The Ewing Workshop http://www.theewingworkshop.com Creations from The Workshop of James Ewing Thu, 13 Jun 2013 17:46:31 +0000 en-US hourly 1 January 23rd 1900 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-23rd-1900-2/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-23rd-1900-2/#comments Thu, 13 Jun 2013 17:46:31 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1051 I awoke early and performed my meditations alone for the first time. Taking up my breathing and drawing in the energies of the world around me I placed my awareness where I felt the weight of the soul stone on my chest, and within moments I sat in the calm early morning mists on the banks of the river Nar. The dawn sun gave my surroundings a warm and comforting glow. I breathed a sigh at the calm beauty of my little safe haven. So long have I spent in this place now that the sensation of the grass underneath me and the touch of the mist on my skin as I watch my fishing line curve into the water is all very real. I feel as though I could reach down and feel the cold water running through my fingers. It was during my morning meditations that something odd happened. I sat by the river as usual but I was made aware of something lying on the grass beside me. However, every time I turned to look at it, it would disappear from view as if made of smoke drifting away on the breeze. The most I could make of the object as I viewed it from the corner of my eye was that it was some kind of knife, yet not. It had a long wooden handle, long enough to be grasped in both hands, with brass details that resembled both a sword hilt and a flintlock rifle. In fact it seemed to have a trigger, and bore several different coloured stones. The blade on the other hand was short and broad, only a few inches long and made of clear crystal. I got the distinct impression that the blade was not intended to cut but served some other purpose. For all it’s strange facets in appearance this did not seem to be a weapon at all, but rather an instrument of some other strange and as yet unknown function. I decided not to chase the vision, instead I finished my meditations, dressed and made my way downstairs.
Jennings was at table when I entered the main bar. It was still early but our patron was up and about preparing things for his day. He had supplied us with a hearty breakfast of boiled sausage that Jennings was tucking into with relish. As he saw me enter he gave me a warm welcome and bid me good morning. He seemed extremely bright for someone who had consumed such a large amount of alcohol the previous evening.
As we ate I told him of the strange vision I had experienced whilst performing my meditations. He listened with interest and only commented at the end when he assured me that I had been right not to chase it. He went on to say that this is very common whilst performing such intense visualisations and that I should continue to do just as I had done. When it is ready to be seen, I will see it.
The conversation then moved to our activities for the day and I was informed that the first of our tasks involved viewing a corpse. Not something I relished after the meal I had just eaten as it is often hard for me to escape the fact that boiled sausage looks uncomfortably similar to intestines at the best of times. Still, we pressed on and I found myself asking why we would need to do such a thing. Surely we knew why we were here. The candle was out and the Werewolf was loose, our mandate was to make sure it was safely locked away.
Again a look of incredulous surprise struck Jennings’ face as he sat across the table from me. At first he thanked me for placing my trust in him and the tale he had told, but I was foolish to take it at face value. Trust and the quest for truth and answers are two completely different things, I should be careful not to confuse one with the other. After everything I had witnessed since Egypt, he agreed, this was more than understandable and that I was not being berated for it. However, not every supposedly magical mystery has a magical answer. We are first and foremost, investigators. He assured me that the tale he had told was true. There is a local legend that speaks of a beast and the man Schwytzer had indeed existed and committed all the heinous acts he spoke of, but he may have been just a man. The beast may be little more than the culmination of fear and superstition. When under the grip of terror and subject to the powerful form of suggestion induced by belief in a world of gods and spirits the human mind can see demons in every shadow and monsters in every corner. The perpetrator of these crimes may be no more magical than a bear or wolf. This is why we must investigate everything impartially and without preconceived ideas of the task at hand.
My second mistake, he went on, was assuming it to be a werewolf. Yes the tale spoke of a curse under the full moon and an enormous wolf that walked upright like a man but this, if it exists at all, is no werewolf. As you may yet come to realise, a werewolf is a completely different entity. This is a beast, an ancient curse and construct of people’s thoughts, beliefs and superstitions. The fear of many made real.
It was at that moment the door opened and our gargantuan guide, whom I have since found out is named Horst, entered looking a little worse for wear. Jennings gave him a cheery halloo as he wiped his mouth and set about what was quite obviously a rousing and hearty welcome. I of course didn’t understand a word of it but I understood all too well the pained expression on the man’s face when Jennings clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. The force of the jocular blow being transmitted directly to the man’s pounding head.
Before long we were making our way through the streets to a house that lay on the outskirts of town. Jennings informed me, as he was informed by our guide, that the house belonged to the closest thing the village has to a physician, although my associate looked less than certain with his translation. The custom of the deceased laying in wake at the family home before burial had been forgone on this occasion due to the nature of his wounds. This little snippet of information did not fill me with joy at what lay in store. The man had been a farmer, a well known and respected member of the village. A man much missed by his friends and family. He had been found dead in one of his fields that bordered the sinister forest on the night before we arrived and had been laid to rest in the cellar of the house for which we were now bound. Apparently our guide found the whole affair rather tiresome. He was born and raised in this village and had heard the legend of the Beast of Morbach many times. After spending a great deal of his life working the land and hunting in the forest he had seen nothing scarier than the occasional boar protecting her young and certainly nothing otherworldly. He had always considered it an old wives tale, nothing more. Having seen the remains of this man, a man that he knew well, he was convinced that it was nothing more than the work of a hungry bear.
The houses began to grow fewer and we drew closer to the edge of town, but still our guide walked on and the rolling countryside stretched out in front of us as the valley sloped away. Our road rounded a banked corner until we were out of site of the village. It was here, nestled in the corner of the bank and looking out into the valley that we found the house we sought.
Horst knocked loudly on the door, far louder than his head would let him appreciate. The look on his face was a clear indication of his immediate regret. It seemed to be some time before any signs of life came from beyond. There were shuffling footsteps and muttered German curses as the occupant drew nearer and with a clack the heavy latch lifted and the door swung inwards. Framed against the gloom was the shape of a small, squat woman who was almost as broad as she was tall. Her hair, showing many different shades of grey, hung in a thick shabby plait down to her waist. The white blouse and long skirt she wore made her look almost perfectly square, the apron that completed the ensemble was stained with so many mystery substances that it would have taken an age to identify them all. She stood in the small aperture and looked accusingly at the three faces that greeted her. When her eyes finally fell on Horst a look of contempt flashed across her face. She stepped forward reaching up for the scarf around his neck with her left hand and pulling the man almost double until his face was the same height as her own. With her right hand she reached for his face and thumbed his eyes open, gave a sharp disapproving exclamation before grabbing his chin and indicated that he should stick out his tongue. He did so and she issued another loud tut before beckoning us all inside.
The dingy little house was filled with a thousand smells, each one as impossible to identify as the next. Bunches of herbs hung drying from the low rafters, pots bubbled over the fire, labelled jars lined shelves and tables and an incontinent parrot squawked German insults at us while she busied herself filling a small earthen cup with all manner of ingredients. She turned on her heels and marched the container over to Horst. She didn’t so much offer it to him as threaten him with it. He held up his hands in a weak attempt to assure her that it was not necessary at which point she stamped on his toe and, as his ear came down to her level, she gave him a hefty clip that sounded a resounding crack across the room. Fearing another slap to his already pounding head more than he feared the concoction waving under his nose, he gingerly accepted her kind offer. He drank it down in one go and visibly shuddered as he swallowed the last drop. Bringing his hand to his mouth in an attempt to stop it coming back up he pointed a shaky finger towards Jennings and I, informing her of something with a very weak and troubled mouth.
She turned to us with an inquiring yet judgemental look in her eye and shuffled across the room to stand in front of Jennings. Looking up into his face for a moment, as if trying to see something past what was in front of her, she raised a hand and held her palm in front of his chest. I knew this to be the spot where his soul stone lay but she did not touch him. After a few seconds she dropped her hand and gave him an approving look before turning to face me. She waddled across the floor once more and her eyes met mine. There was nothing odd or intimidating about the way she looked at me but I found it hard to look away. I cannot say whether this was just through a sense of common decency or fear at the way she had dispensed discipline to our brutish bondsman, but I held her gaze as she stood before me. Her hand rose to my chest and stopped at the point where my own soul stone sat. She did not touch me either, but as her hand hung inches from me I felt the strangest sensation of something being gently drawn through my chest.
She slowly lowered her hand once more and gave Jennings an inquisitive look, before turning back to me and flashing one last sideways glance through squinted eyes as if searching for something unseen. Naturally such interest raised my curiosity but before I was given the chance to voice my concern she turned away. I looked to Jennings in the hope that he might shed some light on this but he only gave a knowing smile before falling in behind her, both of them leaving me none the wiser as they made their way across the room.
Perplexed, and a little sullen at being left out of my own concerns, I followed them both as they made for a little door in the corner. Horst, still reeling from either his self inflicted misery or the concoction that had been forced upon him, stumbled along behind me upon realising he was soon to be left alone. The door lay open and beyond it, two shallow steps lead down into a small room with bare stone walls and floor. The temperature drop between the two rooms was instantly noticeable and the food laden shelves indicated that this was obviously the woman’s pantry. In one wall, half hidden behind a deep red curtain stood a door that was instantly foreboding in its stature. Its dark, worn timbers partly concealed behind the tatty crimson cloth. Two large iron hinges spanned the width of its front and a thick latch held it closed. It was as the woman pulled the curtain aside however, that the feeling of unease grew in the pit of my stomach. There on the wood, drawn hastily in white chalk, was a great arcane symbol the relevance of which I cannot say. It was the manner of its execution that chilled me the most. It had certainly been made by someone with the full knowledge of its meaning but had been rendered in such a hurry as to denote an extreme urgency in its inscription. Whoever placed this symbol obviously believed that something lay beyond this door that must either be kept there at all costs or be protected from whatever may come to claim it.
As I stood transfixed by my attempts to make sense of these symbols the loud clack of the latch brought me back to my surroundings and the small woman who now stood with one hand holding the door ajar and staring intently at me. The look in her eye was still one of judgement and I could not shake the feeling that she was in some way trying to get the measure of me. She pulled the door open and stepped through with Jennings following soon after. The look on his face was that of someone thoroughly enjoying themselves. I often wonder about my companion’s state of mind in situations such as this. He seems to enjoy every aspect of the task set before him, even when it means stepping into the unknown. Just as he was about to pass through into the darkness beyond he turned, catching my eye he placed his hand on his own stomach and took a deep, slow and steady breath thus signifying that I should do the same. Immediately my mind, and the flavour of the room, changed. I knew full well our reason for being there but until now it had been clouded, obscured by my own latent fears and the theatrics of this strange little woman.
Had Jennings not brought me to task on this I may have been severely compromised by what followed. The room beyond the runic symbol and its door was colder still. The hooks that hung menacingly from the ceiling made it obvious that this was the woman’s meat store, though no meat hung here now. Whether her stocks were low or she had cleared everything for fear of it being tainted I could not say but the room was empty save for a table which stood in the middle of the floor. The only light came from a small window near the ceiling and the torch she bore aloft. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom the nature of my surroundings became clearer in a most unwelcome fashion.
The table that stood in the centre of the room bore something which was unmistakably a reclining figure. This was not the cause for my concern for I knew this was our business. The cloth that covered the figure however, was far from reassuring. Although originally white it now showed many dark stains of an unsavoury nature which it had obviously obtained from its occupant. Yet this paled into insignificance against what was visible upon the floor. More symbols had been drawn in chalks of several different colours within a circle that encompassed the table and its grisly cargo. These symbols were numerous and of such intricate design that it must have taken their author quite some time to lay down. Around all of this stood another circle of white powder which had clearly been poured in abundance.
Jennings stood by the head of the table and I drew up next to him. My concern was obviously visible in my face for, as he turned to me he said.
“Remember, it is nothing but fear and superstition. Do not let it cloud your judgment”
These words did offer some comfort but, more comforting still was the manner in which Jennings carried himself. I made to move closer but suddenly his hand was at my arm and holding me fast.
“That said however, do not break the line of salt. Or step through it”
With a smile he released his grip and left me wondering just how much he believed his own advice.
Our host barked something German at my counterpart and, from the corner of his mouth he warned me to steel myself. She reached across the prostrate mass on the slab and, taking a corner in either hand, pulled back the sheet that covered it. Had I been awarded a week to ready myself for the sight I beheld it would not have been time enough. I have seen men meet their end in some of the most gruesome ways on the plains of the Sudan but this tested me more than anything I have ever seen.
One wide eye stared up at the ceiling, the other was gone along with most of the flesh that covered the right of his skull. What was left of the poor wretches face was twisted in an expression of pure terror. His mouth hanging wider than was physically possible due to his jaw being only half attached and his tongue lolled sickeningly from the gap. Large rends had opened him at the rib cage and I was thankful that the dull light of the room did not shed its glow on what may lay inside. His right arm was gone and the skin that remained had started to yellow and take on a mottled and bilious pallor.
Horst spoke and pulled me from my torpor, Jennings answered with what sounded like little more than a grunt. As both men spoke in German I was none the wiser to their meaning until Jennings turned to me.
“He is convinced a Bear did this. What do you think?”
I could offer no Illumination to this investigation and informed my friend that I had never even seen a Bear let alone witnessed one’s handy work.
“Then you must learn to see past what is in front of you” he said.
Reaching into his coat he took out a small object and handed it to me. It was a small crystal ball encased in brass and copper rings, one smaller than the other and on opposite sides of the sphere. I confess I was a little confused as to its purpose until Jennings instructed with a gesture that I should bring it to my eye and look through it. I was in the process of raising it to my face as he had indicated when it was snatched from my hand by the mad little woman and she brought it quickly to her own eye. There was a sharp intake of breath as she took in whatever sight greeted her, followed by muttered exclamations of a wholly religious nature. She took the thing from her eye and turned it over in her hands, inspecting it quickly before handing it back to me.
Slightly disconcerted by her reaction I was somewhat hesitant to raise it to my own eye but a morbid curiosity drove me on. The small sphere behaved as any other lens of its kind would and turned the world upside down. In this way it was wholly normal, what I saw through it however, was not. The body of this poor soul lay still and unchanged as it had done this entire time we observed it, the only difference were the nature of the wounds.
I struggle even now to describe what I saw save only to say that the tears in his flesh were glowing black. Perhaps glowing would be the wrong word but I struggle to put better words to it. Blackness emanated from the enormous claw marks in the same way sunlight would shine through a gap in the curtain. The aura undulated as it showed forth giving it the feel of a living thing that crawled under his skin like a dark serpent wrapping itself around his heart.
Lowering the thing from my eye slowly, I turned to Jennings for an explanation. He simply said.
“Now we know it was not a Bear. Now we know there is a little more credibility to the fears and superstitions of this town. So we are in search of a beast after all”
This last comment he made to himself more than anyone else in the room.
I made to give the crystal ball back to him but he held up his hand and said that I should keep it. He no longer needed it and soon, neither would I. I tucked it away in a pocket as my associate smiled pleasantly and offered something that I assume was a ‘thank you’ to our host. She replaced the blood stained cover and we all followed her as she left the room, waiting until the last of us had passed through the chalk marked door before shutting it firmly behind us and covering it once again with its curtain.
Having performed our duties there, Jennings made a show of preparing himself to leave and step out into the cold once more, even though the room from which we had just come was not much warmer than the winter outside. Again I followed suit with pleasure. I was eager to leave the place and take some fresh air whether it was freezing cold or otherwise.
There was no ceremony to our departure. Clearly our host wanted us gone as much as we wanted to leave. For the last few moments that we remained in her presence she would not take her eye from me. I felt that she held me in great suspicion until the second the door closed behind us and we found ourselves on the road once more.
I found myself curious as to what our next task might be but I did not have to wait long. It was Jennings opinion that we should take a look at the candle shrine. Horst, it seemed, knew all too well where it was and was more than willing to show us. I have no idea what that odd little woman had forced upon him but her potion seemed to have worked wonders. He stood before us the very picture of health and vigour with not a sign of the shadow that had hung over him previously that morning. After a short discussion we followed him to his house which was again, on the outskirts of town. This time however, it was on the other side and closer to the forest.
We arrived at a small hut with a giant wood store on one side and large lean to hut on the other. Horst pushed open the front door which he obviously saw no need to lock and Jennings followed without bothering to wait for an invitation, I saw no reason not to do likewise. Inside was the home of a committed bachelor who obviously enjoyed the freedoms of life as a single man, a single man with a lot to learn about the mysteries of the dishcloth, mop and duster.
Horst left us briefly to collect the few things he felt essential before setting off into the woods. As I took in the astonishing wonders of such a place my eyes eventually fell on Jennings who was standing stock still in the middle of the room like a statue, his hands held firmly at his sides and staring off into the middle distance. His stance was most peculiar and prompted me to ask if he was ok. He simply replied,
“I’m trying not to make a mess!” and a sly smirk creased his face.
