Into the Mists (part 1)
Posted: Thu Oct 24, 2013 10:16 pm
Into the Mists
Prologue scribed on November 2, 2006 (753) - sorting my thoughts, putting things in perspective
I put these notes and thoughts to paper, in order to hopefully retain my sanity and for posterity’s sake. This is a startling experience, one that I never dreamt could happen. Yet here I am, setting in the study of the Heather House Estate, writing in this brand new antiquetated journal, using one of my trusty ink pens. I wonder how long they will last without replacement cartridges. I’ve only been at this ... place, I suppose one would say, for three days. As can be noticed at the beginning of this entry, I’m attempting to keep track of the date in my world, as well as the local date here.
In ways, this is fantastic! The gothic horror world of Ravenloft always enticed me during my teenage years. But the knowledge of what this world is really like makes me long for the life I had back home.
Where is my mind? None of this makes any sense! I suppose I need to start at the beginning in order for this to be understood, if such a thing is possible. If I return to my world, this will be a fantastic story to relate. And if I don’t return home, ...well, I guess its best not to dwell on that option. This journal can at least then be used (hopefully) by some intrepid adventurers on their way through Ravenloft.
My life, of course, starts way before this journal. I am a content man, living a normal life, I suppose, for 21st century Earth - single with one daughter, Chastity, beautiful and full of wonder and life. My daughter's mother, Meredith, and I separated after a brief attempt to work things out. So now she and I are usually on speaking terms - most of the time. I'm attempting to make my way through life, doing the best that I can, for myself and my little girl. Not ideal by any means, but I like to believe that, all things considered, it’s a good life. In reality, I want for nothing, but a good life for Chastity. Since I work as a police officer, doing some college for a Masters degree, money can be tight at times, especially with Chastity about to finish first grade.
The only difficult part about my life is my job. “With great power comes great responsibility.” I never truly understood what Spidey’s ole Uncle Ben meant by that, until I became a police officer. All of the extra overtime, the missed meals, the missed sleep and the missed family time. Was it all worth it? In ways, you bet, but in other ways its not. My job is a profession that needs to come first, before family, before even yourself. When I attempted to get married, I promised myself that I would get out of it, in order to devote myself more to my family. In my world though, especially since the marriage plans fell through, things aren’t quite that simple. Even though the relationship didn’t work out, I still wanted to raise my daughter, not being absent because of my job. And, even though police work doesn’t pay what it should, I usually get by ok. I only hope that I get a chance to change jobs now. That is, if I ever find a way back.
Now I need to relate the events that have placed me here. Exactly three days ago, I had to drive over the Smokey Mountains, from Gatlinburg Tennessee, to testify in a murder trial over in North Carolina. Earlier this summer, the Swain County Sheriff’s Department had been involved in a high speed pursuit of a known homicide suspect. The perpetrator had decided to take Highway 441 northbound, into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, heading towards Gatlinburg. The Swain County Sheriff’s Department contacted the National Park, and my department, to ask for assistance. To make a long story short, we stopped and arrested the perp at the Sugarlands visitor center, transferring custody directly to the Swain County Deputy that had initiated the pursuit over in North Carolina. Shortly after that, I received a subpoena to testify about the pursuit and arrest. That meant, not only did I have to drive to work, which is an hour away from my home, but I also had to drive through the National Park, into North Carolina and to Bryson City - another two hours away. Anyways, court lasted for hours and the whole process consumed the entire day. It was well after dark before I started my return trip.
After having a mediocre dinner at some greasy spoon restaurant in Cherokee, I began my trek across the mountains and back home. A trip that went totally awry. As I stated earlier, it was after dark before I even left the courthouse. Add to that another hour, time to get to Cherokee and have a bite to eat. Now, add to that the fact that it was very foggy out and I had a winding mountain road to drive. Needless to say, I had a long drive up the mountain side. The further I ascended, the thicker the fog became. I like to believe that it was because of the pea soup thick fog that I didn’t see the vehicle’s hazard flashers until I was almost on top of it.
I was nearing the Newfound Gap area of the highway, when suddenly, right before the beginning of a curve, appearing out of the fog right in front of me was the indistinct shape of a car with it’s set of flashing emergency lights dimly pulsing in the surrounding shroud. It was setting right in the middle of the road, effectively blocking both lanes. Instinctively, I pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and quickly stomped the brake pedal. While I hadn’t met more than a small hand full of on-coming vehicles, I had no idea if there would be any traffic in the opposite lane. I couldn’t take that chance, so I made for the roadside. Since I was right before the curve began, that meant I was also right before the guard-rail started. So I knew I was in for a wild ride. But I never dreamed that I would end up here.
I have to admit that I was going faster than I should have been, especially for weather like that. But I had no idea that I would be transported into a fictitious world. The stranded vehicle was enough to spike my adrenaline level, with me swerving off the road. The quick, rough bounce over the shallow ditch line wasn’t bad. Even the small hill that my police vehicle rapidly slid up and over didn’t bother me. What really panicked me was knowing that on the other side of that small embankment would be an almost vertical plummet for who know’s how many hundreds of feet. In just a split second, I had three or four rough bumps, then I was launched into the thick swirling mists of that cold October night. In that instant, my whole life flashed before my eyes. In that moment, suspended in that atmospheric murk, I knew that I would never see my loved ones again.
Down the Rabbit Hole scribed on November 2, 2006 (753) - welcome to never-never land ...... The events of the night of October 31st
You can imagine my surprise when my jeep roughly landed on earth, and the tires dug in (due to me still standing on the brake pedal). It was an almost horizontal surface and from what I could glimpse of the ground as my vehicle spun about, appearing to resemble an old, worn out access road. While the impact was jolting, I was happy not to be free-falling into a gully. However, my happiness was rapidly dimmed somewhat by the trees that appeared suddenly, out of the mists, before my police jeep’s headlights. I remember thinking, “Great. Instead of being splattered all over the ground, I’ll be crushed by running into a tree.” Pulling the steering wheel hard to the left and letting off the brakes, I spun past the trees. As I spun to a stop, what my headlights illuminated next was the most difficult thing that I’ve ever had to come to terms with - my police jeep slid to a stop in front of an honest to gosh, living, breathing and snarling werewolf.
