Category Archives: Hopeless inhabitants

Hopeless inhabitants

The Weaver of Wonders. Or just Rebecca Adams

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Weavers are subtle, magical creatures. In theory you can find weavers anywhere that there is some sort of life. In practice they can be sadly rare.

Here on the island we have our agents of change – small but powerful entities who like to rearrange things. Often their intentions are mysterious to the point of seeming entirely random. To encounter them is to be altered.

If you encounter Rebecca Adams you are likely to experience change, although she does not seem to be an agent of change herself. The transformations she brings about are so subtle that it has taken a while for anyone to really notice what she’s been doing. People who spend a lot of time with her, especially people who sit with her when she is making cloth, are altered.

At the moment we’re seeing a considerable rise in magical ability on the island. This has happened since the fog became less oppressive. Rebecca seems to be a particular node for new magic, with those who come into close contact with her becoming more obviously magical themselves.

That Rebecca makes weavings out of fibres of course makes it tempting to think she might also be the other sort of weaver. Having spoken at length with occultists and folklorists on the island, I am not much the wiser. Of course all such magically inclined residents are aware of the stories about weavers, but none admit to having knowingly encountered one. Still, it is a delightful thing to watch Rebecca at work, and to feel the soft rhythms of her creating wash gently over your soul, and stir parts of you that previously you had not even been aware of.

Hopeless inhabitants

Dominic Wolfgang Wallace has been volunteered

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This year, the volunteering committee has decided that henceforth, lots should be drawn publicly rather than the usual, private procedure favoured in previous years. This comes after a mistake that resulted in Dominic Wolfgang Wallace being unable to carry out his volunteer duties at the last full moon.

This may have been a genuine error, but somehow Dominic’s lot was drawn for three separate extremely hazardous volunteering jobs, and his attendance of the underwater breathing apparatus test meeting got in the way of his being able to go on vampire patrol, and also left him bereft of an opportunity to attend a recent cliff-top cultist meeting.

Obviously no enterprising young islander would want to have their options so sorely limited. Who knows how long it might be before the cultists next seek a ‘volunteer’?

So, rather than having to wait for that knock at the door, or the letter of summons, we’re all going to meet on the village green every Friday to draw lots in public. Some of you may be surprised to learn that we even have a village green. Apparently it used to be so foggy that you could hardly see it, but it is quite visible in the swirling mist that now fills it.

Meanwhile, Dominic has been volunteered to make sure everyone knows about the change to the system.

(Wolfgang was volunteered for this post by Jennifer Lewis-Auger)

Hopeless inhabitants

Edward and the bones

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While most dogs, given half a chance, will dig up bones, Edward does not. This turns out to be an exceptionally useful skill that islanders will enjoy making use of.

Dead people have been our major import for longer than I care to think about. We have a long and noble tradition of taking the victims of the sea and giving them decent burials. Admittedly that’s always after we’ve carefully gone through their pockets, for evidence of their identities and anything else they might have no further use for.

As a consequence of having so many people to bury, the island graveyards are packed. The thin soil in the graveyards means previous burials are never that far beneath the surface. No one wants to use decent, farmable soil for planting the dead, while much of the island is either far too lightly soiled, or far too boggy.

This has resulted in many unpleasant incidents of accidentally digging someone up while trying to bury a new arrival. Some of our deceased islanders strenuously object to being unearthed, while others are simply unpleasant.

Edward, for reasons best known to himself, has a deep aversion to digging up bones. He does however, very much enjoy digging. Take him into a cemetery and he will cheerfully dig a hole that you can count on not to have any bones in it. By this means, usable grave sites can be identified.

It’s quite possible that Edward is looking for something. We have no idea what, except that it isn’t human bones, and he thinks it might be in one of our many graveyards.  This will probably be fine. Probably. There’s no reason for alarm about the idea of a dog on a mission, driven by motives we cannot begin to imagine.

(Thanks to Russel Allison-Hinton for the photo. Story by Nimue.)