We were both still laughing when Horst came back into the room now sporting a longer, thicker coat and a rather large shotgun. The mirth immediately fell from Jennings face when he saw the weapon but he chose not to voice his obvious distain for it. His manner in this surprised me. Horst did not notice, he simply made for the door and expected us both to follow, which of course we did. Turning left out of the door we were not lead back down the path we had followed to his house but instead to the small hut that leaned against its side.
The door of the hut was in such a state of disrepair that it had to be lifted with both hands before it could be pulled open. This was a simple task for our giant friend but would have taken a lot more effort had Jennings or I tried our hand at it, so we simply stood back and watched. Motioning that we should follow him, Horst made his way inside. He picked a path around various large pieces of farming machinery and hunting traps, ducking under low hanging tools that were arranged on hooks in the rafters until we reached the very back wall where sat a long deep chest that had seen many a better day. Its wood was thick and its straps broad but they were all showing signs of wear now. The big man rested his gun against the wall and lifted the lid with both hands. The collection of weapons that lay inside gave me serious concern for Horst’s mental state but I have to say I was pleased to see them. All manner of edged weapons were collected here, swords, knives, axes. Some in much better condition than others but most of them were serviceable. One caught my eye immediately and I reached in to take it up. It was a short straight sword in a leather sheath and I drew it to inspect the blade. It was well balanced and the fittings were securely mounted, there were some dark patches to the steel but no rust to speak of and the blade was keen and relatively free of chips. This blade was shorter than the one I had grown accustomed to in Africa and straight too, in fact the blade only stretched from my shoulder to my wrist, but it sat nicely in the hand and was comfortable to wield. Horst had been watching me as I inspected the weapon and as I re-sheathed it he nodded and added a grunt of approval before turning to look at Jennings. I took this as an indication that I was to keep hold of it, something I was all too happy to do.
My companion stood with his hands clasped behind his back with his customary content smile as he took all this in. Horst said something inquisitive in German and Jennings raised his hand in polite refusal. Our friendly giant asked again but my pacifist friend only confirmed his decision. Horst shrugged and let the heavy lid fall with a thump as he picked up his weapon and lead us out of his armoury, heaving the door closed behind us.
As we walked I picked my moment to ask Jennings why he had not chosen to take a weapon. Surely having something by his side would give him some comfort, even if our quarry was not of this world. I know it certainly made me feel better to have a keen blade to rely on. His answer was something I did not expect.
“I do not want a weapon, because it is a weapon. Weapons are born of fear and they breed nothing but anger and misery. That way madness lies. The true blade of the warrior is in the mind and that is the only one you should worry about training with. Carry one if you must but I promise it will do you no good, especially against what waits for us in those woods. A Weapon of any kind always does far too much damage to all concerned, surely you must know this better than most with all the things you were witness to in The Sudan. Besides, the beast is not the quarry, we are. He is the hunter, never forget that”
I listened to his words and suddenly the thing in my hand became alien to me. As I looked at it I saw all the horrors I had witnessed at the hands of scared and angry men armed with instruments such as these. I knew what the thing was capable of and I knew I had a certain amount of skill in the martial arts, but I was now loath to use it should I be called to do so.
We walked in silence for what must have been hours. The midday sun had long since passed over head by the time the forest started to grow thick around our road. The winter air was cold and crisp under the canopy of trees as we reached the crossroads where the shrine sat. The first thing I noticed was the yawning silence that only comes in the total absence of all noise. No birds sang here, no creatures rustled in the shrub, even the wind seemed afraid to move the branches. The cloudless sky gave the sun room to shine down on the world but its rays found no entrance here, it was blocked at every turn and the dark sense of foreboding shrank in around us. This place was scarred by darkness and evil, every shadow had eyes that made the skin crawl up my back.
I fancied for a moment that I may be the only one who felt this. Perhaps I was letting this place and my imagination run away with me, but when I chanced to look at Jennings I saw a perceptible shiver run down his spine and he looked most unsettled. It was his suggestion that we were quick about our task here, and hasten our return to the village that confirmed my suspicions.
He passed these sentiments on to Horst in his native tongue as the man nodded his understanding and turned to lead us up the grass embankment to where the shrine stood.
It was a small wooden structure very much like a church alcove where one might find a saintly statue. There was a tall archway and canopy over a low shelf on which lay many charms and offerings of all shapes, sizes and natures. Some appeared very new indeed and were not so much arranged as scattered. Obviously each offering had been brought here by a different member of the village and each one had felt that theirs was the most important on the pile. On the front of the shrine, written over the alcove opening, were the words “Ave Maria” and there in the middle, with pride of place, was a large ornate glass lantern in which sat an unlit candle.
Jennings reached to open the small door in the side of the lantern and instantly froze as his finger tips were mere inches away. I had heard it too. The silence of this place had been momentarily broken by the sound of a snapping twig which had come from behind a tree not six yards away. However, it was not the snap that had startled us both. It was the sound of breathing that accompanied it, a low, rhythmic and guttural breathing. Jennings hand moved again, slowly forward towards the lantern and the sound intensified. The next sound I heard was the soft double click clack of Horst drawing back both hammers on his weapon as he stood stock still. The sound had come from behind him and he stood with his head turned slightly as to better listen for any sudden movement.
My counterpart slowly moved his hand away and spoke to the world at large,
“Well, I think we’ve seen everything we need to see here. Shall we leave?”
He found no disagreement from either of us and we slowly backed away from the shrine until we stood where the roads crossed. Nothing followed us and the breathing slowly died away. Whether it was the beast or not I cannot say, all I know for certain is that none of us wanted to stay and find out. We started to walk slowly at first and as quietly as possibly, listening to see if anything followed us. We heard nothing and our pace quickened with each step until we found ourselves on the open road again. The sun was low by the time the trees gave us room to see it. The forest was still thick on either side and again we walked in silence as we listened.
The sky grew steadily darker as we were driven on by the dread oppression that chased our backs. Horst had waited until he knew we were close enough to home before he lit his one and only lantern for fear of it burning out before we found safety. Its dim light only crept a tiny way into the trees and the shadows it cast made shapes dance in the forest that were somehow even more unsettling than the darkness itself.
The last rays of sunlight had sunk below the horizon a good twenty minutes before we emerged from the forest and saw the lights of the village a little way ahead. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but I knew our ordeal was not over yet. Five more minutes and we would be out of the darkness. Now free from the woods the moon lit our path and Horsts lamp was of no further use.
It was as we neared the half way mark that a terrible howl split the air around us and I knew it to be far greater than that of any wolf. I did not draw my conclusion from experience, how could I? I have never encountered a wolf. No, I knew this sound came from no natural animal from the effect it had on Horst. The huge man turned so quickly in the direction the noise had come from and froze solid with a look of wide eyed terror on his face. He did not raise his weapon to take aim but clutched it tight across his chest in both hands as if it would somehow shield him from whatever this thing may be. Jennings had also spun on his heels to see where such a noise had come from but his expression was far from one of fear. He stood in wide eyed wonder with the smile of a man seeing the glory of a dawn for the first time.
The road stretched from our feet back down to the sharp bend it took as it entered the forest to our right, straight ahead of us was a field that had its entrance between the forest and a small copse of trees. It was in this entrance to the field that something sat.
The moonlight behind it gave the impression of a low dark bush against the silver grey of the grass all around it. Had I known no different I would have been convinced that a bush is all it was, but then it stood. It rose up from its crouch on two strong legs that had the unmistakable double angle of a canine, it rose until it was at least eight feet tall. The silhouette was slender with large powerful shoulders and long arms that ended in sharp claws. It was not until the thing turned sideways and ran into the forest that I saw the long wolf like snout and thick hair. The speed at which it moved was astonishing as it cleared the twenty feet back to the forest with ease. The second it moved was like the starting gun to a sprinter and Horst set off at a gallop. I followed very swiftly on his heels and was already several yards away when I turned to see Jennings still standing where we had both left him. I shouted to him but he did not turn. I shouted again, this time at full sprint as I made my way back to him but still he did not turn. It was not until he felt my hand on his arm that he conceded to look at me, the smile on his face even bigger now, and as an excited child he asked,
“Did you see that?”
I did not answer, just looked at him in amazement and dragged him along behind me as I hit my sprint back the village once more.
We did not stop running until we burst through the doors of the bar. Horst made straight for the counter and demanded a stiff drink from the owner. I could do nothing but fall into the nearest vacant seat and battle to get my breath back. Jennings entered at a run seconds after me and stood leaning with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath between bouts of laughter. He looked up at my astonished face and with a smile said,
“Well, that was invigorating”
Now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline started to fade I found his mirth quite infectious and felt a smile creep across my own weary face.
The rest of the evening was spent eating our fill and washing it down with some welcome ale while Jennings spun the tale of our encounter to anyone who cared to listen, which was everybody, whilst apparently making me out to be the hero of the piece for which I received more drink and many a slapped shoulder. Horst took it upon himself to try and teach me the fundamentals of German which, in his opinion, consisted mostly of insults, swear words and sexual suggestions.
As the evening wore on and the revelry wound down to its own, slightly quieter level, Jennings and I found ourselves sitting in a quiet corner as Horst told another tale of monsters to the adoring crowd around him and my associate turned to me asking what I had managed to piece together from our day.
At first I was a little unseated by his question. My day had been mostly horror and revulsion but I was pretty sure this was not what he wanted to hear. Thankfully he ventured his own point of view.
Upon viewing the remains of the poor wretch this morning he had surmised several things. The beast was indeed a reality and, even though it probably was not to be held accountable for every death and disappearance it was certainly guilty of that poor man’s murder. Furthermore the man appeared to be of no consequence so far, he was merely a farmer who happened to be too close to the forest when the beast found itself free of its prison. Also, the people of this town are very superstitious. Our host was indicative of that, not only was she a practitioner of natural magic she was also the trusted physician for the entire town, which also goes to show just how much they are prepared to believe in the beast. After all, it is their belief that gives it the strength it has. The only person we have encountered so far who gave no credit to the myth of the beast was Horst and his opinion on that was changed dramatically by the events of the day.
Which then lead him to his thoughts on the shrine. He asked if I had noticed anything odd there. I had to confess that nothing immediately sprang to mind. He asked if I had actually seen the candle, again I had to confess that I had not. My mind had been on whatever lurked in the trees at the time.
“The candle”, he said “had been snuffed out. It had not burned down naturally and it had certainly not been blown out as it was protected from the wind by the glass lantern. Someone purposefully put the candle out.”
This had not occurred to me. Who on earth would do such a thing and knowingly release such hell upon the town? This was one of the several questions my counterpart assured we had to answer. Who had done this? Why had they done this? Whose job was it to keep the candle lit? But most of all, why was the candle still out?
I retired with those questions bouncing around inside my weary mind. Once in my room I spent a little time next to the river and as I sat fishing on the bank the strange object appeared beside me once more. I did not turn to look at it, and by not doing so I was awarded a further glimpse.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-23rd-1900-2/feed/ 0 January 22nd 1900 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-22nd-1900/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-22nd-1900/#comments Sun, 02 Jun 2013 17:49:10 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1045 And so I found myself leaving England once more, this time bound for Germany.
Being amongst people again, after my time spent in seclusion with Nathaniel and all the many wonders I have witnessed, is an unexpectedly strange sensation. The world and its people have not changed, but my perception of it certainly has. The world that seemed so important before has now paled into insignificance beside the hidden realms that I have been shown. I don’t so much see it, as feel it. I converse with people and wonder how flat everything must feel for them.
We boarded a merchant vessel in the early hours of the morning, departed soon after and were well under way before the sun rose. Though I was not privy to the negotiations, it was obvious from the manner of both men that Jennings knew the captain from old. We made Calais within the day and Jennings found us lodgings for the night. My mentor was very tight lipped about the nature of our trip for the entirety of that first day. He was obviously very troubled by it, which in turn gave me cause for concern. I approached him on the subject only once as his response to my questioning and outright evasion of the subject made it clear that I should not ask again. Instead he had me meditate with him on our crossing. We went to the prow of the ship and stood side by side facing forward into the open sea.
“Water is one the most powerful elements of our world” He said “It can fill any vessel, take any shape, break down walls and, in time, it can move mountains. Most importantly of all however, it is the giver of life. Without it, none can live”
He had me adopt the horse riding stance next to him and take up my breathing. Standing thus, I was to extend my hands out in front of me at the height of my waist with my fingers outstretched and my palms facing down.
“Now listen the water as it crashes against the ship. As you breathe in, imagine the waves crashing against the palms of your hands. Feel the force of the waves against your skin and let the sound fill your mind”
After spending so much time with Jennings in Nathaniel’s woodland sanctuary this came easily. I was to stand with him and imagine the water rushing in through the palms of my hands to fill my entire body as I breathed in, and let it rush out again as I breathed out, keeping the sensation and sound of it clear in my mind as I did.
“Feel the energy course through you but always allow it to return whence it came. It is not yours to keep but, if it favours you, some may choose to stay for the ride”
He urged me to intensify the sensation with every breath until the roaring of the water was deafening and it poured through me with such force that I fought to hold it. I know that these sensations were nothing more than a product of my own mind, but they reached such a stage that I could almost feel my body trembling under the force of the torrent and Jennings’ words became distant as a raised voice under the thundering of a waterfall.
The feeling was indescribable. After a while I was instructed to let the sensation slowly ease until it felt like nothing more than the lazy crest of a summer wave washing up the beach and back to the sea, but to keep in my mind the feeling of calm power the water has on the horizon.
This whole exercise left me feeling more invigorated and mentally alert than I can ever recall and over the course of this week it is an element that Jennings has returned to in our daily meditations.
On the second morning I awoke to find Jennings already up and making ready to leave. I took this as my cue to follow suit. The sun was barely colouring the sky by the time we were back on the street and looking for passage with anyone who could get us closer to Germany. We still had considerable ground to cover and time was of the essence. Once again I found myself standing in the wings as Jennings negotiated our passage with a market trader bound for Lille.
It was on this second day, whilst sitting cramped between our gracious host’s various market wares, that Jennings finally conceded to inform me of the task that lay ahead.
His story started with the Napoleonic war and the Battle of Russia. After their disastrous defeat in Moscow a group of deserters left Napoleon’s forces and fled across Europe. Amongst them was a man called Thomas Johannes Baptist Schwytzer and he was making his way back to his homeland of Alsace in France. When the men reached the town of Wittlich in Germany they came across the secluded house of a farmer on the outskirts of the Morbach forest. The men, being hungry and tired saw nothing wrong with taking whatever they wanted. In the midst of their ransacking they were discovered by the farmer and his sons who confronted the men. A fight inevitably ensued in which Thomas and his fellow deserters overpowered and killed the farmer and his two boys. The farmer’s wife, being understandably grief stricken, attacked Schwytzer who easily struck her down. With murder in his heart he turned on her, but as he raised his hand she laid a terrible curse upon him.
“Every month, when the moon grows full, you will roam this land as the rabid beast you are”
With those words Schwytzer crushed her skull. The men took up residence in the farm house but it was not long before the curse began to take effect. Schwytzer’s behaviour slowly started to become more ferocious. He would rob and murder any passersby at his leisure. Before too long his counterparts could bear it no longer and left him to do as he wished. Thomas fell in with bandits where he carried on in his dark ways unheeded, until even they could stand his ferocity no longer and shunned him. Left to his own devices he took refuge in the solace of the thick woodland of Morbach and continued his rampage as he grew more ferocious by the day.
Rumours were heard of an enormous wolf that could walk on its hind legs and stalked the forest slaughtering men and cattle wherever it went. Tales of a huge ferocious beast that terrorized anyone who strayed too close to the forest as dusk fell. Heaven forbid they should find themselves lost in the wilderness after dark.
One night, whilst on his travels Schwytzer came across a beautiful farmer’s daughter by the name of Elizabeth Beierle. With no morals or inhibitions to stand in his way, he raped her and fled into the woods. When she gave her account of the ordeal she said it was not a man that attacked her, but an enormous wolf like beast that walked on two legs. Several days later, whilst sitting by his camp fire in the forest, Schwytzer was discovered by a group of farmers who had taken it upon themselves to track him down. Realising he was outnumbered, the beast, as he had become known, ran and the mob gave chase. The pursuit lead them through thick forest for hours but finally they managed to corner him and their justice was served. Schwytzer’s body was burned and his remains buried at a crossroads between Morbach and Wittlich. The villagers erected a shrine at this crossroads and performed a sacred rite that would keep the beast confined as long as a candle burned there. Nine months later Elizabeth gave birth to a son who she named Martin. He grew up to be a normal, healthy man and his family name commands great respect among the people of Wittlich. The legend says that if the candle is ever extinguished the beast will return to have his revenge on the people of the village and the son he would never have wanted. The reason I found myself so far from home again was clear. The candle has gone out.
I listened to Alfred’s story with interest, mulling it over in my mind and trying to imagine what part we were to play in this tale of terror. I offered my thoughts on the matter. Surely we were to make for Wittlich with haste, attend the ceremony in order to ensure it was properly executed and once we were satisfied that all was well, and the beast had been incarcerated, we would return to England and report to the S.P.R. and Nathaniel.