I can say that now - now that I know some specifics behind it. But at that moment, I remember thinking, “A special effect straight out of a Howling movie is crouching behind a small bush in front of me.” To begin with, all I did was blink. Several times. While I was blinking, I had that buzzing feeling in the back of my brain. You know, that feeling like you’re trying to remember something important, but the memory can’t make it’s way through all the cerebral cob webs. I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t fallen asleep and was dreaming my way through the wreck that I was having, when I heard a loud gunshot from right beside my vehicle. Being a police officer, a sound like that kicks me into hyper-vigilance overdrive. In one smooth movement, I removed my seat belt, turned on my spotlight and all of my take down lights, and had my firearm drawn, surveying what I had gotten myself into. Beside my car, just a few feet away, stood three people, one man and two women, dressed in clothing that resembled the Victorian period of history. The man was wearing an old highway overcoat with trousers and tall riding boots; one of the women was wearing what appeared to be an old fox hunters outfit, with the other wearing an antique fitted dress and bonnet. All of them looked as if their clothing had seen better days - dirty and torn. The other surprising thing about the trio were the items they had - the man had a rapier sword and an old snap-lock style single shot pistol; the woman in the dress had only a simple single shot snap-lock in one hand and what appeared to be an old coal oil lantern in the other; and the third, in the fox hunters garb, had an old muzzle-loader rifle, still held to her shoulder, pointing at the werewolf with the barrel end still smoking. For a brief second, all I did yet again was blink. There I was setting in my police vehicle, my left hand on the door handle and my firearm in my right, staring in disbelief at the people beside my vehicle. I then glanced at the werewolf and back at the group of people. I was in a “B” rated horror movie. I had just launched my police jeep off the side of a mountain and landed in the middle of a cheap thriller flick. Lovely. And the best thing was, since I had the area lit up like a parking lot, everyone’s attention was focusing on me. Even better.
What happened next violently jerked me back into reality, as it were. The werewolf creature drew up to its full height, a good seven or eight feet tall(!!) and threw a large object in my direction. That object landed on the hood of my Jeep, with a sickening “thud!” and a bloody splat, sliding to a stop on my windshield. It took my brain just a second to process what the beast had thrown - the bloody and mangled body of what appeared to be a young girl!! “To hell with my pistol, give me the shotgun!” I remember thinking as I holstered my gun and hit the release button for the shotgun with my left hand. I reached up, above my head, and immediately felt the cool metal in my right hand as the electronic shotgun lock popped open, freeing what I was grasping for. I opened my door with the other and stepped out into the cool, damp night air. It was apparent that the three people didn’t know what to think of my jeep appearing out of thin air, with it illuminating the area. I remember shouting at them to stay behind me as I racked a shell into the shotgun’s chamber. They were yelling something at me as the creature turned it’s complete attention to me. Leveling the shotgun’s ghost rings right between the creature's glowing eyes, I remember yelling “Police! Get down on the ground! NOW!!” It growled and lunged towards me! I pulled the trigger right as that buzzing memory broke through all the mental cob webs - werewolves can only be hurt by silver.
The next instant was filled with the booming explosion from my shotgun. And another. And a third, just for good measure. With each of the first two hits, the beast recoiled violently. The third knocked it to the ground, stunned by the impact of so much double 00 buck fired from less than five yards away. In an flash, the man was sprinting toward the stunned creature. To my semi-disbelief he wielded his rapier in a flurry of movement, which sunk the blade into the werewolf’s skull, the impact faintly echoing with a sickening “chunk!” Within seconds, I watched this gruesome, feral creature transform into a gray haired middle aged, slightly pudgy man. Come to find out later, the sword used by the gentleman was coated with silver.
I suppose it was the fact that my mouth was hanging open that caused the woman in the dress to inquire if I was alright. I suppose I was still in shock, but at the time I didn’t ( or was it more like I couldn’t?) pay attention to her accent and diction. I was dealing with a sensory overload. While I was trying to soak in all that had just happened, I realized that all three of them were slowly gathered around me. While they were asking if I was ok and acting concerned, I noticed that they hadn’t relaxed their guard. Instinctively, I racked my shotgun again. Just in case.
During those tense moments, my mind started processing all the relevant data - the werewolf, the antique style of dress and weapons, their odd accents and speech, and the most important piece - the mists. While my rational mind didn’t want to accept the situation, in my heart I realized what had happened. Of all the actions that I could have taken, I was surprised by my reaction. I lowered the shotgun, glanced at all three of them, “I’m in Ravenloft, aren’t I?” I believe that my inquiry shocked me as much as my new friends.
During our brief introductions, I discovered that my new friends were none other than the Weathermay-Foxgrove twins, Gennifer (in the dress) and Laurie (in the foxhunter’s outfit) and the man was known as Elijah Houlgrave, a young gentleman traveler that was an acquaintance of the twins. I had read descriptions of the twins in several Ravenloft products and can say that they weren’t done any justice. Light of skin and dark of hair, these two beautiful young women look, with the exception of their clothing, as mirror images of each other. While both are small in stature, you can see their fiery souls shining brightly within their eyes. The man, Elijah, looks about the same age as the twins, perhaps in his mid twenties. However, he has fiery red hair and freckled fair skin, possessing a tall, yet average looking stature. His face is finely chiseled, appearing to be from a much different culture than the twins. Try as I might, I can not remember his name from any of the published works that I have read.
Meanwhile, in a mist enshrouded camp -
The old gypsy woman was sitting beside the dying campfire, staring at the embers as they danced upon the night’s air. The others of her tribe were getting ready to move out, as they did their best traveling at night time. Slowly rising from her perch, Magdala motioned to the lead driver over to her. As Riemo approached, she leaned on his shoulder and looking him straight in his eyes, “We are changing destinations, we need to be in the Land of Ghosts tonight.” Glancing up towards the star lit night sky, Magdala added “And we must hurry, for events have begun to unfold, that needs our attention.”
“Grandmama, why are we going into the land of ghosts?” Young Vajra inquired of her grandmother, as the old raunie stepped into the Vardo. Magdala just shook her head, “Child, we are of the Vistani blood. We go where we will, we go where Fate needs a hand.”
Down the Rabbit Hole - The events of the night of October 31st (continued)
Right as Elijah started to suggest that we head back to town quickly, we all hear odd sounds approaching us from the foggy distance. It was a bizarre sound to me, reminding me of continuous movement on a hard surface. Yet it was combined with a faint jingling sound reminiscent of metal wind chimes, and an acquainted clopping sound. The most disconcerting thing was that it was muffled by the mists, and I couldn’t tell from which direction it was coming. Without saying a word, me and my new friends formed a circle, backs to backs, ready to greet what ever was upon us. To my surprise, although reflecting back I shouldn’t have been, a horse drawn vardo slowly appeared out of the mists. Followed by another and another and a fourth. “Vistani,” I muttered. Gennifer, who was standing nearest to me said, “How do you know about the Vistani?” “It’s a long story; I’ll tell you about it later,” was my reply.