Hopeless inhabitants

Thorne the witch

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(By Steven C Davis)

Thorne the witch
On the isle of Nevermore.
Nevermore the pain
Of Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Forest child, run wild.
Forest bride, dead inside.
On Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Ice-hearted bitch
Who wouldn’t love her man
A man chosen for her.
Destined to hang
On Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Too inconvenient a child
Too deep her thoughts
Too loud her heart
On Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Never would be free
So she turned into a tree
On Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Whatever the weather
In fog or in mist.
She’ll never be missed
By those who betrayed her
In Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch
Guards the fields now
Looking for those who did her wrong
And her limbs are as strong
As an ancient tree
On Hopeless, Maine.

Thorne the witch.
Wanted a home
But stands alone
In Hopeless, Maine.

(Text by Steven c Davis, image by Nimue Brown)

Hopeless inhabitants

Captain Macko Castleton

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After some recent experiments, it’s becoming apparent that leaving the island is much more feasible than it used to be. Parties have successfully reached The Devil’s Fingers on numerous occasions now – only to turn straight back because there’s nothing out there except seaweed and angry birds.

Intrepid explorers have now successfully reached other nearby islands. Bloodly Useless is described as a big, slippery rock with absolutely nothing to recommend it. Mermaid Island does indeed have a large mermaid population, so no one disembarked there.

In light of these exciting discoveries, Captain Macko Castleton suggests that we revive piracy. “It’s a good old tradition,” he told the Vendetta, “and I think it’s really important that we keep our folk customs alive. They give a community a real sense of coherence.”

The island’s folklorists have been wholly supportive of this plan and are also investigating the possibility of starting up some smuggling rings. What exactly we could hope to smuggle from where is an interesting question, and if this is to be of any fun at all we’d really need someone to oppose it in some way. Discussions continue.

Meanwhile, Captain Macko has re-purposed one of the larger fishing boats for piracy and is looking to recruit a crew. You don’t have to make a full time commitment as the intention is to live on the island most of the time and go pirating when the weather isn’t too bad.

Captain Macko said, “I reckon the trick will be to get to ships before they wreck on the rocks, we’d get far more stuff off them that way and it wouldn’t all be so wet. We might not get so many people drowning, too.”

I pointed out to him that this sounded more like having a lifeboat than like piracy, but he assured me that the important bit was nicking people’s gear, and that the benevolent bit would just be a side effect of that.

Cosplay by Max Rueda, story by Nimue.

Hopeless inhabitants

Tristania

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(Story by Steven C Davis, image by Nimue Brown)

Little Tristania Moongloss thought she was a ghost.

Everywhere she went, whether it was those fog-shrouded streets she loved so well, or the fog-shrouded hillsides and even the fog-shrouded sea shores, no one ever saw her.

She would practice her dancing – particularly her pirouetting for she loved that – on every different kind of surface she could find. She was never shouted at for dancing on people’s roofs. Spoon-walkers skittered past her, even when she balanced a teaspoon on the end of her nose. She would stroke dogs, and caress the skinny rats that sometimes lived in stinky houses in Guttermore Lane, and they would all shift and whine and stare around as if they couldn’t see her.

Over time, little Tristania Moongloss did not grow up, though she grew colder and sadder. All she wanted was an audience, a friend, even a creature that would curl up beside her and give her warmth. She still performed, she still pirouetted and carried out her little dances, but they became fragmented, shorter, bitter; they left her feeling not so good as they once had.

At last, one day, little Tristania Moongloss lay down and died.

She rose the next day, truly, as a ghost.

People still paid her no heed, but now, at last, she could dance and pirouette upon the waves that battered the shore of Hopeless, Maine. She danced and pirouetted through the clouds, causing them to rain more, causing the fog and mist to fall heavier, to weave thicker.

She danced, and was happy, and the world ignored her for she was an orphan ghost.

)

Hopeless inhabitants

Hernessa, protector of small , furry creatures that squeak

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In the last few days there have been multiple reports of Hernessa sightings in the woods to the south of the Gyddynap Hills. Several paths now have warning skulls placed clearly upon them. If you see a skull in your path it is strongly recommended that you turn around and go back to wherever you came from.

Hernessa has not been seen for some years, and like most of our active, dangerous folklore, is much debated as an issue. As a longstanding commentator on island issues I am confident that this entity truly exists, unlike The Tablecloth Man and Twitching Bob for whom no actual evidence has evern been found. Whether Hernessa is a non-human entity, or some role or curse passed down from one human generation to the next is unclear.