Turning to Jennings I expected to be congratulated on my proposed solution. Instead I found him looking at me with an expression of incredulous surprise.
“Oh? You think it that easy?”
With that he gave his explanation of our duties. We were indeed to make for Wittlich with all haste. That much I had guessed correctly. Once there we would ensure the ritual was performed in the proper manner and the candle relit. This however, was tantamount to closing the gate once the horse has bolted. Schwytzer would be looking for Elizabeth. Failing that, he would be looking for his son, and failing that he would be looking for any of his descendants. Given that Schwytzer was buried over 80 years ago I doubted very much that his son still lived. Elizabeth certainly would not.
Jennings had yet more to offer on the subject. Once Schwytzer had found who he was looking for he would inevitably put them to death. Once sated he would return to incarceration but as long as the candle remains unlit he would be free to come and go as he pleases. Once the candle has been relit he must be placed back in his prison where he will remain until such time as the candle may go out again.
It was our job to make sure he was safely locked away.
From Lille we took the train to Luxembourg and travelled the rest of the way by whatever means we could find, be it horse, cart or foot. The majority of our time on the road was spent in meditation as Jennings set about teaching me to put into practice everything I had learned so far. He showed me how it could be used to channel my thoughts and energies around my body whilst placing my awareness at the point where the soul stone rested against my chest. A full seven days later and we finally reached our destination.
It was dark as we arrived in the little town and fear hung in the air like a greasy haze. The forest loomed in the distant darkness and dread filed me as I looked upon it. My imagination gave it glowing eyes and snarling teeth. Everywhere the shutters were closed tight and very little light spread into the street from open doors or windows. Jennings manner was not diminished by this in the slightest. With his chest puffed out he strolled as if he had not a care in the world. His face was cut in a broad, friendly smile as one might wear whilst merrily wandering over hill and dale. I followed at his side with a feeling that I had missed him utter the witty comment he seemed so proud of.
A lady was hurriedly gathering firewood from an outside store as our path took us past her house. Jennings stopped and, still wearing his broad and friendly smile, addressed her warmly, in perfect German. At least I assume it was perfect. I must confess to not knowing the language myself but I have heard it spoken on several occasions and this sounded extremely convincing to me. It also took me a little by surprise as he spoke fluently, with confidence and a perfect accent.
The woman simply froze with her hand full of kindling, stared at him for a moment and ran straight back into the house slamming the door behind her. Seconds later the shutters slammed fast too. Jennings turned to face back in the direction we had been heading, still with that same happy smile and simply said,
“Ah yes, this is the place”
As we walked further into the centre of town the place slowly seemed to show more signs of life. By which I mean only that the light grew a little brighter and sound started to find our ears. The steeple of the wooden church was merely a dark shape against the inky black sky but still stood as a beacon guiding us to the heart of the village. It was as we rounded a corner that the noise hit us full on. On one side of the main square, with light and life and laughter spilling into the night, was the true heart of the town. Jennings step lengthened and his smile found its reason as he marched with glee towards the cacophony and I found myself struggling to keep at his heels.
The sound of silence as we stood in the doorway was deafening. Everybody had stopped to look at the strangers framed against the night. Jennings smile did not falter as he made purposefully for the bar. Keeping my eyes squarely at his back I made after him. He then proceeded to surprise me still further. In a loud and unabashed voice he spoke to the bartender in such broken German and without a hint of an accent as he stammered and wrestled with every syllable that left his mouth. There was a very large man on the other side of the bar taking a keen interest in Jennings and his feigned show of ignorance. He stood with both hands on the counter and a growing smile on his face as he looked across at us and took in the show. The men that stood around him were far smaller than he, but they gave the impression of an adoring pack at the heels of the alpha wolf. All I wanted was to find a dark, cosy corner and slip out of the world for a breath of fresh air.
After what seemed like an eternity of Jennings dancing around in the tiger enclosure, two mugs of beer were placed heavily on the counter. My counterpart then offered a loud and happy thank you, in English, which raised the interest of the mountainous man to new heights.
The comment he issued to the gang of men that surrounded him filled the bar and was met by thunderous laughter from the majority of its patrons. Jennings smile did not waver one jot, he simply lifted his drink to his lips and took a deep and delighted pull on it. This only seemed to add fuel to the fire as another comment was met with even more raucous laughter and sneers from our enormous tormentor. Another verbal missile, and yet another, each one gathering momentum from the derision of its predecessor until the entire room had turned to look at us and placed it allegiance squarely behind this towering bully.
Jennings smile was like a red rag. He drained his cup, placed it softly on the bar and turned to look at the man. He said nothing as he walked around the bar to stand in front of him. From my vantage point I could see that this hulking brute was a clear head taller than my soon to be ex friend as he gazed up into his smug, jeering face. Jennings just smiled as he stood looking up at him with his arms hanging limp at his sides. The whole room held its breath in anticipation of the show that was about to take place, my mind went numb. I had no idea what he was playing at but I certainly had no love for the game.
The hefty brute shifted his weight and the smile slowly fell from his face as he placed his mug on the bar top. Drawing himself up to his full and considerable stature he towered over Jennings with a look that could have drilled through solid stone. Then it happened and I didn’t even see him move. The sound filled the room like the crack of a lion tamer’s whip and then all was still. My world froze in a heartbeat and fear gripped me. The huge man that had made our arrival in this little town an experience I am likely never to forget started to slowly slump towards the bar. His eyes rolled back in his head, Jennings moved forward to catch him and seated him on the nearest stool. Speaking to him clearly and soothingly in his native tongue he helped the man lean forward so that he might put his head between his knees. The rest of the room simply watched, transfixed by what had just occurred. My reckless friend addressed them at large as their champion recuperated and his comment was met by a smattering of smiles and recognition. He then addressed the stunned patron of the establishment loud enough so that the whole room might hear and they duly received his words with much appreciation. The bartender wasted no time pouring drinks for everyone and my companion set about nursing our agitator back to some semblance of consciousness. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The rest of the evening was spent in laughter and merriment. Jennings span many a yarn that I understood not one word of. I was clapped on the back, had the arm of many a drunken stranger flung about my shoulders and my hand was nearly crushed lifeless several times when shook by our satirical greeter in his increasingly inebriated attempts to apologise or justify his earlier actions, or both.
At the end of the night Alfred and I were shown to our rooms and I took the opportunity of pulling him aside to berate him for his reckless behaviour that could have easily seen us both beaten to a pulp. He was immediately serious for the first time since we had arrived.
“If you don’t take risks you will fail. This is an uncertain task in an uncertain world. There is no place for rules and etiquette here. Besides, (his grin returning with full force) I managed to find us the biggest guide in Germany and lodgings for our stay, what did you get?”
With that he ducked into his room and his door closed behind him. I wonder what treats Wittlich will have in store for us when the sun rises.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-22nd-1900/feed/ 0 January 15th 1900 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-15th-1900/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-15th-1900/#comments Sun, 26 May 2013 18:08:37 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1036 My training began in earnest this week with what Jennings referred to as “the fundamentals”. How I breathe, he assured me, is just as important as whether I breathe. At first I thought this folly and another of his jokes at my expense but after the few days I have spent under his tutelage, I must confess to noticing many changes.
Early on the first morning he had me follow him outside and adopt a stance as if I were sitting astride a horse. I felt foolish at first but then he stood facing me and adopted the self same stance. At his instruction I was to take a deep breath in through my nose. I did so, and he told me I was wrong. He had me to do it again, this time placing his hand on my chest. I took a deep breath and, as I did, he told me to freeze and hold it. Leaving his hand in place he said,
“When you breathe, I should not feel your chest move”
He instructed me to try again but this time my chest should stay steady and I should allow my abdomen to extend. Certainly I have run or ridden until I was fighting to catch my breath on many occasions but I had never had cause to pay attention to my breathing in this manner. As I did, I was surprised by the change I felt. We stood facing each other in this way as we breathed deeply and steadily, in unison, for quite some time. I was to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, not stopping or pausing as I did. My breath should be a continuous cycle, round and flawless as a pearl. Once he was satisfied that I had grasped the understanding of this he moved on.
He had me take note of the sharp sensation in my nasal passage as I breathed in the cold winter air. I was to try and imagine this sensation in different parts of my body as I breathed, starting with an area in the middle of my hips which he called the “sacrum”. The purpose of this was to illustrate the power of thought and how the conscious mind can be manipulated through visualisation. Also, that the brain and the conscious mind were two separate things. Just because my brain was between my ears, it did not mean my soul was. After doing this for some time I started to notice a strange sensation throughout my entire body. When I relayed this information to Jennings he seemed a little taken aback. These techniques, he told me, were of Asian origin and have existed for centuries. What I was experiencing was something called “Kundalini” energy. Transferring my conscious mind to the point where I had placed that sensation was known as “being in the fullness of oneself” and people rarely experienced it so quickly.
Over the course of the following days Jennings had me stand like this for some time each morning so that I might fix the sensation in my mind. Each day he would have me shift my awareness to a different part of my body. When he was happy with my progress he would call an end to our meditations and we would set about helping Nathaniel in the cottage or around the grounds with all the various jobs that needed doing. Jennings would be close by at all times and, should he catch me breathing improperly, he would strike me in the chest with whatever he had to hand (in one instance, this was a shovel), and command me to breath in the manner he had instructed. He would also wait until I was in the middle of tasks and shout parts of the body at me. This was my instruction to take my awareness to that corresponding location whilst I carry on with the task in hand. This I found incredibly difficult to begin with but, with practice I am steadily improving.
It was after several days of this that Jennings raised the subject of the Soul Stone around my neck. He had me take it out of my shirt and inspect it. I have to confess that by this time, I had spent a great deal of time inspecting it in private but I did as he asked all the same. His explanation of the artefact was thus. The stone was not actually stone at all but Amber, the fossilized sap of a tree. It was a strange substance that allowed the storage of certain energies. He went on to say that, through proper use, it would not only protect my soul from dark entities that would wish to drain it from me, but was also a means of storing it should one of those dark spirits succeed in killing me. This last comment brought home the severity of my situation for the first time. I had not previously thought of such an eventuality. I had faced death on a daily basis in the Sudan, but the thought of an enemy that sought to steal my very soul was a sobering one indeed. I feel that Jennings could sense my concerns in this and so pressed on with his tuition. It was a very rare occasion that this came to pass, he assured me, but on those rare occasions it is possible to retrieve the soul and lay it to rest.
Bidding me put the pendant back in my shirt he had me take up the breathing exercises and visualisations I had been training in. He asked me to shift my awareness to the point where I felt the thing resting against my chest. I did as he asked. Next he asked me to picture in my minds eye, a place from my past where I had felt safe and happy. It must be a place where I spent a lot of time in comfort with nothing but good memories. That was easy, for every time I had inspected my Soul Stone its foggy complexion had reminded me of the early mornings I spent fishing on the banks of the river Nar. Many nights I had camped out on those banks and woken in the early morning mist. Sometimes the mist was so thick I could not see the opposite bank, and even though I knew I could see towns 30 miles away on a clear day, I felt as if I was in my own little cocoon. I was separated from the world and all its woes and my only concern was the arc of my line into the calm waters.
This began the next stage of my training. Keeping in mind all that I had learned so far, I was also to bring this new place into my meditations. To breathe as I had been shown, to centre my awareness where I felt it against my chest and to keep that place fixed in my mind as I did so. This has been the new focus over the remainder of this week. Jennings has taken to throwing things at me when he feels I least expect it. Every time I am struck by his missiles I am instructed to focus my awareness on the stone. It has got the point now that it almost the first thing that springs to my mind.
This evening after dinner Jennings asked that I help bring some logs in for the fire. We made our way out to the wood store and the bright light of the full moon over head made the carpet of snow sparkle like a sea of diamonds at our feet. I took this opportunity to ask Jennings a little more about the S.P.R. He seemed reluctant at first but only for a moment.
As he had already told me, the society was founded by a handful of very wealthy British Lords and gentlemen who held high positions in most areas of society. Their collective goal was to study the world of the supernatural and paranormal with every asset at their disposal. They would employ certain people, such as Jennings, to investigate the cases that were brought to light. It was made apparent that there are many different areas to be taken into consideration and for each of these areas there are a handful of specialist investigators. Jennings area of expertise, and the area in which he was to train me, was that of magical creatures and entities, or what some in the S.P.R. referred to as “monsters”. Jennings disliked this term and branded it racist, as it was his opinion that the term “monster” is a purely subjective one. Many of the entities he has investigated are no more monstrous than a Tiger or Shark. A Tiger kills to survive but you would not call it evil. It simply does not conform to the rules of etiquette, or the moral sensibilities that man has forced upon himself in an attempt to appear civilised. A Tiger is merely amoral and does what it needs to survive. The same can be said for the world of magical creatures, there are only a very few truly malicious entities. It was Jennings’ opinion that the true problems arise when man finds himself in conflict or competition with the natural order, whether through design or circumstance.
The S.P.R. is not the only society of its kind. There are in fact several organisations around the world that have devoted their time and resources to better understanding the domain of the paranormal. For the most part there is a mutual respect amongst them and they are all too happy to share their findings. However, there are some who believe that all knowledge is power and should be kept secret and sacred. They believe that certain artefacts and entities hold the key to ultimate power over the earth and their fellow man. They will stop at nothing to ensure their place in history. On the rare occasion that agents from these societies have been encountered the situation has quickly become violent and hostile. Several times these encounters have almost brought harm to members of the public, or almost made the efforts of the society news worthy and therefore known to all. Neither outcome would be acceptable.
The next move of the society was an odd one. To counter the possibility of their investigations becoming the focus of the public, they gave the society a public front. By making the presence of the organisation known to all and inviting people with an interest in the unexplained to join, they created a smoke screen behind which they could operate in relative safety. Should anyone come forward with an outlandish tale of the exploits of an agent they could be waved away as a product of the over active imagination of a society member, and so, in 1882 the “Society for Psychical Research” was born. As the popularity of the society grew it fired the imaginations of such people as Mr Stoker, Lady Cottingley and the Baron Lytton. Their works of fiction, although they all had a basis in reality, served only to add fuel to the flames of the over active imagination of the people and, in turn, the smoke screen grew even thicker.
Jennings decided that he would draw our brief history lesson to a close with this and we made our way back to the house. There was just one thing that had been troubling me however, and I wanted to address it rather than let it fester in my heart. The prospect of losing my soul was one that drove a shiver of terror though me. I drew Jennings’ attention once more but found it hard to convey my feelings on the matter. After watching me fumble around the point for a while to satisfy his own amusement, he put me out of my misery. He had guessed correctly that I sought his council in this and these were his words to me.
“Listen to me very closely as this is the only advice I will ever offer you. There will be moments when you feel all is lost. When there is nothing left but terror and uncertainty. Your heart will be beating so hard you feel it wants to leave your chest and you will be so petrified you lack the capacity for rational thought. You will be alone, in the dark, facing a nameless ancient evil that wants nothing more than to steal your very soul. When you find yourself in that place, and you will. There is one thing you must remember above all else. One thing that will bring comfort and strength when all hope is gone, and it is this…”
His advice came with a broad smile.
“Try to maintain a good sense of humour at all times“.
With that he clapped his hand on my shoulder so hard that I almost dropped the logs I carried, turned and walked back into the house.
The rest of this evening was spent as every other has been, with merry tales, light hearted trickery and the occasional missile and prompting from Jennings to stay mindful of my breathing. As I lay here making note of it all my life in the lancers seems like a distant memory. I could never have dreamed that my future would hold such wonder.
Additional
I am in Southport once more. It was the early hours of this morning when Jennings burst into my room and shook me awake as he ordered me to pack my kit and make ready to leave immediately. In an instant I was back in the army. I was on my feet, dressed, with my meagre possessions packed and ready to go within moments. I made my way into the main room of the house to find Nathaniel sitting at the dining table. His face was ashen and he bore the expression of a very troubled man. Jennings entered from his room and he, like I, was packed and ready to move. As soon as Nathaniel saw him, his anguish was all too clear.
“You must hurry Alfred. The candle is out and you must make Wittlich before the others. You must get there first”.
What he meant by this is still a mystery to me. Jennings led me through the forest at such a pace, down paths he obviously knew very well. Within an hour we were at Southport docks and I write this short entry as we wait to board a steamer heading for Germany. This is all the information I have managed to obtain from Jennings. He is obviously very troubled by whatever has necessitated our hasty departure.
On a personal note, I cannot help noticing how things have changed. This is the very same Southport I returned to just over a month ago, and yet it feels so different. I am seeing my old world through new eyes and its complexion has changed in astounding ways.soul stone resize