The gypsies were true to their description - colorful clothing, coal black hair and an exotic olive colored skin. And their vardos - brightly colored mobile homes, pulled by some of the most beautiful horses that I have ever seen, had jingling supplies hung on the outside of the wagons. I felt like such an idiot - I just stood there, fascinated by seeing fantasy brought to life. While I was entranced, Laurie broke the silence - “What is your business here? And with us?”
“It is not the twins that I wish to speak with, but the Outlander.” This statement came in strong feminine voice, with an odd accent, from an elderly, yet vibrant looking gypsy lady - the apparent raunie of this company. The lady that spoke waded out of the mists swirling around the vardos. She wore a long sleeved blouse and a ground sweeping skirt, both in subdued colors, with her long silver hair worn in one lengthy braid. While cackling, the raunie said “I see that we are a little late for your arrival.” This surprised me, yet I guess that I shouldn’t have been. The Vistani are suppose to know all sorts of odd things, about people, about different places and about the history of this dread realm. It must have been the shock of everything that had transpired in the past few minutes, but I didn’t see any reason for any other action, than a simple question - “Why am I here?!?”
The elderly raunie had been wearing a jovial, friendly expression, but at my rudely blunt question that changed. Unknown to me, for some reason I started a slow advance towards her after I blurted out my question. But now, she wore such a serious expression, a mildly sympathetic one that slowed my advance until I was mere couple of feet from her. “I do not know, Outlander. The Tarokka won’t say. That is why you and I must speak.” I had been so focused, tunnel-visioned, on the old lady, that I hadn’t even realized that she and I had been discreetly surrounded by her tribesmen, many of which were holding bladed weapons of different kinds. I supposed she sensed that I had tensed up. “But not now. Now it is not safe here on this road.” Motioning her hands to the scene around me, “Help your new friends gather the bodies, while we guard you. Then we will escort you to Mordentshire.” With that said, she made a few hand motions to her tribesmen and returned to her vardo. The other gypsies dispersed, I guessed taking up lookout positions.
Laurie placed her hand on my shoulder, causing my heart to skip several beats. After spinning about to face my “attacker,” she realized what she had caused and quickly apologized. She then followed by stating that we need to get back to town, for they believed that the woods were not a safe place to be during the night. Gennifer then suggested that we take the two bodies with us, to show the town sheriff and for proper burial. This was when Elijah interjected that they were without rides, since the werewolf had scared off their horses. Seeing an opportunity, I volunteered to drive. My three new acquaintances looked rather skeptical at me, then at my police vehicle. Course, I suppose 'vehicle' isn’t the proper term. I drive one of the older vehicles in my department’s fleet - a 1998 Jeep Cherokee 4x4, for harsh winter weather in the mountains. I showed them that the rear hatch opens, giving us room to store the bodies for transport. The trio exchange skeptical glances to each other, but quickly agreed as a distant pack of wolves began howling. Even with the Vistani standing guard, my three new friends suggests that we work quickly.
Luckily, I had extra security blankets among the gear stowed in the back. After moving the gear box and some duffle bags out of the way, Elijah and I secured the bodies in blankets and place them in the back of the Jeep without much conversation. Before the trio climbed in, I attempt a brief explanation, explaining what my Jeep was and how it operated - comparing it to a carriage, something that they would be more familiar with. Somewhat easing their concerns about this new machine, Elijah and Laurie opened the rear doors, to ride in the back, while Gennifer rode up front. It took us awhile to get there, as the roads were rough and rutted and I had to drive very slowly, as the Vistani’s vardos don’t travel that fast.
During the drive, my new friends and I conversed quietly. To begin with, the talk was slow and reserved, mostly about what had happened tonight and my timely intervention. I wasn’t really sure how to handle this or how to answer some of the questions that they asked me, especially the ones about where I was from and how I arrived so suddenly. See, I have read a lot of the stories and information publish about this dread realm and I wasn’t exactly sure what time period I was in or how much I should ask of my new friends. So, I shifted the conversation to the offensive, asking them questions about what I had just witnessed. Laurie, from the back seat, informed me that it was the conclusion of an investigation that she and her sister had been involved with for the past couple of months. Gennifer told me that over the past few months, during the nights of the full moon, some of the livestock around Mordentshire would turn up missing or mutilated. Then last month, one of the young boys that acted as a herder turned up missing. Four days later, his half eaten body was found among the moors north of town.
Laurie told me that her and Gennifer suspected some kind of lycanthrope the whole time, but they had no idea who it might be, until this week. She said that up until then, their investigation had been fruitless. But they had gotten their big break one day at lunch. Her and Laurie were having lunch at the Harbour Light (a little restaurant in Mordentshire) this past Sunday. Just so happened, the restaurant’s owner, Mr. Henry Archer, had replaced the old drinking glasses with new ones that had a silver coated rim on them. Of course, Mr. Archer didn’t announce this little “up-grade,” as he thought that it only added to the restaurant’s well-to-do atmosphere.
I noticed that the twins took turns speaking, as Gennifer continued the tale. Apparently there was a cooper merchant that had just moved to the area a few months before all of the attacks started. Oswald Herrington seemed friendly and outgoing. While he was from Dementlieu, he had done business in town for years and years. The Herrington name was very trusted in the barrel and shipping crate business, so Oswald was readily accepted into the business community. Laurie continued by saying that Oswald had been very concerned about the situation, and offered to help in anyway that he could.
Now it was Elijah’s turn to speak. Apparently, by the way he talked, he was in the restaurant that same day. It seems that Oswald was startled by the new glassware as he took a sip from it. He ejaculated a brief growl of pain and smashed the glass to the floor, clutching at his mouth with the cloth napkin. This gained everyone’s attention in the restaurant, who all looked in Oswald’s direction. Of course Mr. Archer was by his customer’s side almost immediately. It seemed that the new glass had cut Oswald’s lip as he took a drink from it. Mr. Herrington waved away any help, saying that it was nothing, attempting to sport a jovial look, and excusing himself from the restaurant. The whole time he had kept the napkin to his mouth.
Now, both twins continued the tale in alternating statements, first from Laurie, followed by Gennifer. The merchant’s aversion to the new glassware that day helped them select him as a suspect, by proving some of their suspicions. Apparently their first clue came from them checking the broken glass. Both of them caught the waitress before she dumped the shards of broken glass in the garbage. It had no blood on it anywhere, only traces of golden ale and what appeared to be a small piece of burnt skin.