Hernessa protects the wild places, and is most particularly involved with small furry creatures that squeak. I’ve been trying to persuade people for some years now that it would be more accurate to describe them as murder shrews, but we still seem to be using the long name. Small furry creatures that squeak are fairly harmless on their own, but at certain times amass into large hunting packs. Hernessa’s role in this is unclear, but Hernessa sightings generally tally with evidence of murder shrew hunting packs.

For the time being, stay out of the woods. Stay out of the woods more than you were doing a few weeks ago when we had sightings of The Little Drummer Boy. Really, really stay out of the woods.

I know there are rumours that it is in in fact Steven C Davis who has summoned Hernessa, and it certainly wouldn’t be out of character for him to try. I remain unconvinced that summoning terrifying elder gods is a good answer to the problems caused by the presence of other terrifying elder gods, but no one ever listens to me when it comes to matters of religion, or science, or folklore. I do sometimes wonder why I keep trying to write informative pieces that may save lives. It is the triumph of hope over experience, certainly.

(Cosplay by Helen Cordingley, story by Nimue)

Hopeless inhabitants

Pirate legends

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Legend has it that the Jones family of Hopeless, Maine became a founding family by dint of shipwrecking as a pirate crew. They were a Welsh crew, and every last one of them had the surname of Jones.

Welsh pirates were of course a source of great alarm during the peak of piratical activities, and were widely feared for their aggressive use of piano accordions.

It is widely speculated that, given the fearsome reputation of Welsh pirates, many especially fierce pirates were assumed to be Welsh, while any would-be pirates who had so much as been to Wales for a visit often claimed that identity. Infamous pirate captain Gurdybird Jones is said to have hailed from the south west of England. For purposes of Hopeless mythology, that apparently also counts as Wales.

Rather than using accordions to strike fear into the hearts of her victims, Gurdybird favoured the eerie tones of the hurdygurdy and had a reputation for appearing through the mist, ancient dance tunes blazing as she set upon unsuspecting vessels. Many surrendered at once and it was thus rare that any of her crew had to go so far as to set fire to their own beards.

It may well have been that fondness for mist which drew them to their fateful collision with the island. Hopeless has long been shrouded in fog, and not reliably mentioned on maps of the area – people who find it seldom being able to leave again. The sheer weight of gold in the hold of the ship caused it to sink quickly, with a great deal of treasure being lost beneath the waves.

If you have ever caught sight of a sea monster wearing a crown as a bracelet on one of its tentacles, this is probably the cause.

The Jones pirates settled on the island and thrived here, no doubt assisted by their fondness for mist and their willingness to make alcohol out of absolutely anything.

You can find Gurdybird over here – GurdyBird

Hopeless inhabitants

A New Crow Queen

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There are many possible early signs that a person may be turning into a Crow Queen. Cawing, and scavenging on the beach are especially suspicious when both occur at the same time. Sprouting feathers is highly indicative.

Sprouting remains a complex business affecting many of us in different ways. What emerges through the skin may turn into tendrils, feathery leaves or seaweed rather than actual feathers. We’ve all seen that happen enough times. People are very much like plants in that you cannot trust what happens in the early sprouting phase to indicate what will later appear.

We can now be confident that Jennifer is indeed sprouting feathers, and that she is therefore well under way to becoming a crow queen. The degree to which this process will drive her mad remains to be seen, but at present she remains very much in her wits, and only caws at other crows.

Should you see her while you are out and about, I strongly recommend giving her something shiny. Giving gifts to crow queens is said to bring good fortune. As I hope we now all understand after last summer’s events, happy crow queens make for happy islanders. Well, if not happy, at least possessed of their usual number of eyeballs.

(Cosplay by Jennifer Lewis-Auger, story by Nimue)

Hopeless inhabitants

The bemusing life of Petunia Jones

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Uncle Petunia Jones exists largely as a skull, occasionally making pronouncements from the mantlepiece. Uncle Petunia has identified as a skull for some years now.

Aunt Petunia Jones continues much as ever, dishing out wisdom and judgement alike in a much more mobile sort of way.

You will of course never see them in the same place at the same time, but according to Aunt Petunia, it’s always been that way, apparently even as children you would only ever encounter one of them. They prefer to take it in turns, she says, and he was always on the antisocial side anyway.

(Cosplay by Cat Strauss, story concept by James Weaslegrease, actual writing bit by Nimue.)