Fitting a hermit into a graveyard was not easy. Well, not literally; it's very easy to fit hermits into graveyards literally, and they're often undernourished so they don't even try to dig their way out very much. They definitely don't get very far if they do. But. Anyway, enough about hermits and graveyards. Story time!
The hermit “And last,” said Ethel nodding and still grinning. “I have the luxury of being surrounded by quick learners! So, here we are in a… graveyard. How strange to find an Inspectral here!” “Your sense of humour is drier than my bones,” said the Inspectral, his cool voice a bleak counterpoint to Ethel’s booming cheerfulness. “We think that skulls have been taken from these graves; we;’ve found seven so far on Moreton Beach. They were creating poltergeist activity.” “Think?” “Well, SOCO are busy with a car crash apparently, but even so… we’ll probably need—” “-to dig everything up to be sure. Got you. So given these look like war graves the decorations here probably weren’t original, right? And so we need to see what’s gone on here. Aha, aha. So you called me!” Ethel looked like a small child who’d just been handed an entire chocolate cake and told it was all for them. “I’m pretty sure someone else called you,” said the Inspectral. “In fact, I’m absolutely certain I didn’t ask for you. I would have asked for an aged hermit with body odour, halitosis and glossolalia before I asked for you.” “But you’re glad you got me!” Ethel looked around him, and then moved a little way away from the graves. Collins watched him, alert to see if he appeared to be avoiding the graves, but though he never stepped on them it didn’t seem as though deliberate care was being taken. Ethel knelt down and produced a small penknife from his pocket and started cutting into the grass. “Silver blade,” said Adams quietly. She’d sidled up to Collins while he was watching Ethel. “The knife itself is called an athame,” – she pronounced it with three syllables and Collins turned the strange word over in his mind, wondering where it came from – “and it’s used to establish a transient connection between the earth and the RE himself.” “The RE,” whispered Collins. “Is he… well, vital?” “It’s very rude to ask that,” whispered Adams back. “Would you like it if people started speculating on your lifestatus?” The Ritual Examiner put the knife back into his pocket, wiping crumbs of dry dirt from it first, and then pushed his fingers into the ground where he’d been cutting. Seconds of silence dragged on, and Collins felt a tickle at the back of his throat as though he needed to cough. Thinking about it, noticing it, made it worse, and he swallowed a couple of times, trying not to let it get the better of him. Just when he was sure that he was going to either cough or start choking the RE pulled his fingers out of the ground. “And breathe!” he said happily, and Collins practically gasped for air. Coughs shook his shoulders, and Ethel looked mildly concerned. “Are you ok, old chap?” he said. Collins nodded, now purple in the face and bent over, and waved a hand trying to indicate that the RE should carry on. “Fine, well, if you die I’m sure we can find you a spot here – it would be extremely convenient of you. Efficient, and we do like efficiency in the police department!” He looked at the Inspectral, who might have been smiling. “This isn’t good, Harold,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it in private?”
2 comments:
Fitting a hermit into a graveyard was not easy. Well, not literally; it's very easy to fit hermits into graveyards literally, and they're often undernourished so they don't even try to dig their way out very much. They definitely don't get very far if they do.
But. Anyway, enough about hermits and graveyards. Story time!
The hermit
“And last,” said Ethel nodding and still grinning. “I have the luxury of being surrounded by quick learners! So, here we are in a… graveyard. How strange to find an Inspectral here!”
“Your sense of humour is drier than my bones,” said the Inspectral, his cool voice a bleak counterpoint to Ethel’s booming cheerfulness. “We think that skulls have been taken from these graves; we;’ve found seven so far on Moreton Beach. They were creating poltergeist activity.”
“Think?”
“Well, SOCO are busy with a car crash apparently, but even so… we’ll probably need—”
“-to dig everything up to be sure. Got you. So given these look like war graves the decorations here probably weren’t original, right? And so we need to see what’s gone on here. Aha, aha. So you called me!” Ethel looked like a small child who’d just been handed an entire chocolate cake and told it was all for them.
“I’m pretty sure someone else called you,” said the Inspectral. “In fact, I’m absolutely certain I didn’t ask for you. I would have asked for an aged hermit with body odour, halitosis and glossolalia before I asked for you.”
“But you’re glad you got me!” Ethel looked around him, and then moved a little way away from the graves. Collins watched him, alert to see if he appeared to be avoiding the graves, but though he never stepped on them it didn’t seem as though deliberate care was being taken. Ethel knelt down and produced a small penknife from his pocket and started cutting into the grass.
“Silver blade,” said Adams quietly. She’d sidled up to Collins while he was watching Ethel. “The knife itself is called an athame,” – she pronounced it with three syllables and Collins turned the strange word over in his mind, wondering where it came from – “and it’s used to establish a transient connection between the earth and the RE himself.”
“The RE,” whispered Collins. “Is he… well, vital?”
“It’s very rude to ask that,” whispered Adams back. “Would you like it if people started speculating on your lifestatus?”
The Ritual Examiner put the knife back into his pocket, wiping crumbs of dry dirt from it first, and then pushed his fingers into the ground where he’d been cutting. Seconds of silence dragged on, and Collins felt a tickle at the back of his throat as though he needed to cough. Thinking about it, noticing it, made it worse, and he swallowed a couple of times, trying not to let it get the better of him. Just when he was sure that he was going to either cough or start choking the RE pulled his fingers out of the ground.
“And breathe!” he said happily, and Collins practically gasped for air. Coughs shook his shoulders, and Ethel looked mildly concerned.
“Are you ok, old chap?” he said. Collins nodded, now purple in the face and bent over, and waved a hand trying to indicate that the RE should carry on. “Fine, well, if you die I’m sure we can find you a spot here – it would be extremely convenient of you. Efficient, and we do like efficiency in the police department!” He looked at the Inspectral, who might have been smiling. “This isn’t good, Harold,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it in private?”
Greg - hah, sorry about this one. Glad you managed to deal with it though!
Harold! That was unexpected :P
Also: I really like Ethel. That is... less unexpected :)
Also, also: Collins continues to be a treat.
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