The next day they visited Mr. Herrington’s office, using the excuse of checking on their book printing supplies. He seemed his normal jovial self, yet they noticed that both his upper and lower lips looked as if they were severely chapped. Since the full moon would be in four days time, the twins asked if Mr. Herrington could bring two of the crates over to their Uncle’s herbal shop at that time. Oswald simply grinned as he told them that he had scheduled that day, as well as the next two, to go purchasing business stock, but that he would have their supplies delivered, as promised, in full next Monday.
Afterwards, all three of my new friends compared notes and came up with a trap for the lycanthrope. They were going to use a couple of caged sheep to try and lure the creature into an area that they could confront it in. Unfortunately, earlier that evening a young shepherd girl, named Lilly, had lost three of her family’s baby sheep. Apparently the young girl had went to look for them and had been found by the werewolf instead.
Arriving at the edge of town, the Vistani stopped. The lead driver dismounted and walked back to my Jeep. I pressed the button to roll down the window and he said, “This is as far as we go. The raunie wants to speak with you tomorrow near the ruins of the old Soddenter Farm, just off Farmer’s Walk road. Be there at high noon.” With that said, he walked back to his vardo, climbed back on the seat and the company headed off into the mists. “They are as creepy as I believed,” I mumbled.
Gennifer directed me to their family’s home, a grand estate named Heather House, on the southwest end of town. Luckily enough, we were already on this side of town, so I didn’t have to drive far without any headlights. On our way to the twin’s family estate, we decide that there were three goals to accomplish; hide my Jeep; notify the local sheriff, leaving the bodies with him; and find me a place to sleep. Laurie suggested that we use the old hay barn to park my "carriage" in and transfer the bodies to a horse drawn cart. Laurie volunteered her and Elijah to take the cart to the sheriff’s place. Backing my Jeep into the unused barn just north of Heather House, Elijah and I move the corpses to a horse drawn wagon. Once again we did so with minimal conversation, mostly “let’s do this” and “what about that”’s. Laurie brought around a horse, which Gennifer hooked the wagon to and Laurie and Elijah were off to the sheriff’s. Gennifer advised me to stay there for a little bit, while she went and made arrangements for me to room in the manor.
With everyone gone and things quiet for a few moments, I had time to reflect on what all had just happened. As I sat inside my police jeep, with it’s door open, I inhale the odors of the barn - the sweet decaying scent of old hay, with a slight hint of a salty spice. There was also a restful sound from the distance that I could not place. Relaxing a bit, I let my mind wander over the events of the night. First my rational mind told me that this was all a dream, and that I would wake up any second now. But try as hard as I might, that didn’t happen. Since I knew that I could wake myself when I’m in a dream that I don’t like, I searched for another explanation. The other conclusion that I came up with, involved me dreaming though the trauma that my wreck would have caused, which didn’t seem to hold logic at this time - this was taking far too long and was far too vivid. Not discovering a plausible explanation, I decided to listen to some music to help sooth my troubles. That was a bad idea. I turned the jeep’s ignition switch to the accessory setting, and attempted to find a radio station. Static. Static on every channel. AM, FM, it didn’t matter. As I leaned my head against the steering wheel with resignation, I could have sworn that, through the static, I heard evil, mocking laughter.
Even though I didn’t realize it at that moment, those couple hours of adventure had completely drained me of energy. With the shocking excitement, combined with me being awake for nearly 20 hours, I was completely, and utterly worn out. As I wrote above, I thought that I heard mocking laughter in the radio’s static. With my attention directed toward the face plate of the radio, Gennifer had walked up beside me, to the open Jeep door. She quietly reached out her hand to touch my left forearm, and when she did, I about jumped through the roof of my vehicle. She apologized and amusedly told me that she had a room ready for me in the manor. I thanked her politely as I turn the ignition switch off and withdrew the keys . Gennifer looped her right arm around my left and led me towards the outside door of the barn. As we stepped out into the night air, I heard it - that faint, familiar sound that I couldn’t place while inside the barn - the ocean. Or rather, the sound of crashing waves. And then the clean, clear smell of salty ocean spray drifting on the crisp cool night winds. I remember feeling like such a twit - letting all these things slip by me, all these things that I should have picked up on. I was very disappointed in myself, as I wasn’t being a very attentive. I realize that I’m in an alien world, but if I can’t keep my wits about me, here I’ll wind up dead. Or worse ...
During our walk, Gennifer spoke to me in whispered tones. “I’ve told Granpapa that you helped us with the beast and that you need a place to stay the night, as you are from foreign lands. He eagerly suggested that you stay in one of the west wing rooms. I must warn you - Grandpapa isn’t ...” she paused, as if searching for the appropriate words to use.
“Isn’t in very good health. Yes, I know. I won’t be a bother. Promise,” I said as I smiled. Gennifer was shocked. “How do you know? I mean, you are an Outlander, are you not? You said yourself that you are not from here,” she said as she slowly started to loosen her grip on my arm and pull away. “You have nothing to worry about, m’am. I am indeed what you would call an ‘Outlander,’ but ... I realize that in these lands it is difficult to trust people that you just meet, but I am very tired and it’s a long story. It is something that I will completely explain to you, something that we can discuss tomorrow, with the rest of your family. But our little adventure tonight has left me quite drained, and I would like nothing better than to catch a few hours of restful, quite sleep.” I believe that last statement eased her, as she resumed her comforting grip on my arm, and we finished our walk in silence, her navigating our way through the thick fog surrounding us.
As we neared the manor house, I was impressed by its silhouette in the foggy night - a hulking shadow, faintly highlighted by the full moon. Gennifer led me into the gatehouse and towards a lighted beacon in the courtyard. There we were met by a butler, who was holding aloft a lit lantern. He was old in appearance, but with a sprightly gleam in his eyes. Gennifer and he conferred for a brief moment, afterwards they approached and she introduced him as Jeeves, stating that he would show me to my room. I thanked her and she wished me a safe night, leaving back through the gatehouse that we had entered. Jeeves simply nodded and led me across the courtyard, to the left, and up a set of steps to some double doors. Entering, Jeeves holds the lantern up high and we proceed to navigate through the darkened manor, up the stair case into what I guessed was the west wing, stopping in front of a door. He curtly swung open the door, and gestured for me to enter, stating that this would be my room.
We entered the lavishly appointed room, him showing me the necessities and wishing me a safe night. Even though I felt extremely weary, since this was a foreign place to me, I lazily poked around the room, giving it a cursory examination. Everything from the stacked stone fireplace, to the hickory wardrobe, to the large window overlooking the hills, to the giant canopied bed. All the furnishings appeared to have came out of an 18th century aristocrat’s home - antique by anything that I had ever seen. Laying down on the cushiony bed was a respite to everything that I had experienced thus far - so much so, I instantly fell asleep.