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-15th-1900/feed/ 0 January 8th 1900 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-8th-1900/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-8th-1900/#comments Mon, 20 May 2013 18:26:03 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1022 My world is changed. I feel as if I am looking out through the eyes of a stranger. One week I have been here with Jennings and Nathaniel and they have shown me such wonders as to make me question everything I have learned of the world around me. My world grows and takes a form I know not.
When I awoke on that first morning the mood was a sombre one. I could not quite put a finger on it but Nathaniel was very quiet and withdrawn, Jennings seemed to be watching him with care. We ate breakfast in silence and, once he had finished, Nathaniel wiped his mouth and left the room. Jennings, keeping a close eye on the door through which Nathaniel had made his exit, leaned close to me and told me, in hushed tones, that they were taking me to see someone called Malhilda. He went on to say that he could give me no advice other than to keep my wits about me and not to listen to anything she says, as her words are poison and lies. He straightened quickly and went back to the remains of his breakfast as Nathaniel entered the room.
After only a few moments of patting his pockets and checking around him for I know not what, Nathaniel made straight for the door and left. Jennings grabbed my shoulder, pulled me to my feet and we followed him swiftly out of the house.
We walked always a few meters behind Nathaniel but Jennings did not take his eyes from him for a second. Every now and again he would stop as if something had distracted him and he would stand deep in thought before setting off as if nothing had happened. We would stop as and when he did and set off in pursuit again whenever he started to move. Jennings said nothing, I asked him nothing. The spectacle itself was enough to assure me that asking questions would be the wrong thing.
We had been walking in this fashion for some time when I noticed the forest around us starting to take on a darker air as the foliage grew thicker and more entangled. There was little snow on the ground, its course to the earth impeded by the thick canopy over our heads. The very trees seemed to close in and the atmosphere became stifled. It was then that something brushed my forehead, slightly startled I looked up from the path to see what it was. Hanging in the trees all around were bone fragments and stones. Pieces of leather with strange crystals attached and symbols hastily drawn on, scraps of tree bark with words burned in, words of another tongue that I could not read. These macabre charms seemed to grow thicker with the trees the further we walked. So busy taking in this spectacle was I, that I had not noticed Nathaniel. He had stopped at the door of a hut that did not seem to have been built so much as grown. The vines and creepers were so thick and rife that they had long since covered any man made dwelling giving the impression of one huge tree root, leaving only the door in front of which Nathaniel now stood. I felt Jennings hand on my arm and looked to see him watching the man intently, his hand was clearly to stop me moving had I intended too.
Nathaniel stood looking at the door for several moments before suddenly, and without knocking, he turned the handle and entered. Now Jennings hand on my arm was pulling me along behind him as he rushed forward. It was obvious that he did not want Nathaniel out of his sight for any length of time and, as we reached the door, his pace slowed only slightly to push it open and we cautiously made our way inside.
The floor of the room beyond was earthen and all around was nothing but roots and rock with no signs of life, other than the broken and rotting table at which Nathaniel now sat and the empty chair opposite him. As my eyes took in this place I made to turn and investigate the rest of my surroundings but Jennings hand held me fast and with a firm gesture he made it clear that I should not move. His eyes were fixed on a point across the table from where we stood and, as it moved, I realised the wall opposite was not covered in roots as I had first thought. It moved like a curtain and someone, or something, was pulling it aside from beyond. My heart started to race as my mind flew to conclusions over what sort of thing might live in a place like this. After the topic of conversation around the table the night before and the things I had personally witnessed over these last few weeks I started to fear the worst.
The curtain moved, the figure stepped, and the curtain fell closed. The pounding of my heart did not cease but it now thumped in my chest for a different reason.
Standing before me was the most perfect woman I have ever seen. Her beauty had gravity and her radiance filled the room as soon she entered. She stood strong yet demure and far a greater depiction of feminity than any that has ever been committed to stone or canvas. Her very presence clouded my thoughts and I felt drawn to her. She did not belong in this place, all around her was death and decay and yet here stood the very picture of woman, the fountain of life.
She stood barefoot in the dirt with what little she wore barely covering her voluptuous and sensual frame. She seemed to care nothing for the cold that we three had taken every step to protect ourselves from. Her gaze was fixed on Nathaniel as he sat staring intently at his steepled fingers. When he didn’t turn to look at her she shifted her eyes to Jennings as he stood with his hand at my elbow. The look they shared said nothing. Then her gaze came to me, a broad smile struck her face and she lit up like a child spying their Christmas presents at the foot of the tree. She moved across the floor to me with a feline grace that made me stir in ways I have never felt and Jennings grip on my arm tightened.
With a voice that seemed to chime and sing she cooed,
“Ooh Nathaniel, who have you brought me this time?”
I heard both men protest but their words seemed to fade into nothing as my racing pulse made each stammering breath catch in my chest. She stood so close and I so desperately wanted to reach out and touch her. Just to lay my fingers on her would have been more precious than the next beat of my heart.
I felt honoured to be standing so close to such a beautiful creature. Her eyes met mine and my world melted away. Those moments were spent in bliss as I fell deeper and deeper into the world this woman created around me. Until that world changed. Suddenly, her eyes began to menace me and her stare seemed to invade my mind. The face before me was still a picture of beauty but other faces seemed to appear as ghosts between us, looking at me with those same eyes. Generations of faces passing in seconds with a growing pain in my chest. I started to feel faint and my weak legs wanted to take me to the floor but I stood transfixed, unable to even fall from her view. I wanted to look away, to tear my eyes from hers, but my heart screamed at me for being so foolish as to look away from such beauty and seemed to turn to stone inside me.
A screaming filled my mind. A screaming that made my head thump so hard that I feared it might burst. The scream formed into words, harsh words that I did not understand and as those words became clear in my head I felt the dizzying agony in my body easing slightly to be replaced with an immense and sharp pain in my arm.
Jennings was pinching the loose flesh just above my elbow, the sting brought me round from my delirium and as my knees finally gave way he caught me just short of the floor.
Those thunderous words were coming from Nathaniel and they seemed to cause this woman great discomfort, a discomfort that showed through in her anger. She spat her fury at each syllable uttered and seemed to writhe where she stood as if struggling against the binding of an invisible rope. Her rage flew as Nathaniels words continued, her steps were stilted as if an unseen force dragged her towards the table. She sat hard, her body seemingly controlled like a puppet. Nathaniel straightened his coat and calmly retook his seat. She sat opposite him with a look so black I could feel it from where I stood. Both fists on the table as she breathes came rasping and hard through bared and clenched teeth. Snarling at her tormentor like a cornered animal.
Nathaniels tone was level and patronisingly calm as he addressed her like one might a petulant child. My head was still spinning from my ordeal and Jennings sat me on the nearest rock with my head between my knees. I still heard her reply however, and it gave me much cause for concern.
“Those words will not have power over me forever you old fool. Does this one know how many have come before him? How many men you have brought to this place, never to be seen again? Does he know what you people have in store for him?
I raised my head in the hope of gauging his response but my world span sickeningly and I had to lower my gaze once more. I felt nauseous and could feel my senses slipping away. I felt myself being pulled sideways by a strong hand. It was, in fact, Jennings catching me as I started to slide sideways from my rock.
I heard her voice again, this time it was a threat aimed at Nathaniel himself.
“One day your charms and fancy words will have no power and I will leave this place. I will leave this place and have such fun with the frail hearts of men”
I heard Nathaniel say she had always been free to return from whence she came but this only served to enrage her further. My world swam again and the next thing I can recall with any true clarity is the moment Nathaniel took to his feet.
Keeping his eyes on the woman, he told Jennings that it was time to leave. Taking this as a command he brought me hastily upright and, with stumbling steps, dragged me through the door and into the outside world. As stifling as the air was in this forest tomb it was still a welcome change to the oppression of Malhildas hut. Jennings took my arm and guided me some way into the trees where we waited for Nathaniel. I had so many questions but every time I tried to focus my intent to speak the world seemed to drift away again and the feeling of nausea swept over me. There were raised voices and dark words were shouted, growing louder for a second as the door opened and Nathaniel stepped out. Her screams and curses could still be heard as he silently turned and started to make his way towards us. He stopped for a moment, took something from inside his coat and tied it to a branch outside her door. Closing his eyes he muttered a few distant words and the screaming stopped.
I made to stand as he came closer, the urge to be free of this place was strong in my mind, but as I did my world seemed to tilt sideways and everything began to grow dark and the last thing I saw was Nathaniel running towards me.

