get the details on the mine and get out. And you have that, mostly. But ghosts in a castle?

What the hell, what's the harm in staying a little longer?

"I'll have to do some investigating." You say.

"Of course. Whatever . . whomever you need is at your disposal." Josephine says, licking her lips slightly. "The sooner we can get this resolved the better." The wind gives a ferocious roar and the shutters rattle hard and fast on their hinges and you swear you hear another distant rending moan - but it may have been the wind.

"With that, I best be to bed." Josephine raises her glass to you in toast, her hand shaking slightly and her eyes shooting to the door. "I will see you all in the morning." and with that, she sweeps from the room.

Her sudden exit quickly changes the energy of the room. Jerome apologetically gathers his things, offers a quick jib to Sean and then turns to you.

"Thank you for joining me for dinner, I can't wait to spend more time in . . more time with you. " he fumbles, blushing deeply.

"Be a gentleman first," you quickly catch up to him as he crosses the hearth, "and give me a quick tour on the way back to my room. A big spooky castle like this, I'd probably get lost in no time." The absolute delight in his eyes washes away the taste of the little white lie - of course you had kept track of which hallways you had taken to get here - you could probably sketch it if required.

Sean gives you a quick salute with his bowl of soup.

"Another time then," his voice was friendly but his eyes held no mirth, just a piercing gaze. "Good night, Mrs. Sampson. I'll be seeing much of you soon, I'm sure."

Jerome was kind enough to wait until the two of you were a few paces down the long southern passage before he muttered back, under his breath. " . . . seeing much of you soon . . . see what I mean about McCormac? So dramatic."

UUUAAAHHHHHHGGGHAAAaaaaa. There it was again - the howling, rending moan like the shooting pins and needles through your spine. Jerome gives no reaction but you feel his arm tense under your hand.

"Okay, I appreciate the atmosphere but seriously, what is that?" You ask. Jerome gives you a smile.

"Let me show you."

###

The torrents of rain look like a great grey sheet flapping in the darkness of night. Jerome had led you upstairs to a breezeway which connected with the parapet walk where three weary guards pass back and forth between the towers of the outer wall.

"There, watch the light from the east tower." Jerome points and through the storm you see something fly in front of the light.

Dark, leathery wings, and then the sheets of rain and it was gone. You grip Jerome's arm, peering into the darkness.

"Wait for it . . ." There it was again! A creature, dark fur with too many limbs and those wings, like a hyena had taken flight, briefly swooped across the parapet walk.

"What is it?" You ask. Jerome shakes his head.

"We aren't exactly sure. It certainly doesn't appear to look like anything that should appear in 1532 Scotland." He gives you a conspiratorial smile.

"The townsfolk call them the Howling Birds." He frowns a moment as his words disconnect from his mouth.

"Sorry, they call them Crith Eun." He looks slightly apologetic. "Obviously, you aren't fluent in Gaelic Scottish. The Babel Fish kicked in."

You smile. "We call them the 'Translation Microbes'. From Farscape?" He shakes his head.

"Sorry."

One of the creatures circles the East tower and belches forth a piercing cry, shaking the window panes, before swooping down at one of the guards.

"Oh no!" You shout but the guard is already in motion, snatching a burning branch from the nearby beacon fire - swinging the flaming thatch at Crith Eun. SCREECH! It cries out and veers away, twisting its body to avoid the smoke.

"It's the smoke from the heather branches." Jerome points to the beacon fires, regularly spaced along the parapet walk. "One of the old women in the village remembered a children's rhyme about it.

"Bluebells for love and Primrose for good dreams,

Heather for howling birds, their bite carries screams."

"Their bite carries screams?!" You repeat back.

"I'll admit, it sounds a wee bit more poetic in the Gaelic. But yes, if they get their teeth into you, there is some sort of venom there. The next couple of hours after exposure, subjects relieve some of their most traumatic experiences." He gives a deep shudder. You follow the dark leathery shapes with your eyes - is this what you saw outside the castle walls? No, you are sure of it. What you saw ran . . . and jumped. This is something different.

The two of you withdraw from the breezeway and begin the trek back to your room.

"They first appeared about three weeks ago RT, they just swooped in out of the storm clouds and attacked anyone out in the rain. We had to institute a curfew - people were afraid. They still are."

UUUUAAAAAHHHHhhhhhh. The howl shakes the castle walls but there was something underneath it, another sound, you can barely hear, a lusty cry - the scream of a woman in the throes of passion. You hold up your finger, straining your ears to hear it again but there was nothing but the rain and the wind and the storm.

"I hope you can get things sorted out, and soon."

Jerome turns the corner and delivers you at the doorway to your room.

"Well, here we are." he says. "I hope you enjoyed your little tour." He peeks over your shoulder at your bedroom and there is a moment's pause.

"Would you like to come in for a little bit? I think Isla left me a kettle to make some tea." You ask.

"Come in?" He says cautiously.

"Yes, please come into my room Jerome and have a cup of tea." You say firmly.

His eyes flash with that same hunger you glimpsed before, but it is gone just as quickly. He shuffles his feet for a moment.

"I'm not sure if that is totally appropriate, as a colleague . . ." but you are already in your room filling the kettle from a bucket of water and putting it over the fire.

"It's just a cup of tea, if it makes you feel any better, I'm just pumping you for information." You give him a saucy smile and set out the mugs.

"OooooOoo a little industrial espionage," Jerome pulls up a seat. "Then I must admit, in the spirit of true honesty, that I'm trying to leverage our budding relationship into a shot at becoming a consultant myself."

"Is that all? Damn." You give your hips a little wiggle as you pour the tea. "I was hoping it was something far less boring."

The tea is loose leaf, and fills the room with a warm earthy smell as it steeps. You return the hot tea kettle to a hook by the hearth and trim the flue so the hearth simmers down to a single log surrounded by glowing orange embers.

"Tell me more about the etchings on the minarete. What did you chronicle on the . .?"

You felt the word go out of synch before it left your lips. Your hand goes to your mouth instinctively, revealing your surprise.

Jerome arches his eyebrows, intensely curious. "Ah! Yes! Tell me, what did you try to say?"