Prologue scribed on November 2, 2006 (753) - sorting my thoughts, putting things in perspective
I put these notes and thoughts to paper, in order to hopefully retain my sanity and for posterity’s sake. This is a startling experience, one that I never dreamt could happen. Yet here I am, setting in the study of the Heather House Estate, writing in this brand new antiquetated journal, using one of my trusty ink pens. I wonder how long they will last without replacement cartridges. I’ve only been at this ... place, I suppose one would say, for three days. As can be noticed at the beginning of this entry, I’m attempting to keep track of the date in my world, as well as the local date here.
In ways, this is fantastic! The gothic horror world of Ravenloft always enticed me during my teenage years. But the knowledge of what this world is really like makes me long for the life I had back home.
Where is my mind? None of this makes any sense! I suppose I need to start at the beginning in order for this to be understood, if such a thing is possible. If I return to my world, this will be a fantastic story to relate. And if I don’t return home, ...well, I guess its best not to dwell on that option. This journal can at least then be used (hopefully) by some intrepid adventurers on their way through Ravenloft.
My life, of course, starts way before this journal. I am a content man, living a normal life, I suppose, for 21st century Earth - single with one daughter, Chastity, beautiful and full of wonder and life. My daughter's mother, Meredith, and I separated after a brief attempt to work things out. So now she and I are usually on speaking terms - most of the time. I'm attempting to make my way through life, doing the best that I can, for myself and my little girl. Not ideal by any means, but I like to believe that, all things considered, it’s a good life. In reality, I want for nothing, but a good life for Chastity. Since I work as a police officer, doing some college for a Masters degree, money can be tight at times, especially with Chastity about to finish first grade.
The only difficult part about my life is my job. “With great power comes great responsibility.” I never truly understood what Spidey’s ole Uncle Ben meant by that, until I became a police officer. All of the extra overtime, the missed meals, the missed sleep and the missed family time. Was it all worth it? In ways, you bet, but in other ways its not. My job is a profession that needs to come first, before family, before even yourself. When I attempted to get married, I promised myself that I would get out of it, in order to devote myself more to my family. In my world though, especially since the marriage plans fell through, things aren’t quite that simple. Even though the relationship didn’t work out, I still wanted to raise my daughter, not being absent because of my job. And, even though police work doesn’t pay what it should, I usually get by ok. I only hope that I get a chance to change jobs now. That is, if I ever find a way back.
Now I need to relate the events that have placed me here. Exactly three days ago, I had to drive over the Smokey Mountains, from Gatlinburg Tennessee, to testify in a murder trial over in North Carolina. Earlier this summer, the Swain County Sheriff’s Department had been involved in a high speed pursuit of a known homicide suspect. The perpetrator had decided to take Highway 441 northbound, into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, heading towards Gatlinburg. The Swain County Sheriff’s Department contacted the National Park, and my department, to ask for assistance. To make a long story short, we stopped and arrested the perp at the Sugarlands visitor center, transferring custody directly to the Swain County Deputy that had initiated the pursuit over in North Carolina. Shortly after that, I received a subpoena to testify about the pursuit and arrest. That meant, not only did I have to drive to work, which is an hour away from my home, but I also had to drive through the National Park, into North Carolina and to Bryson City - another two hours away. Anyways, court lasted for hours and the whole process consumed the entire day. It was well after dark before I started my return trip.
After having a mediocre dinner at some greasy spoon restaurant in Cherokee, I began my trek across the mountains and back home. A trip that went totally awry. As I stated earlier, it was after dark before I even left the courthouse. Add to that another hour, time to get to Cherokee and have a bite to eat. Now, add to that the fact that it was very foggy out and I had a winding mountain road to drive. Needless to say, I had a long drive up the mountain side. The further I ascended, the thicker the fog became. I like to believe that it was because of the pea soup thick fog that I didn’t see the vehicle’s hazard flashers until I was almost on top of it.
I was nearing the Newfound Gap area of the highway, when suddenly, right before the beginning of a curve, appearing out of the fog right in front of me was the indistinct shape of a car with it’s set of flashing emergency lights dimly pulsing in the surrounding shroud. It was setting right in the middle of the road, effectively blocking both lanes. Instinctively, I pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and quickly stomped the brake pedal. While I hadn’t met more than a small hand full of on-coming vehicles, I had no idea if there would be any traffic in the opposite lane. I couldn’t take that chance, so I made for the roadside. Since I was right before the curve began, that meant I was also right before the guard-rail started. So I knew I was in for a wild ride. But I never dreamed that I would end up here.
I have to admit that I was going faster than I should have been, especially for weather like that. But I had no idea that I would be transported into a fictitious world. The stranded vehicle was enough to spike my adrenaline level, with me swerving off the road. The quick, rough bounce over the shallow ditch line wasn’t bad. Even the small hill that my police vehicle rapidly slid up and over didn’t bother me. What really panicked me was knowing that on the other side of that small embankment would be an almost vertical plummet for who know’s how many hundreds of feet. In just a split second, I had three or four rough bumps, then I was launched into the thick swirling mists of that cold October night. In that instant, my whole life flashed before my eyes. In that moment, suspended in that atmospheric murk, I knew that I would never see my loved ones again.
Down the Rabbit Hole scribed on November 2, 2006 (753) - welcome to never-never land ...... The events of the night of October 31st
You can imagine my surprise when my jeep roughly landed on earth, and the tires dug in (due to me still standing on the brake pedal). It was an almost horizontal surface and from what I could glimpse of the ground as my vehicle spun about, appearing to resemble an old, worn out access road. While the impact was jolting, I was happy not to be free-falling into a gully. However, my happiness was rapidly dimmed somewhat by the trees that appeared suddenly, out of the mists, before my police jeep’s headlights. I remember thinking, “Great. Instead of being splattered all over the ground, I’ll be crushed by running into a tree.” Pulling the steering wheel hard to the left and letting off the brakes, I spun past the trees. As I spun to a stop, what my headlights illuminated next was the most difficult thing that I’ve ever had to come to terms with - my police jeep slid to a stop in front of an honest to gosh, living, breathing and snarling werewolf.