I drifted back to a very comfortable consciousness in a warm and soft bed. It took several moments for my thoughts to gather into sense but as they did I came to recognise the room in Nathaniel’s house. A cup of tea sat by my bed that was now barely luke warm. How many times it had been replaced I could not say. As I sat up my head screamed in protest but cleared as I dressed myself. Making my way into the next room I found Jennings and Nathaniel sitting at the table and they greeted me with smiles and a fresh steaming cup of tea. I ate the breakfast Nathaniel had prepared and the mood around the table was comforting. I had apparently been asleep for three days under the watchful eye of these two men. I must confess that this came as something of a shock. Jennings was at least kind enough to let me recoup a little before confronting me with the next piece of news.
As I sat and wiped my mouth my plate was cleared away, yet another fresh cup was poured from the pot and, as I reached for it, some neatly bound papers were pushed in front of me. I froze, I had seen these once before but never expected to see them presented to me. I picked them up, broke the seal and unfolded them to read. These were military discharge papers baring the standard of the 21st lancers, my name and the signature of my superior officer. I looked and looked again, turning them over in my hands but there was no denying their authenticity. I had been ejected from the army, with full rank and title intact, on grounds of being “No longer mentally fit for war service”.
I should have been furious but the one thing that stuck in my mind was the reason for my being discharged. There was no question in my mind that the things I had experienced were very real. My world had changed a great deal since the last time I had seen any of my superior officers. It had been brought into sharp focus for me, just how much my world now differed from theirs. If they wanted to consider me mentally unfit it was up to them. If only they knew the things I did.
I sat dumbstruck for some time as my mind waded sluggishly through this turn of events, but then a very obvious question battered its way through my thoughts and presented itself. What were these documents doing in Jennings possession and how had he come to have them in the first place? I wasted no time in putting this query to him.
My question, it seems, had been expected. His answer however, was most certainly not.
Quite simply, His employers had passed them to him. He is an agent for a group of extremely wealthy British Lords and gentlemen who, decades ago, had founded a secret society with the sole purpose of investigating all aspects of the paranormal. Their founder members held positions of power in most areas of society including the armed forces.
The reason he had them was even more unexpected. He had been investigating reports of a vampiric entity that was terrorizing a small area just outside Cairo, when I stumbled onto the beast and destroyed it before he had the chance. After following me home from Egypt he had brought my talents to the attention of the society who confirmed that, after hearing my tales and reading my journal, my superiors had decided to relieve me of service.
In short, Jennings had brought me here to offer me a job. It was his opinion that I had proven myself several times and, if I so wished, I could become an agent for the S.P.R. as he was.
I came here looking for answers. I was going to find out what secrets my necklace held and go home to my normal life, back to the Lancers. Maybe find a girl and get married. Instead I found myself rejected by my regiment and faced with the opportunity to travel the world with this man who, at first, had infuriated me to the point of distraction. My world was already changed by the things I had seen. Should I forget it all and attempt to build a normal life from the pieces of my shattered future? Or take this new path which could lead I know not where. Danger and death? or even insanity? It was not a question I could answer lightly and so, silently, I rose from the table and made my way outside.
The cold winter air and the beauty of my surroundings were a welcome change and gave my thoughts room to breathe. My feet took me to the edge of the stream that ran past the cottage. The gentle babbling of the water washed through my mind and I slowly began to feel my thoughts clear and the choice became an obvious one. I could never go back to an ordinary life after the things I had witnessed. I could not live a life of forever wondering “what if”.
I do not know how long I had been sitting by the river with these thoughts running through my mind but suddenly Jennings was beside me. We sat in silence for a while before another memory surfaced. Jennings had just opened his mouth to speak when I raised the question of Malhilda
The topic seemed to trouble him and, taking a deep breath he looked over his shoulder and back towards the cottage. Making sure Nathaniel was nowhere in sight he thanked me for not raising the subject in front of our host.
Malhilda was what the Tibetan monks would refer to as a Tulpa, or thought form. Powerful magic users and those tutored in the ways of ethereal entities can, through a great deal of mental discipline, meditation and visualisation, make their thoughts manifest in the material world. Nathaniel was apparently just such a man. Jennings went on to say that building a Tulpa is much akin to a tailor building a suit. It may be an incredibly elegant suit, but you never know who is going to put it on. A Tulpa is a hollow shell and will attract the attention of all kinds of ethereal beings. Once the being has taken up residence it is very difficult to get rid of them again.
Nathaniel had constructed Malhilda many years ago as a companion for himself here. It was not long before whatever had taken up residence started to make itself known and Nathaniel found he was struggling to control her. He had tricked her into following him to the part of the forest where she now lived and he had trapped her there.
Nathaniel was not known to the society for whom Jennings worked. They had met quite by accident on one of Jennings cases when Nathaniel had come to his aid. Jennings went no further into the details but suffice to say he found Nathaniels help in his investigations invaluable and, in return, he kept the man’s secret. They both knew however, that the day would come when Malhilda became too powerful and she would have to be dealt with.
Their reason for taking me to her was not for us to meet, or indeed to scare me. They wanted me to see firsthand, the power a thought form could wield over a man as it would stand me in good stead should I decide to take Jennings up on his offer. With that he came to the end of his explanation, or perhaps he felt he had told me all he was prepared to so far.
Taking a moment to sift through the debris of the last couple of hours I put everything in order. Jennings seemed genuinely happy when I turned to him and accepted my role as his fellow agent. He reached and shook my hand very enthusiastically, clapped his hand on my shoulder and exclaimed how good a reason it was for a drink. I have to admit, even at this early hour, I could not fault his logic. We turned and made our way back to the cottage but something still troubled me. I had one last question to ask Jennings.
When we were in Malhildas hut I saw such things and felt such emotion and pain yet neither of them had. Why was this? Why had it only affected me?
Jennings reached into the top of his shirt and pulled out a strange pendant. It was Amber in a brass casing with strange symbols pierced into the metal work. He explained that it was what he called a soul stone. Through meditation and visualisation techniques it was possible to learn to use it like armour for your soul or life force. Jennings had learned to use his to such a degree that entities such as Malhilda could not reach the energy in him that they fed upon. Nathaniel needed no such thing. He apologised for taking me before her unprotected in such a manner but he assured me that it was imperative that I experience just how terrible it can be. I admit to being a little affronted by this but as we entered the house he pointed to something on the table. It was an Amber pendant with a brass cage around it and detail pierced into the metal. It wasn’t the same as the one Jennings wore but he assured me that it served the same purpose. I noticed however that the Amber in this one was cloudy, almost milky. Jennings face seemed to sadden some and he explained that they can become cloudy through use, but if I looked after it, it would look after me. This one had belonged to a friend of his. When I asked him what had happened to his friend. The look of sorrow that crossed his face was unmistakable, and he simply said,
“She did not look after it”
He said I should wear it always and close to my skin. With that I slipped the thing over my head in inside my shirt.
The rest of the day was spent in merriment. Jennings told bawdy tales of the stranger side of human nature he had been witness to on some of his more laughable excursions and Nathaniel amused us with parlour tricks the likes of which I have never seen. It felt good to laugh again. I have not felt a part of something since my time in Egypt. I had not realised just how much I had separated myself from the world.
And now I lay here writing it all down in the hope that the words on this page will begin to make sense.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-8th-1900/feed/ 0 January 1st 1900 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-1st-1900/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-1st-1900/#comments Sun, 12 May 2013 17:49:05 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1019 The biggest celebration I am ever likely to see in my lifetime. New Years Eve at the turn of the century. Fireworks, street parties, the whole country in fevered uproar and anticipation. Yet my thoughts were only on one thing. Perhaps this is indicative of an obsessed mind and something I should take care to avoid. This may be a turn of events I will live to regret, having missed out on something so extraordinary, perhaps not. The promise of having my questions answered after so long is a heady tonic, and one that forces all other thoughts from my mind.

