Tag Archives: archaeology

Ash Peterson – the end of history

By Frampton Jones

Our resident historian Ash Peterson was found dead last night in a scene that can only be described as uncanny. Ash had been digging in the Norse burial mounds looking for insights into the lives of some of the island’s earliest inhabitants. I know technically that’s archaeology, but we’re short of written records. Ghosts associated with the mounds told me that they had discouraged this, but to no avail.

“The trouble is,” Olaf Svenson, deceased, told me, “People expect ghosts to tell them to leave, so they don’t take our warnings seriously. Often we’re only trying to help!”  There were assorted wails from other ghosts of what I can only assume were agreement. “It’s hard for us keeping up to date,” he said.  “I’ve gone to a lot of effort to keep my words  modern so that I can warn people, but no one takes me seriously! What is with you people?”

Closer inspection of the burial mound suggests that it had never been a place for the human dead, but was a prison made of metal and magical signs, covered over with stone, and grown grassy with time. This is a lot easier to tell now that it has been opened up! The metal showed signs of strange, rasping activity as though something had been trying to gnaw or cut its way out. There were similar marks on our departed historian’s body, only they were much bloodier and deeper. For reasons we may never properly understand, an array of ancient looking items were left in a careful circle around him.

My assumption is that some ancient evil, some unspeakable eldritch horror imprisoned successfully by our Norse ancestors, has now been released onto the island. We can no doubt expect more carnage.  I was unable to get a comment from occult expert Durosimi O’Stoat, but he did go so far as to laugh unpleasantly at me when I was leaving the scene. It is not an optimistic interpretation of these events.

This morning, Doc Willoughby entered the circle of objects to examine the body. While his scalp fizzed somewhat, there were no other discernible effects. He ascribes the death to food poisoning, most likely from ill advised mushroom foraging. He then started humming and swaying in a manner I found most peculiar.

This may well be the end of History on the island. It’s always been a problematic subject, but clearly the risks are higher than anyone suspected. The past is a dangerous place, and anyone hopeful for a future should probably try and avoid 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?