I can say that now - now that I know some specifics behind it. But at that moment, I remember thinking, “A special effect straight out of a Howling movie is crouching behind a small bush in front of me.” To begin with, all I did was blink. Several times. While I was blinking, I had that buzzing feeling in the back of my brain. You know, that feeling like you’re trying to remember something important, but the memory can’t make it’s way through all the cerebral cob webs. I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t fallen asleep and was dreaming my way through the wreck that I was having, when I heard a loud gunshot from right beside my vehicle. Being a police officer, a sound like that kicks me into hyper-vigilance overdrive. In one smooth movement, I removed my seat belt, turned on my spotlight and all of my take down lights, and had my firearm drawn, surveying what I had gotten myself into. Beside my car, just a few feet away, stood three people, one man and two women, dressed in clothing that resembled the Victorian period of history. The man was wearing an old highway overcoat with trousers and tall riding boots; one of the women was wearing what appeared to be an old fox hunters outfit, with the other wearing an antique fitted dress and bonnet. All of them looked as if their clothing had seen better days - dirty and torn. The other surprising thing about the trio were the items they had - the man had a rapier sword and an old snap-lock style single shot pistol; the woman in the dress had only a simple single shot snap-lock in one hand and what appeared to be an old coal oil lantern in the other; and the third, in the fox hunters garb, had an old muzzle-loader rifle, still held to her shoulder, pointing at the werewolf with the barrel end still smoking. For a brief second, all I did yet again was blink. There I was setting in my police vehicle, my left hand on the door handle and my firearm in my right, staring in disbelief at the people beside my vehicle. I then glanced at the werewolf and back at the group of people. I was in a “B” rated horror movie. I had just launched my police jeep off the side of a mountain and landed in the middle of a cheap thriller flick. Lovely. And the best thing was, since I had the area lit up like a parking lot, everyone’s attention was focusing on me. Even better.
What happened next violently jerked me back into reality, as it were. The werewolf creature drew up to its full height, a good seven or eight feet tall(!!) and threw a large object in my direction. That object landed on the hood of my Jeep, with a sickening “thud!” and a bloody splat, sliding to a stop on my windshield. It took my brain just a second to process what the beast had thrown - the bloody and mangled body of what appeared to be a young girl!! “To hell with my pistol, give me the shotgun!” I remember thinking as I holstered my gun and hit the release button for the shotgun with my left hand. I reached up, above my head, and immediately felt the cool metal in my right hand as the electronic shotgun lock popped open, freeing what I was grasping for. I opened my door with the other and stepped out into the cool, damp night air. It was apparent that the three people didn’t know what to think of my jeep appearing out of thin air, with it illuminating the area. I remember shouting at them to stay behind me as I racked a shell into the shotgun’s chamber. They were yelling something at me as the creature turned it’s complete attention to me. Leveling the shotgun’s ghost rings right between the creature's glowing eyes, I remember yelling “Police! Get down on the ground! NOW!!” It growled and lunged towards me! I pulled the trigger right as that buzzing memory broke through all the mental cob webs - werewolves can only be hurt by silver.
The next instant was filled with the booming explosion from my shotgun. And another. And a third, just for good measure. With each of the first two hits, the beast recoiled violently. The third knocked it to the ground, stunned by the impact of so much double 00 buck fired from less than five yards away. In an flash, the man was sprinting toward the stunned creature. To my semi-disbelief he wielded his rapier in a flurry of movement, which sunk the blade into the werewolf’s skull, the impact faintly echoing with a sickening “chunk!” Within seconds, I watched this gruesome, feral creature transform into a gray haired middle aged, slightly pudgy man. Come to find out later, the sword used by the gentleman was coated with silver.
I suppose it was the fact that my mouth was hanging open that caused the woman in the dress to inquire if I was alright. I suppose I was still in shock, but at the time I didn’t ( or was it more like I couldn’t?) pay attention to her accent and diction. I was dealing with a sensory overload. While I was trying to soak in all that had just happened, I realized that all three of them were slowly gathered around me. While they were asking if I was ok and acting concerned, I noticed that they hadn’t relaxed their guard. Instinctively, I racked my shotgun again. Just in case.
During those tense moments, my mind started processing all the relevant data - the werewolf, the antique style of dress and weapons, their odd accents and speech, and the most important piece - the mists. While my rational mind didn’t want to accept the situation, in my heart I realized what had happened. Of all the actions that I could have taken, I was surprised by my reaction. I lowered the shotgun, glanced at all three of them, “I’m in Ravenloft, aren’t I?” I believe that my inquiry shocked me as much as my new friends.
During our brief introductions, I discovered that my new friends were none other than the Weathermay-Foxgrove twins, Gennifer (in the dress) and Laurie (in the foxhunter’s outfit) and the man was known as Elijah Houlgrave, a young gentleman traveler that was an acquaintance of the twins. I had read descriptions of the twins in several Ravenloft products and can say that they weren’t done any justice. Light of skin and dark of hair, these two beautiful young women look, with the exception of their clothing, as mirror images of each other. While both are small in stature, you can see their fiery souls shining brightly within their eyes. The man, Elijah, looks about the same age as the twins, perhaps in his mid twenties. However, he has fiery red hair and freckled fair skin, possessing a tall, yet average looking stature. His face is finely chiseled, appearing to be from a much different culture than the twins. Try as I might, I can not remember his name from any of the published works that I have read.
Meanwhile, in a mist enshrouded camp -
The old gypsy woman was sitting beside the dying campfire, staring at the embers as they danced upon the night’s air. The others of her tribe were getting ready to move out, as they did their best traveling at night time. Slowly rising from her perch, Magdala motioned to the lead driver over to her. As Riemo approached, she leaned on his shoulder and looking him straight in his eyes, “We are changing destinations, we need to be in the Land of Ghosts tonight.” Glancing up towards the star lit night sky, Magdala added “And we must hurry, for events have begun to unfold, that needs our attention.”
“Grandmama, why are we going into the land of ghosts?” Young Vajra inquired of her grandmother, as the old raunie stepped into the Vardo. Magdala just shook her head, “Child, we are of the Vistani blood. We go where we will, we go where Fate needs a hand.”
Down the Rabbit Hole - The events of the night of October 31st (continued)
Right as Elijah started to suggest that we head back to town quickly, we all hear odd sounds approaching us from the foggy distance. It was a bizarre sound to me, reminding me of continuous movement on a hard surface. Yet it was combined with a faint jingling sound reminiscent of metal wind chimes, and an acquainted clopping sound. The most disconcerting thing was that it was muffled by the mists, and I couldn’t tell from which direction it was coming. Without saying a word, me and my new friends formed a circle, backs to backs, ready to greet what ever was upon us. To my surprise, although reflecting back I shouldn’t have been, a horse drawn vardo slowly appeared out of the mists. Followed by another and another and a fourth. “Vistani,” I muttered. Gennifer, who was standing nearest to me said, “How do you know about the Vistani?” “It’s a long story; I’ll tell you about it later,” was my reply.
