I am still slightly concerned from the recent choice of prompts that your new house is built on ancient Indian burial grounds and you're having a lot of poltergeist activity....
Tormentor “Who is Timothy?” asked Collins. The sight of the PFE unnerved him a lot, and though she was now walking ahead of him and looked entirely human again from the back, he was sweating at the thought she might turn around at any moment and try and eat his face off. “Timothy’s a scent-tracker,” said the PFE. “A good one.” “A bloodhound? Or a w-werewolf?” Collins tried hard to keep his voice level, even joking, but he struggled to get the last word out just in case the PFE turned round --please don’t let her turn round again-- and told him it wasn’t a joke.” “A Radiant Hound,” said the PFE. She, at least, sounded cheerful. “What’s one of them?” The turned a corner at the bottom of the stairs into a bare concrete corridor lit by naked lightbulbs on tired yellowed flex. “A dog that got caught in the Radiance?” “You don’t know?” the PFE stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “What did they teach you at school? Maths and English?” “Well yes,” said Collins. “And Home Economics actually. We made apple crumble every week for a year. But I’m from one of the blasted towns.” “Oh. Oh!” The PFE started walking again. “That explains a lot then. OK, well Timothy is a Garmr,” she rolled the r’s sounding almost as though she was growling, “that was… brought forward by the Radiance. That word’s not that easy to pronounce for many people, and the newspapers started calling them Radiant Hounds and the name stuck. They are, or maybe were, dogs associated with the Wild Hunt and the old stories have it that when they get the scent of something they can track it down no matter where it hides. There are some who call them Tormentors, but that’s not what the old tales describe. That’s, well modern propaganda I suppose. Timothy should be in here.” She stopped and tried a door-handle; it refused to turn so she knocked. There was the grate and rattle of an inspection panel being drawn back and then closed again, and then the door opened, swinging outwards and making them both take a step back. “We’ve come for Timothy,” said the PFE pleasantly. “The Desk Sergeant has allowed us half an hour and no walkies.” Inside the room was the ghostly officer that had talked to Collins in the locker room. He looked up and smiled at both of them. “Timothy!” he said, his voice stern and commanding. Somewhere deeper in the room, past where Collins could see to, something woofed. The sound echoed. “I’ll probably note down that you came and collected him in fifteen minutes or so,” said the ghost officer. “I’m quite busy at the moment, as you can see.” He set the book he’d been reading down on his desk, and Collins looked at the title reflexively: Heretics of Oxcross. “You find all sorts of things in the local history section in the library.” “The Inspectral will be sure to be grateful,” said the PFE. “Come on Timothy! Let’s go see Uncle Harold!”
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I am still slightly concerned from the recent choice of prompts that your new house is built on ancient Indian burial grounds and you're having a lot of poltergeist activity....
Tormentor
“Who is Timothy?” asked Collins. The sight of the PFE unnerved him a lot, and though she was now walking ahead of him and looked entirely human again from the back, he was sweating at the thought she might turn around at any moment and try and eat his face off.
“Timothy’s a scent-tracker,” said the PFE. “A good one.”
“A bloodhound? Or a w-werewolf?” Collins tried hard to keep his voice level, even joking, but he struggled to get the last word out just in case the PFE turned round --please don’t let her turn round again-- and told him it wasn’t a joke.”
“A Radiant Hound,” said the PFE. She, at least, sounded cheerful.
“What’s one of them?” The turned a corner at the bottom of the stairs into a bare concrete corridor lit by naked lightbulbs on tired yellowed flex. “A dog that got caught in the Radiance?”
“You don’t know?” the PFE stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “What did they teach you at school? Maths and English?”
“Well yes,” said Collins. “And Home Economics actually. We made apple crumble every week for a year. But I’m from one of the blasted towns.”
“Oh. Oh!” The PFE started walking again. “That explains a lot then. OK, well Timothy is a Garmr,” she rolled the r’s sounding almost as though she was growling, “that was… brought forward by the Radiance. That word’s not that easy to pronounce for many people, and the newspapers started calling them Radiant Hounds and the name stuck. They are, or maybe were, dogs associated with the Wild Hunt and the old stories have it that when they get the scent of something they can track it down no matter where it hides. There are some who call them Tormentors, but that’s not what the old tales describe. That’s, well modern propaganda I suppose. Timothy should be in here.” She stopped and tried a door-handle; it refused to turn so she knocked. There was the grate and rattle of an inspection panel being drawn back and then closed again, and then the door opened, swinging outwards and making them both take a step back.
“We’ve come for Timothy,” said the PFE pleasantly. “The Desk Sergeant has allowed us half an hour and no walkies.”
Inside the room was the ghostly officer that had talked to Collins in the locker room. He looked up and smiled at both of them. “Timothy!” he said, his voice stern and commanding. Somewhere deeper in the room, past where Collins could see to, something woofed. The sound echoed. “I’ll probably note down that you came and collected him in fifteen minutes or so,” said the ghost officer. “I’m quite busy at the moment, as you can see.” He set the book he’d been reading down on his desk, and Collins looked at the title reflexively: Heretics of Oxcross. “You find all sorts of things in the local history section in the library.”
“The Inspectral will be sure to be grateful,” said the PFE. “Come on Timothy! Let’s go see Uncle Harold!”
Greg - eh, that's between us and the angry spirits :P
I am quite looking forward to meeting Timothy properly. I'm sure Collins will be very fond of him!
Also: 'no walkies' cracks me up.
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