It is better to know the answer, than it is to live with the question.

With that in mind I had checked my coordinates. Checked them and checked them again. Packed a bag with my warmer kit and a few meagre provisions and set off back in the direction of Southampton. I did not want to go anywhere near that place after the hellish night I had spent there. A night which still chills me to the bone and disturbs my sleep, but there was no mistaking what my mysterious tormentor had written.
After several days travel I thankfully managed to find lodgings just outside Southampton. In fact, so close was my room to the city that I could see the glow of the festivities from my window. Although the sound of revelry was everywhere until the small hours of the morning, I awoke early, refreshed and in good time for the last leg of my journey.
Just after mid morning I found myself standing at the boundary of the New Forest. I was well aware how treacherous the place could be as I stood almost knee deep in the snow. There were many twisted roots that could trip a man and send him head long into a sheer drop. The forest itself was almost a maze to anyone not suitably prepared for the perils it held. People have been lost in here for days on end, some only found again through sheer good grace of fortune. Telling myself I would be foolish to turn back however, I set off into the heart of it.
I had been walking for several hours and my clothes were heavy with snow by the time I reached a small clearing which, according to my map, was my destination.
There was nothing there.
I stood in the middle of the forest and there was nothing to be seen but trees, snow, gorse and mud. This is not how I had envisaged starting the new century. I checked my map reference again. There was no mistaking it. My orienteering skills are far from flawless but these were the coordinates he had given me.
Screwing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose I could not help but smile as I started to curse my stupidity. Why had I trusted that man? He had lead me a merry dance ever since I had reached these shores and yet I had dared to travel many days from home, in the dead of winter, to the middle of one of the wildest woodlands in England at the behest of a man who had done nothing but infuriate me ever since the first moment I saw him. What a damned fool I had been, this had been nothing more than a wild goose chase, another of his follies.
Taking a deep breath I opened my eyes to assess my situation and start making plans for the long journey home.
As I opened my eyes however, I was stunned to silence. The first thing I saw was his smiling face.
The forest had been deadly silent as I stood in contemplation and I had certainly heard nothing of his approach, yet there he stood in front of me wearing that same damn smile he always did.
Before I could marshal a thought he extended his hand. Calling me by name he said how glad he was to see I had found him and, making no apologies, he suggested that we had perhaps got off on the wrong foot. Still confused by his sudden appearance I could think of nothing more to do than extend my own hand. Grasping it with a firm shake, he introduced himself as Alfred Jennings, or Jennings for short. I must admit, as I look back at the moment, he did seem genuinely pleased to see me.
Still grasping my hand he looked me in the eye and asked if I had brought my necklace. Unsure as to whether or not I could trust him my mind raced to find an answer that would not betray me either way. As my lips started to form around the words his smile returned and he said,
“Good, then let us go and get you your answers”.
I cannot deny that my spirits were lifted greatly by this and, shouldering my bag once more, I followed him as he walked deeper into the forest. We passed under low branches and through bushes and shrubs. In many places the path appeared hidden to me as I walked a few steps behind him. Several times he ducked into gaps that I would have simply passed by had I been walking alone, gaps that only revealed themselves to be paths when I looked behind to see where we had come from. I will freely admit to being completely lost.
Before long however, we found ourselves on the rim of huge basin in the earth. The dense woodland and thicket that surrounded it kept it perfectly hidden. Had it not been for my guide I would never have found this place. The path we took began to slowly descend as it wound itself down to the basin floor and the smell of a log fire rose to greet us. With every step I took the feeling of excitement grew. I still cannot fully explain why but I felt exhilarated, almost giddy as I took in the beauty of this place. The path reached its end between two enormous stones, each much taller than a man, and the floor levelled out. It was then that I noticed something odd. Cut into the huge standing stones were a series of strange circular symbols with odd letters and markings, the likes of which I had never seen. The markings on the stones faced each other and were placed in such a way that anyone taking this path had to pass directly between them on their way in or out.
I stepped between them and looked to make sure I had not lost sight of Jennings again only to see him standing a few paces away and watching me intently. For a split second he gave me an enquiring look then, with a raised eye brow and that same smile, he simply gave a shrug. I was about to ask him why he was showing such an interest, but I immediately fell silent. The scene around me, even in the dead of winter, was one of such tranquil beauty that it stole my very words away.
A small cottage lay nestled here and smoke rose lazily from the chimney. High in the face of one wall of the basin, water ran from a small cave mouth and over the thick icicles of a waterfall to flow freely under the frozen patches of a small stream. Birds perched on several wooden platforms as they shared a bounty of breadcrumbs. Towering above the tiny dwelling was an enormous Fir tree and by its door, glistening with deep red berries, grew a large holly bush. The green of its leaves showed forth, dark and healthy, from under a dusting of snow.
There came a humming, faint at first but enough to draw my attention. As I watched, a small figure approached from around the back of the cottage. Obviously immersed in his inner thoughts, he seemed to dance to his own tune as he walked. His eyes widened and a broad smile spread across his face when he saw us, his enthusiasm seemed to grow as he made his way over with a quickened pace and, taking Alfred’s hand said
“Jennings! Good, good. Is this he?”
Whoever this man was he had me at a disadvantage, “He?” he who? It was obvious that I was expected, even more, I was already known to him. Jennings confirmed that I was indeed “he” and we were ushered inside. The cheerful little man asked me to make myself comfortable as he and Jennings had a few things to discuss in private and they departed to another room. I could think of nothing I wanted more than to warm myself by the fire. It was most welcome and within minutes I could feel the chill leaving my bones and my toes and fingers coming alive again.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I started to realise what a funny little place this was. Odd little ornaments filled every shelf and dusty corner. The mantle was home to many strange and wonderful things and as I looked around the room I saw glass cases and picture frames of all different shapes and sizes. I saw one or two things that seemed Egyptian in origin, in fact there seemed to be things from all over the world judging by their appearance and style. The closer I looked however, the more I came to realise that if these were things from all over the world, it was not a world I had ever been too.
There were things stuffed and mounted in some of the cases but they were creatures I have never seen with names I had never heard mentioned in any of the natural sciences. Metal objects that ticked and moved on their own, or opened and closed in time with something unseen. I was about to reach out and touch one curious object when the two men entered the room behind me and my strange little host asked me over to the table saying that it was high time we took a look at my necklace.
This was it. I would finally have my answers. The demons I had brought back from that night in Cairo would eventually be laid to rest. All the sleepless nights it had caused and the frustration of searching for the answer to a question I had never known, much less understood. This was the man who could tell me all I wanted to know. My heart was in my throat.
I took the thing from the pocket inside my jacket and, unwrapping it carefully, laid it out on the table in front of him. He leaned over it to take a closer look. I watched with bated breath. After only a little while he straightened again and I waited for him to speak. These were his words.
“Hmm, it’s a gateway stone. Quite a nice one too, useless now though. Still, take it home, keep it safe” And with a smile he pushed it back across the table to me.
I sat speechless. That was it? That was all he was going to tell me after the weeks I had spent in torment? He obviously saw my disappointment, I was about to raise protest when he went on to say that the necklace was just that now, a necklace. What it had been though was something much more.
We sat for hours and I listened to them speak of other realms and planes of existence that ran alongside, around and through this one. How man existed on many levels, but mainly five. The physical being, the mental being, the spiritual being, the astral being and the ethereal being. I found some of it hard to understand and an equal amount hard to believe, but I listened all the same. In time my host introduced himself as Nathaniel and told me exactly what it was that I had encountered that night in Egypt.
I could hardly believe my ears when he told me it had been a Vampire. I had never read any of the penny dreadfuls other than the one Jennings had left me, but surely Vampires were nothing more than fiction? A horrific fantasy found only in a novel, stalking the villages of Romania in search of innocent virgins to drain of blood.
Nathaniel went on to say that, although they have appeared several times in fictitious writings, vampiric entities have existed for as long as man has walked the earth and they certainly did not drink blood.
He spoke of ancient Egyptian scripts that told of methods by which the spirit of a man, or his ethereal body, could live on after the point of physical death. These had sometimes been called “Khu”, which roughly translated, meant “luminous ones”. To survive in this state however, the spirit requires certain things. First of all, the mortal remains have to be kept safe and in such a state of preservation that the spirit has a place to reside during the day. Sunlight is harmful to the etheric body and must be avoided if they don’t wish to pass through the second death. Running water also proves fatal to a Vampire as does a chemical compound known as allicin, which is found in most members of the onion family but is strongest in garlic. All these things can weaken the hold an etheric entity has on this dimension. The most important thing to the survival of a vampire however, is the steady supply of etheric energy needed to sustain it, and allow it to carry out those duties it has chosen to stay behind for. Leaving such offerings of sustenance had originally been the job of a Ka priest and was a prestigious occupation indeed. The problems had arisen however, when man started to abuse these rites. Men, overcome by greed, malice and fear had performed these ceremonies in order to cheat death and, with no one on hand to supply their sustenance, would prowl the night looking for unwilling victims and drain them of their vital energies to the point of death.
My thoughts returned to my good friend Meni. I could still see him laying there, a shell of the man I had known with the haunting look of terror in his eyes as he passed from this world.
Nathaniel told me that I had destroyed it that night. It had passed back into the sanctuary of its body using the necklace as a gateway. When I tore the necklace from it and set fire to the corpse I had destroyed its only link to this world and forced the ethereal remains to pass through the second death. The necklace was now just a trophy and that I should keep it as such.
With that, Nathaniel raised himself to his feet and made it clear that we should all get some sleep. He looked at me with meaning in his eyes and said,
“You have a long and hard day ahead of you tomorrow, but if what Jennings has told me is true, hopefully you’ll make it out intact”
Somewhat bemused, he showed me to this small room and here I lay. This has been a most extraordinary day