The gypsies were true to their description - colorful clothing, coal black hair and an exotic olive colored skin. And their vardos - brightly colored mobile homes, pulled by some of the most beautiful horses that I have ever seen, had jingling supplies hung on the outside of the wagons. I felt like such an idiot - I just stood there, fascinated by seeing fantasy brought to life. While I was entranced, Laurie broke the silence - “What is your business here? And with us?”
“It is not the twins that I wish to speak with, but the Outlander.” This statement came in strong feminine voice, with an odd accent, from an elderly, yet vibrant looking gypsy lady - the apparent raunie of this company. The lady that spoke waded out of the mists swirling around the vardos. She wore a long sleeved blouse and a ground sweeping skirt, both in subdued colors, with her long silver hair worn in one lengthy braid. While cackling, the raunie said “I see that we are a little late for your arrival.” This surprised me, yet I guess that I shouldn’t have been. The Vistani are suppose to know all sorts of odd things, about people, about different places and about the history of this dread realm. It must have been the shock of everything that had transpired in the past few minutes, but I didn’t see any reason for any other action, than a simple question - “Why am I here?!?”
The elderly raunie had been wearing a jovial, friendly expression, but at my rudely blunt question that changed. Unknown to me, for some reason I started a slow advance towards her after I blurted out my question. But now, she wore such a serious expression, a mildly sympathetic one that slowed my advance until I was mere couple of feet from her. “I do not know, Outlander. The Tarokka won’t say. That is why you and I must speak.” I had been so focused, tunnel-visioned, on the old lady, that I hadn’t even realized that she and I had been discreetly surrounded by her tribesmen, many of which were holding bladed weapons of different kinds. I supposed she sensed that I had tensed up. “But not now. Now it is not safe here on this road.” Motioning her hands to the scene around me, “Help your new friends gather the bodies, while we guard you. Then we will escort you to Mordentshire.” With that said, she made a few hand motions to her tribesmen and returned to her vardo. The other gypsies dispersed, I guessed taking up lookout positions.
Laurie placed her hand on my shoulder, causing my heart to skip several beats. After spinning about to face my “attacker,” she realized what she had caused and quickly apologized. She then followed by stating that we need to get back to town, for they believed that the woods were not a safe place to be during the night. Gennifer then suggested that we take the two bodies with us, to show the town sheriff and for proper burial. This was when Elijah interjected that they were without rides, since the werewolf had scared off their horses. Seeing an opportunity, I volunteered to drive. My three new acquaintances looked rather skeptical at me, then at my police vehicle. Course, I suppose 'vehicle' isn’t the proper term. I drive one of the older vehicles in my department’s fleet - a 1998 Jeep Cherokee 4x4, for harsh winter weather in the mountains. I showed them that the rear hatch opens, giving us room to store the bodies for transport. The trio exchange skeptical glances to each other, but quickly agreed as a distant pack of wolves began howling. Even with the Vistani standing guard, my three new friends suggests that we work quickly.
Luckily, I had extra security blankets among the gear stowed in the back. After moving the gear box and some duffle bags out of the way, Elijah and I secured the bodies in blankets and place them in the back of the Jeep without much conversation. Before the trio climbed in, I attempt a brief explanation, explaining what my Jeep was and how it operated - comparing it to a carriage, something that they would be more familiar with. Somewhat easing their concerns about this new machine, Elijah and Laurie opened the rear doors, to ride in the back, while Gennifer rode up front. It took us awhile to get there, as the roads were rough and rutted and I had to drive very slowly, as the Vistani’s vardos don’t travel that fast.
During the drive, my new friends and I conversed quietly. To begin with, the talk was slow and reserved, mostly about what had happened tonight and my timely intervention. I wasn’t really sure how to handle this or how to answer some of the questions that they asked me, especially the ones about where I was from and how I arrived so suddenly. See, I have read a lot of the stories and information publish about this dread realm and I wasn’t exactly sure what time period I was in or how much I should ask of my new friends. So, I shifted the conversation to the offensive, asking them questions about what I had just witnessed. Laurie, from the back seat, informed me that it was the conclusion of an investigation that she and her sister had been involved with for the past couple of months. Gennifer told me that over the past few months, during the nights of the full moon, some of the livestock around Mordentshire would turn up missing or mutilated. Then last month, one of the young boys that acted as a herder turned up missing. Four days later, his half eaten body was found among the moors north of town.
Laurie told me that her and Gennifer suspected some kind of lycanthrope the whole time, but they had no idea who it might be, until this week. She said that up until then, their investigation had been fruitless. But they had gotten their big break one day at lunch. Her and Laurie were having lunch at the Harbour Light (a little restaurant in Mordentshire) this past Sunday. Just so happened, the restaurant’s owner, Mr. Henry Archer, had replaced the old drinking glasses with new ones that had a silver coated rim on them. Of course, Mr. Archer didn’t announce this little “up-grade,” as he thought that it only added to the restaurant’s well-to-do atmosphere.
I noticed that the twins took turns speaking, as Gennifer continued the tale. Apparently there was a cooper merchant that had just moved to the area a few months before all of the attacks started. Oswald Herrington seemed friendly and outgoing. While he was from Dementlieu, he had done business in town for years and years. The Herrington name was very trusted in the barrel and shipping crate business, so Oswald was readily accepted into the business community. Laurie continued by saying that Oswald had been very concerned about the situation, and offered to help in anyway that he could.
Now it was Elijah’s turn to speak. Apparently, by the way he talked, he was in the restaurant that same day. It seems that Oswald was startled by the new glassware as he took a sip from it. He ejaculated a brief growl of pain and smashed the glass to the floor, clutching at his mouth with the cloth napkin. This gained everyone’s attention in the restaurant, who all looked in Oswald’s direction. Of course Mr. Archer was by his customer’s side almost immediately. It seemed that the new glass had cut Oswald’s lip as he took a drink from it. Mr. Herrington waved away any help, saying that it was nothing, attempting to sport a jovial look, and excusing himself from the restaurant. The whole time he had kept the napkin to his mouth.
Now, both twins continued the tale in alternating statements, first from Laurie, followed by Gennifer. The merchant’s aversion to the new glassware that day helped them select him as a suspect, by proving some of their suspicions. Apparently their first clue came from them checking the broken glass. Both of them caught the waitress before she dumped the shards of broken glass in the garbage. It had no blood on it anywhere, only traces of golden ale and what appeared to be a small piece of burnt skin.
