Gnii in your garden

Gnii are shy and charming creatures.

 

At this time of the year, gnii suffer from the cold and damp, although the action of frost breaking up stones benefits them in the longer term. While some have tried to claim that they are an ill omen, gnii are gentle creatures, their bobbing lights charming at night, and their presence an essential part of the Founders Day celebrations.

Make sure the gnii in your garden are thriving. Put out your candle stubs for them and check that  there is exposed rock for them to feed on and play with.

Currently there are a flotilla of gnii feeding by the harbour. They appear to be using driftwood and seaweed, burning brightly and for short periods and falling dramatically from the sky like tiny shooting stars. I wonder if this is how the island looked before the advent of people, and candles.

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O’Stoat Sightings

 

Mellisandra and Durosimi O'Stoat

 

In the last week, there have been three separate sightings of the missing O’Stoats. Archibald Buckets claims to have seen them in the graveyard. Serendipity and Felicitations Jones both report seeing the pair walking at twilight on Hunger Hill. Jed Grimes tells me he woke in the night and saw Durosimi O’Stoat stood beneath his window, staring up at him.

Are these ghosts? Hauntings seem to be on the increase, so this is a possibility. Are they alive and in hiding? The weather has made any serious searching impossible. Given the horrific fate of their son Drustan, these two are not to be trusted, and if you see them, do not approach them on your own. They are very likely dangerous. Hopefully in time we will have opportunity to see justice served to this unnatural pair.

12th Night

 

12th Night revels

 

 
The evening was crisp with an unusually clear sky, which may be why we had one of the best 12th Night turnouts for many years. Torches and masks made a dramatic show as we paraded around the town centre, and the traditional dance was a great success. I know there are some who want to modernise the event with lively tunes, but the traditional, mournful dances and slow airs have a certain majesty that suits the dark time of the year.

Delays on the Bridge

 

Excavation site at dusk

 

Work to lay the foundations for Balthazar Lemon’s bridge to the mainland hit a setback. The small headland to the south of the harbour had been determined as the best spot, facing where our brightest thinkers understand the mainland to be. However, this small headland turned out not to be rock, as first imagined. Excavations to put down support posts revealed wood. Work on the bridge has stopped because all of those involved were far more interested in finding out what this buried wood is from, than in building the bridge. Your humble editor is not a man of science, but feels the future should take precedent over the past.
 
Man hours have been lost in digging up the sandbank. This work has revealed the remains of a ship. A large one, as far as can be ascertained, although the vast majority remains buried. Already tales are flying around, filling the wreck with imagined treasures. I would like to assure readers that based on my observations, the ship is filled with mud, slime and old seaweed.
 
Plans to lay the bridge foundations are delayed, but I have been assured the work will continue.
 

Seasonal Events

 

 
I trust that you all enjoyed a merry Christmas. The midnight mass was especially atmospheric this year, the wind around the church producing a sound uncannily like a child crying. Twenty graves have been dug to see us through the winter – a conservative estimate I fear. For the wellbeing of your community, do not undertake to die before the thaw, if you can possibly help it!

Released from the clay

Living bones
Living bones

Today Jasper Fingle appeared at my door, pale and obviously terrified. The bones of our ancestor have returned to his garden, and appear to be digging. I went to observe this for myself, and a crowd soon gathered at the scene. These disturbingly animate remains clearly have some intelligence guiding them. I watched the uncanny figure scraping soil with bare bone. Some of our local boys attempted to discourage it, but it proved as oblivious to clumps of dirt as to heckles. I returned later in the day to find the hole much enlarged. At dusk, our first ancestor pulled a second skeletal form from the ground. It was an eerie sight. How many more of them are there? And what will become of us if they are liberated? Will we all return to walk as bones in the fullness of time?

News for the residents of Hopeless, Maine.