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/january-1st-1900/feed/ 1 December 24th 1899 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-24th-1899/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-24th-1899/#comments Wed, 01 May 2013 17:52:18 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1011 From the journal of Victor Ewing

December 24th 1899

I was unexpectedly ordered back to camp this morning. Of course, I was kept waiting for well over an hour before my commanding officers were gracious enough to speak with me. I must confess that my attitude towards my superiors has suffered greatly after this recent turn of events, and I found myself rather dismissive of their attempts to intimidate me. I have no more time for their pompous games.
After a less than friendly greeting I was left, sitting alone, in an empty office. I had been waiting for quite some time and had taken to looking out of the window when the door finally opened and someone entered. I made no effort to acknowledge them and only moved my eyes away from the view when my journal landed heavily on the table by my arm. I took it up and started to slowly leaf through it, using it as an excuse to ignore the man now sitting across the table from me as much as to make certain that all was present and correct.
It slowly became apparent however, that I was being observed. There was no rustling of papers or clearing of throat in a superior attempt to grasp my attention. Just quietly and patiently, observed.
Curiosity got the better of me and I lifted my eyes from the page. All bravado and pretence fell away in an instant.
Sitting across the table from me, with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap, was the man himself. The very man I had been searching for.
With a relaxed smile that made my hands curl into fists he simply said, “Good morning Victor, did you read that book I left for you?”
In an instant I was on my feet and launched into such a tirade that I am sure it was heard across most of the camp.
His demeanour barely changed, save for raising his eyebrows in mock surprise and a slight broadening of his maddening smile.
I challenged him to tell me why he had been following me in Southampton. Why he had been following me in Norwich. How he had gained entry to my room without myself or anyone else noticing. I challenged him on all these things and he remained silent and completely unperturbed by my rage until I mentioned his damned book.
I had barely noticed my knuckles pressed hard into the surface of the desk as I leaned on my balled up fists and spat my rage at the grinning bastard.
I may have ended my attack with words to the effect of, “So no, I do not have time to waste reading two penny fiction or damned fairytales of fanged creatures and demons in the night!”
His face slowly dropped. “So, you have read some of it then?”
Aware that I had allowed my rage to get the better of me I chose to remain silent lest I condemn myself further. Slowly, without taking his eyes from mine, he took to his feet. I am not ashamed in the least to tell you that something in that mans eyes drove me back. I have seen things in the field of battle that would turn the stomach of most men. I have charged head long into the foe when faced with odds to great to bare thinking about, but his eyes drove a sliver of ice through me that made me step away. As insane as it may sound, I did not so much see his anger as feel it. I felt it in my core as you might feel the rage of a snarling beast.
When he spoke his voice was level and calm but the force behind his words was undeniable and I remember them as clearly as if I had heard them mere seconds ago.
“After all you have been witness too you still believe them to be fairytales? You went to Norwich in search of answers. You would not have found them there. Stoker may be fanciful in his telling of the story but his whimsy has a basis of truth. The book I left you will yield more answers than anything you would find in the great library of Norwich, even if it had still been standing. You may come to realise that many works of ‘so called’ fiction and fairytales are far more real than you would dare to think”.
I stood dumfounded, almost speechless under his gaze, and watched as the stern look slowly left his face to be replaced with the same jovial smile he always wore. The room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and become a much bigger place.
Without missing a beat he carried on as if nothing had happened. He started to search the desk, pulling out draws and rifling through them as he spoke until he found pencil and paper.
As he wrote he gave me one last word of warning. He assured me that if I truly wanted answers he could give them too me but I must be fully aware that, once learned, the knowledge cannot be unlearned and if I enjoyed my world the way it was, I should forget him and everything I have seen.
Pushing the piece of paper across the desk toward me he kept his finger on it and said only two words.
“Be certain”.
And with that, he bid me good day and left.
The piece of paper had only map coordinates, a date and a time. January 1st 1900, 13.00 hours. That was all it read.
I saw nothing of my commanding officers as I left camp, neither did I wait around for them to impose themselves upon me. In fact, I was not approached at all as I left. Making my way home it suddenly dawned on me what had just happened. Whoever he was, he had made his way onto a military site, into the office of a superior military officer and proceeded to speak to me as if I owed him an explanation.
Who the Devil is he?
More importantly, am I sure I want to know. I have never encountered a man like him in any walk of life or theatre of war. If he is a taste of what is to come then perhaps “my world”, as he puts it, is better off just the way it is.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-24th-1899/feed/ 1 December 17th – 21st 1899 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-17th-21st-1899/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-17th-21st-1899/#comments Sun, 28 Apr 2013 18:19:27 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1007 These entries were written on scraps of paper and left between the pages of Victors journal.

December 17th 1899

I reported for debriefing yesterday as ordered, and was greeted by my commanding officers and a sea of disapproving and judgemental faces. My journal has been confiscated, hence my writing this on a scrap of paper. I was ordered to leave camp and report back in the morning.
I returned to base today to be told that I have been diagnosed as unfit to carry out my duties due to stress and given compassionate leave over the Christmas period. I am to report for review in the new year. They are using my journal entries as evidence to the effect that I am mentally unsound. I have been branded a liar and a lunatic.
Many of those men bore witness to my actions in the Sudan. They have seen, first hand, my abilities. I have lead men to victory when all seemed lost, gaining promotion in the field and now they call my mental fortitude into question?
It is no secret that many of them begrudge me my title of Captain. That I, at such a young age, should be at almost the same rank as they. To hell with them. I know what I saw and I know the state of my own mind.

December 19th 1899

I have chosen to use my enforced leave to further my own endeavours  I am determined to find out the secrets of this bizarre piece of jewellery and perhaps uncover who, or what, “khu” might be once and for all. To that end, I have travelled to Norwich in order to trawl its great library.
It was only when I arrived in the city that I was reminded of the time of year. So lost have I been in my own private thoughts that I forget we are so close to celebrating the birth of our lord Jesus Christ. I see people rushing here and there in preparation for the festivities, everyone so happy and excited to be with their loved ones and without a care in the world for the bitter cold and snow. My only wish this Christmas would be to find some of the answers I seek.
Sadly however, it was not to be. I arrived to find that the vast library was greatly damaged in a fire last year and most of the books were lost. Those that survived are in storage and scattered all over the city. trying to track down the ones that may be of any use to me will take far more time than I have before I travel home again. I am not ashamed to admit that my heart sank at this news.
Yet this was not the most troubling thing to befall my day. He was here again, the very same man who haunted my steps in Southampton.
I had just stepped from the city office after enquiring about the library when I saw him, bold as brass and standing across the street, smiling at me. He stood there, looked me straight in the eye and smiled. Immediately I set my steps towards him. His smile broadened and he tipped his hat. I was just about to set foot on the road when a carriage passed between us and with it, he was gone. Vanished as if into thin air. I searched the length of the street but there was no sign of him.
So now I have a new riddle to solve, another conundrum to add to my list. I have decided to stay on at my lodging for a day in the hope that I might be able to confront him and discover his infuriating game. I do not enjoy being toyed with in this manner. I will not be taunted or intimidated by any man!
December 21st 1899

My pursuer is far more cunning than I first imagined.
As I awoke yesterday morning I hatched a plan with which I might gain the upper hand and confront my grinning stalker. I approached the boy selling papers on the street corner opposite my lodgings and, with the promise of rewarding his efforts, I described the man in as much detail as I could remember. I told the boy that I would keep him and the front door of my lodging house in sight and that he was to signal me when the man approached. having set my trap I took a table in the tea rooms down the street and awaited my opportunity.
The opportunity did not arise.
I had been sitting at my window seat for several hours when the waiter approached with a fresh pot of tea. I assured him that I had not ordered it. He placed it on the table all the same and handed me a folded note.
It read, “Have a fresh pot Victor, you’ve been nursing that one since you sat down. It must be stone cold by now. A.J.”
Looking quickly around the tiny shop, he was nowhere to be seen and I left my table with such haste that I was at the door before I heard my chair clatter to the floor behind me. I flew past the boy at full sprint, shouting my question ahead of me, asking if he had spied the man as I went. In his shock he could only stammer a quick no. My pace did not slow as I crossed the street without a care for the carriages. The door of my lodging house flew back to hit the wall as I entered with speed and took the stairs two at a time. Arriving at my room I fumbled with the key in my pocket and, after a short struggle, I flung it open.
As I stood in the doorway trying to catch my breath I could feel my blood slowly starting to boil in my veins. The first thing I noticed was that my bag sat neatly packed on my bed. When I had left that morning, my clothes from the previous day had been hung on the back of my chair, my wash bag had been left by the basin and the bed had been left unmade. Now however, my room was spotless, my bag was packed and there, sat next to it on the bed, was a small, charred and fire damaged book.
Doing my level best to keep my temper, I made my way across the room and lifted the book to inspect it. It was damaged and stained but still readable. The front cover told me that it was “Dracula. by Bram Stoker”. Not a work I have heard of. I threw it back down and took stock of my situation.
I knew I had to leave tonight as my funds were all but depleted and I was expected home. I felt beaten and dismissed yet again, which didn’t help my mood in the slightest. Taking up my things and pushing the book into my pocket I made my way down to the desk and asked the girl there if she had seen anything of this maddening phantom. She had not, she even went as far as to tell me that no one had called or left a message for me at all that morning.
I made my way to the station and the train that was due to bare me home. My eyes searched the streets with every step as I went but to no avail. Now, back in the warm embrace of hearth and home I am trying to put these events from my mind as I would not wish to spoil the festivities for my family. This is far easier said than done however.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-17th-21st-1899/feed/ 0 December 15th 1899 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-15th-1899/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-15th-1899/#comments Mon, 22 Apr 2013 18:28:54 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1005 I feel that so much more than just seven days have passed since I landed in Southampton. Although, what happened there is still very clear in my mind.