The next day they visited Mr. Herrington’s office, using the excuse of checking on their book printing supplies. He seemed his normal jovial self, yet they noticed that both his upper and lower lips looked as if they were severely chapped. Since the full moon would be in four days time, the twins asked if Mr. Herrington could bring two of the crates over to their Uncle’s herbal shop at that time. Oswald simply grinned as he told them that he had scheduled that day, as well as the next two, to go purchasing business stock, but that he would have their supplies delivered, as promised, in full next Monday.
Afterwards, all three of my new friends compared notes and came up with a trap for the lycanthrope. They were going to use a couple of caged sheep to try and lure the creature into an area that they could confront it in. Unfortunately, earlier that evening a young shepherd girl, named Lilly, had lost three of her family’s baby sheep. Apparently the young girl had went to look for them and had been found by the werewolf instead.
Arriving at the edge of town, the Vistani stopped. The lead driver dismounted and walked back to my Jeep. I pressed the button to roll down the window and he said, “This is as far as we go. The raunie wants to speak with you tomorrow near the ruins of the old Soddenter Farm, just off Farmer’s Walk road. Be there at high noon.” With that said, he walked back to his vardo, climbed back on the seat and the company headed off into the mists. “They are as creepy as I believed,” I mumbled.
Gennifer directed me to their family’s home, a grand estate named Heather House, on the southwest end of town. Luckily enough, we were already on this side of town, so I didn’t have to drive far without any headlights. On our way to the twin’s family estate, we decide that there were three goals to accomplish; hide my Jeep; notify the local sheriff, leaving the bodies with him; and find me a place to sleep. Laurie suggested that we use the old hay barn to park my "carriage" in and transfer the bodies to a horse drawn cart. Laurie volunteered her and Elijah to take the cart to the sheriff’s place. Backing my Jeep into the unused barn just north of Heather House, Elijah and I move the corpses to a horse drawn wagon. Once again we did so with minimal conversation, mostly “let’s do this” and “what about that”’s. Laurie brought around a horse, which Gennifer hooked the wagon to and Laurie and Elijah were off to the sheriff’s. Gennifer advised me to stay there for a little bit, while she went and made arrangements for me to room in the manor.
With everyone gone and things quiet for a few moments, I had time to reflect on what all had just happened. As I sat inside my police jeep, with it’s door open, I inhale the odors of the barn - the sweet decaying scent of old hay, with a slight hint of a salty spice. There was also a restful sound from the distance that I could not place. Relaxing a bit, I let my mind wander over the events of the night. First my rational mind told me that this was all a dream, and that I would wake up any second now. But try as hard as I might, that didn’t happen. Since I knew that I could wake myself when I’m in a dream that I don’t like, I searched for another explanation. The other conclusion that I came up with, involved me dreaming though the trauma that my wreck would have caused, which didn’t seem to hold logic at this time - this was taking far too long and was far too vivid. Not discovering a plausible explanation, I decided to listen to some music to help sooth my troubles. That was a bad idea. I turned the jeep’s ignition switch to the accessory setting, and attempted to find a radio station. Static. Static on every channel. AM, FM, it didn’t matter. As I leaned my head against the steering wheel with resignation, I could have sworn that, through the static, I heard evil, mocking laughter.
Even though I didn’t realize it at that moment, those couple hours of adventure had completely drained me of energy. With the shocking excitement, combined with me being awake for nearly 20 hours, I was completely, and utterly worn out. As I wrote above, I thought that I heard mocking laughter in the radio’s static. With my attention directed toward the face plate of the radio, Gennifer had walked up beside me, to the open Jeep door. She quietly reached out her hand to touch my left forearm, and when she did, I about jumped through the roof of my vehicle. She apologized and amusedly told me that she had a room ready for me in the manor. I thanked her politely as I turn the ignition switch off and withdrew the keys . Gennifer looped her right arm around my left and led me towards the outside door of the barn. As we stepped out into the night air, I heard it - that faint, familiar sound that I couldn’t place while inside the barn - the ocean. Or rather, the sound of crashing waves. And then the clean, clear smell of salty ocean spray drifting on the crisp cool night winds. I remember feeling like such a twit - letting all these things slip by me, all these things that I should have picked up on. I was very disappointed in myself, as I wasn’t being a very attentive. I realize that I’m in an alien world, but if I can’t keep my wits about me, here I’ll wind up dead. Or worse ...
During our walk, Gennifer spoke to me in whispered tones. “I’ve told Granpapa that you helped us with the beast and that you need a place to stay the night, as you are from foreign lands. He eagerly suggested that you stay in one of the west wing rooms. I must warn you - Grandpapa isn’t ...” she paused, as if searching for the appropriate words to use.
“Isn’t in very good health. Yes, I know. I won’t be a bother. Promise,” I said as I smiled. Gennifer was shocked. “How do you know? I mean, you are an Outlander, are you not? You said yourself that you are not from here,” she said as she slowly started to loosen her grip on my arm and pull away. “You have nothing to worry about, m’am. I am indeed what you would call an ‘Outlander,’ but ... I realize that in these lands it is difficult to trust people that you just meet, but I am very tired and it’s a long story. It is something that I will completely explain to you, something that we can discuss tomorrow, with the rest of your family. But our little adventure tonight has left me quite drained, and I would like nothing better than to catch a few hours of restful, quite sleep.” I believe that last statement eased her, as she resumed her comforting grip on my arm, and we finished our walk in silence, her navigating our way through the thick fog surrounding us.
As we neared the manor house, I was impressed by its silhouette in the foggy night - a hulking shadow, faintly highlighted by the full moon. Gennifer led me into the gatehouse and towards a lighted beacon in the courtyard. There we were met by a butler, who was holding aloft a lit lantern. He was old in appearance, but with a sprightly gleam in his eyes. Gennifer and he conferred for a brief moment, afterwards they approached and she introduced him as Jeeves, stating that he would show me to my room. I thanked her and she wished me a safe night, leaving back through the gatehouse that we had entered. Jeeves simply nodded and led me across the courtyard, to the left, and up a set of steps to some double doors. Entering, Jeeves holds the lantern up high and we proceed to navigate through the darkened manor, up the stair case into what I guessed was the west wing, stopping in front of a door. He curtly swung open the door, and gestured for me to enter, stating that this would be my room.
We entered the lavishly appointed room, him showing me the necessities and wishing me a safe night. Even though I felt extremely weary, since this was a foreign place to me, I lazily poked around the room, giving it a cursory examination. Everything from the stacked stone fireplace, to the hickory wardrobe, to the large window overlooking the hills, to the giant canopied bed. All the furnishings appeared to have came out of an 18th century aristocrat’s home - antique by anything that I had ever seen. Laying down on the cushiony bed was a respite to everything that I had experienced thus far - so much so, I instantly fell asleep.