We made port around 3pm that day and, after a less than formal farewell from the Captain and his crew, I took stock of my meagre possessions and the pitiful contents of my pocket book. As soon as my feet were on dry land I knew my best course of action was to find the nearest pawn broker.Perhaps it was the effects of that freezing cold December afternoon or just his natural demeanour but he was less than charitable and my only option of securing the funds for my journey home was to say goodbye to my fathers pocket watch. It was the only thing I had of worth save for the necklace I kept hidden, and I would not risk loosing that. That watch had been with me through thick and thin. I am not ashamed to say I had formed a rather sentimental bond with it, but needs must.

Somewhat heavy hearted I set foot towards the train station. I arrived at the ticket office only to be confronted by another equally stone faced man, obviously tired with his lot in life and eager to make others likewise. Our negotiations over the cost of a ticket for the last train of the day were getting rather heated when a blasted little urchin up and snatched my pocket book from my very hand and, before I could reach his ear, made off through the crowds with it. He moved through the throng like a slippery eel and, with my kit bag over my shoulder, I made after him as best I could.

I chased the little runt all over town, through alley ways and busy market squares. I would loose sight of him and think all was lost only to catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye and set flight after him again. As we reached the park he doubled back and set off into town once more before I could get a hand to him.

Somewhat out of breath and feeling the full weight of my bag, I rounded the corner into Bove-barre Street but the boy was nowhere to be seen. So many alleys and doorways led in so many different directions that I knew it would be hopeless to continue my pursuit.  I could feel the rage as it welled up and my anger seemed fit to consume me when, To my surprise, several yards ahead of me I saw my pocket book lying in the middle of the pavement. For some reason suspicion was the first thing that came to me and, cautiously, I made my way over and stooped to pick it up.

No hand came to steal it from my grasp or to fall on my shoulder and so I opened it to inspect the damage when, surprise upon surprise, I found its contents intact. Had he dropped it before having chance to clean it out? Had he thought his flight futile under my dogged determination? Unlikely but I fear I will never know.

Bolstered by the return of what little wealth I had my thoughts returned to the train that, after my guided tour of Southampton, I had surely missed. My only option, to find somewhere to spend the night before setting off once again in the morning. I was about to ask a passing gent where I might find the nearest boarding house when I realised I was standing right outside one. It appeared more than a little run down but, with what little money I had, I thought it probably within my means and so I decided to try my luck.

It was as I mounted the stairs and made to open the door however, that a reflection in the glass caught my eye. Using my foot to prop open the door I made the pretence of counting the contents of my wallet once more in an attempt to take a closer look.

The reflection I saw was not that of the little thief but of a man. A man that, now I brought it to mind, I had seen several times on my way around this little town and now he stood in an alley across the street watching me.

The sky was beginning to bruise as the winters night fell in and although his face was shrouded he made little other attempt to conceal himself. He had a strange look about him as he stood with his arms and ankles crossed and leaning with his shoulder to the wall. His cloth was wealthy but well worn. Not dirty like a street sleeper but lived in. He bore the fashions of many countries which made it difficult to make a guess as to his place of birth. It was fair to say though, that amongst the people of Southampton, he stood out a little.

Having decided I could discern little more from his reflection I made my way inside hoping that the next face I met would be a little friendlier. Friendlier may have been the wrong term, the boy at the desk was outright nervous and only too happy to meet with my request for a room at the pittance I had to offer. As he showed me up to the next floor and my lodgings for the night, I tried to engage him in conversation only to get stammered one word answers and nervous laughter. I have to admit that I found it infuriating more than anything else as my return home had not been a joyous one and my patience was wearing a little thin.

Handing me the key to my door he wished me a good evening and backed out of the room keeping his eyes to the floor. I cared little, the room left a lot to be desired, I cared even less. It had been a day I longed to see the back of and now I had a place to rest my head for the night before I made my way home to my family.

Now alone in my room my thoughts returned to the man I had seen watching me from the shaded alley across the road. He seemed to be watching me intently as I pretended to count my money. I made my way over to the window which looked down at the spot where he stood but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps I had made too much of it but I was certain I had seen him several times that afternoon and always his attention seemed to be on me.

I settled into the same activity I had every night since leaving Egypt. I took the necklace from its hiding place amongst my things in the vain hope that it had decided to show me its secrets, but of course there was nothing. Laying back onto the dusty sheets I felt my eyes grow heavy and I slipped into sleep.

It must have been several hours later that I awoke and immediately found myself disorientated and feeling so sick, and lacking of vital energy that I could barely move. My stomach was turning cart wheels and, as I tried to take to my feet the room span so violently that I fell to my knees. I closed my eyes and steeled myself trying to find a moment of calm in the maelstrom in my head, it didn’t seem to help. Fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table. I found some matches and, with great effort, struck one and applied it to the wick. The light hurt my eyes and it took a lot longer than usual for me to grow accustomed to its glare. It was as I steadied myself, managing slowly to get to my feet, that I heard the door slowly open and close before slow, shuffling footsteps entered the room behind me. What ever it was, it brought a fowl stench with it.

The adrenaline that coursed through my veins now gave some respite from the churning in my head and stomach. The outright fear took care of the rest. With my heart pounding in my ears and every stammering breath catching in my throat I slowly turned to face the thing, holding the lamp aloft as I did so.

I felt the very air rush from my lungs, it would have been a scream but my ability to make any sound at all seemed stolen from me. The thing that stood before me was twisted and misshapen. Once a man it now stood hunched, wrapped in sodden bandages and oozing from visible rends and pustules that covered its skin where the bandages did not. I could hear it breathing. Every breath rasping a bubbling in its diseased throat. Groaning softly as it’s shoulders fell on the out breath.

It was then that some sense returned. I had seen the effects of leprosy before but never in this country, and I understood then why I had felt so when I awoke. This poor creature looked exactly as I had felt.

Although the fear in my heart was still tangible I also began to feel pity. This pity however, was stolen away the moment it moved. It flinched, startling me and my pulse quickened again, Slowly it started to shuffle towards me, it’s arms outstretched reaching for me as I recoiled to the wall. Its hands were almost on me when I heard the words “What?, what do you want from me? tell me how and I will help you”. It took a while to realise that it was I who had spoken.

Its hand was almost to my shoulder when, like smoke in a breeze it disappeared. I stood for a moment, the lamp raised in front of me as my eyes searched the room fretfully but saw nothing. The smell had gone, the sickening feeling had gone, the pounding and swirling in my head had gone. I started to feel weak at the knees as my senses came back and my sight started to dim. I managed to find the table and rested the lamp just as I passed into darkness again.

I awoke on the floor with sunlight streaming through the curtains. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the glare and as I started to move I felt the pain in my head. I had obviously struck something on my way to floor last night as I passed out. After a while I made it to my feet and hastily started to pack my bag. I knew it must be passed eight in the morning by the sun at the window and I was in no small rush to leave this place and make my way to the station. I made my way down to the desk but there was no one to be seen. That suited me. I left my key on the desk and walked out the door with no great sense of wrong doing.

After the events of the day before and the night spent in my haunted room I was in no mood for the miserable wretch I had encountered in the ticket office and so, drawing myself up to my full height, I made straight for his window and prepared myself to batter it down in order to get what I needed. I was somewhat defused when I got there to find a very helpful and rather attractive young lady sitting behind the desk instead.

She was able to provide me with all the tickets and information I required to make the journey home and that is where I have been these last few days. The rest of my journey, although not completely smooth sailing, was certainly a lot less eventful than that night. I have been enjoying the company of my Mother and Father and some good home cooked meals. Tomorrow I must report back to camp to be debriefed on the campaign  It will be good to see some of the lads again.

I haven’t looked at the necklace for several days. It is still stoic in its refusal to tell me anything. That man still troubles me however. I do not want to give in to paranoia but I am certain I saw him at least once on my way here from Southampton, but I can not say for certain.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-15th-1899/feed/ 0 December 9th 1899 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-9th-1899/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-9th-1899/#comments Tue, 16 Apr 2013 14:46:20 +0000 james http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=1002 We arrive in Southampton tomorrow and I will be extremely grateful for it. This week had started well as far as my relationship with the crew was concerned. However, after a few poorly chosen words, I fear I have done my standing a great damage.
When we made port in Gibralatar I decided to lend a hand as our cargo was offloaded and replaced. Initially I thought this may offer some respite to the long hours I lay awake with Demonic eyes permeating my thoughts and fanciful shadows shifting in the corners of my room. A hard days work would be the best antidote.
I have toiled by their side every day since and have been rewarded with a hearty meal and a restufll nights sleep at the end of each day. I had even managed to build up a rapour with most of them, aided as I was by the smattering of Egyptian I had picked up in my time with Meni and the lads.
It was at dinner this evening however that I let my confidence and curiosity get the better of me. We were setting about a hearty workers meal and the mood was jovial as ever. I managed to pick up a few bawdy, good natured, and rather inventive insults as they were thrown across the table between friends and I thought this the perfect opportunity to relate my little tale.
As we toiled together today I had concocted a story to the effect that one of my Egyptian friends and conscripts had tried to scare me on my last night before I set sail for home. Foolishly, I thought this may furnish me with some insight into the nature of what I had seen. I went on to say that he had told me of some strange local legend involving dark spirits and that “After the things I had seen and done in Egypt, the ‘Khu’ would come for my soul”.
It was a terrible mistake. No sooner had I uttered the word than the mood changed. Everybody fell deathly silent and mine was the only smile at the table. All eyes were on me as the foreman took to his feet and in a low, steady and forthright voice he made it quite clear that no man born of Egypt would joke about such things, that I could only know that name if my life had already been touched by it and to mention it in front of his men was to bring the thing down upon them too. I tried to apologise and justify my actions but he cut me off before I could finish and, with a raised voice, made it quite clear that I was no longer welcome at their table. I left my seat, and the room, with many eyes burning my back.
With any luck we will make port early tomorrow as I wish to feel England beneath my feet as soon as possible and leave everything Egyptian behind me.

]]> http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december-9th-1899/feed/ 2 December 5th 1899 http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december5th-1899/ http://www.theewingworkshop.com/december5th-1899/#comments Fri, 12 Apr 2013 21:32:21 +0000 Michael Tingle http://www.theewingworkshop.com/?p=789 It has been several days since I left Egypt and still the events of that night haunt me. My dreams are plagued by glowing eyes, drowning fires and the feeling of having the very breath drawn from my lungs. I know I have woken up in a cold sweat more than once, unable to move and convinced there is a presence standing over me as I sleep but it appears nothing more than shadow and my own fevered imagination.
I thought it would be difficult to say goodbye to my Egyptian brothers in arms after everything we have faced together, but none of them would even look at me let alone speak. They knew I had kept the necklace, or whatever this winged thing is, so their own fear and superstition kept them at bay. I have examined it several times, turning it over in my hands in the hope that I might find some symbol of hidden meaning but, if it has secrets, it will not share them with me.
My only comfort is that I was able to pool the trinkets and treasures I have gathered in my time away and barter for passage back to England on a steamer, choosing to travel alone rather than with the rest of the men. My own company is all I wish to keep at the moment.
I have thought it best to keep the necklace and my experience a secret from the Captain and his crew. Even though he is British a large percentage of his crew are not and many of those are Egyptian. Even though the journey will only take a matter of days I would rather not spend it as an outcast.
We will be in Gibraltar soon. The Captain assures me that we will only be there a day or so as we take on fuel and our cargo is transferred, then we will be leaving for England. Five more days at the most until I see the shores of home for the first time in almost five years.

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