It happened one night at the playing of ball, when a young man caught a female admirer's fancy. Though he'd not seen a more lovely woman, or this one before, he straightaway felt her love wash over him as if in a dream, intoxicating and berefting him of his senses. Still, as she invited him a short way down the road to view her father's garden, he felt something indefinable, unnamable, tugging at his very soul, crying out to him that he not go. But alas, she professed that he was the boy she loved best, and if he were only to come, she would give her love to him this very night. So it was that he followed her away from the village as she danced ahead in the twilight, first appearing and then disappearing down the road as if by magic. Like an apparition did she lead him onward to a roadside home he'd long before seen but never in such condition. While it appeared a ruin to his eyes on all days but this, walls falling, chimney crumbled, weeds reclaiming it, the abode now stood in good condition, candles glowing in the windows, the walls mended, and a garden overflowing with flowers. He stood a moment dumbfounded as she swept past the gate into the garden, and there did something odd occur.
A boy his own age, but whom he'd never before seen or even heard approach, stepped from within the woods by the road, all earnest compassion and concern upon his face. With a manner of clothing some years passed and a look of innocence rent asunder, he beckoned the young man to him. There he said with utmost insistence that naught but ruin and misfortune would find him were he to enter the lady's garden, for though her love was true, there was another whose fury was truer, and only one would be the victor in a battle of hearts tonight, and he it would not be. This point the boy was most clear on, a look of pain flitting about his face at the thought. Nonetheless, a fragrance of such promising love floated to him from beyond the walls that he heeded not the boy's warning, and in truth the fellow had disappeared as if he'd never been. With a heart full of desire, he strode into the garden.
There amongst the blooming flowers and streaming sunrays sat the girl of his fancy, all love in her eyes, her bodice half undone. He stepped forward to enfold her in his arms when from behind a bush sprang a shimmering figure of menace and despair. Eyes of rage flashed upon him from the dark shade as the sun gleamed upon a silver blade. 'Not with my daughter' howled the spirit as it lunged. It was then that the most frightful thing came upon him, for as he stood impaled by horror, a presence seemed to fill his being and assume control, urging his terror stricken legs back and away faster than mortal legs would fly. A shriek rang out from the girl as the father howled and came onward, but he fled to the road unwilling but thankful all the same. It was there that controlled was returned to him and he turned to the gateway with a gasp. There the father lunged across the threshold toward him and simply vanished. Startled, the young man looked about him and saw the boy at his shoulder, relieved and happy, for as much as he walked only when the silvery moons were high, this one would enjoy the days of sunlight still.
It was only then as the young man looked upon the house that he once again saw the ruin he'd always known. No flames burned in the windows, no flowers fragranced the air, and the now crumbled walls revealed a garden empty of all promise. The girl, if she had even been, was gone. He turned to thank his savior, but the boy, too, had disappeared.
In traveling across the land, there is sometimes great danger, and though most of these hazards have always been known to us, it is only of late that we've known things from beyond the grave may lie upon our path. Lest you think that such dangers only occur here on land, know that on the sea, too, they await. The Ghost Ship of Jonn is more feared than even the pirates of Avaway or the Katan Fleet, for one cannot reason with the dead - not when what they want is far dearer to them than your life.
Jonn and his brother were pirate captains who shared their plots, their plans, and their treasures plundered from other ships, always working together as their twin ships descended upon their victims. But when Jonn learned of an especially wealthy ship loaded down with gold and other treasures, he decided it was time for this partnership to end. So it was that he and his crew set sail from Brothers Isle in the cover of darkness, never knowing that his kin had learned of the scheme and followed across the sea. When Jonn captured the prized vessel, he took the treasures and killed the crew as was their custom, then sailed away, leaving the ship adrift with its dead. His joy was not long to last, however, for his brother came on with vengeance filling his sails. The grappling hooks flew beside arrows as the vessel and crew were caught fast in the grip of death. While Jonn knew his brother would be angry, he didn't expect the murderous rage flying. The men were cut down one by one and thrown dead into the sea, a fire lighting the ship in the night as the treasure was looted. Jonn was captured and tied helpless to the mast of his brother's ship as his own vessel roared first in flames, and then in a swell of water that consumed it as it sank beneath the waves. His brother's twisted laughter did little to calm him as they sailed on. Just before dawn, they stopped on a sandy beach.
There, on an island, his brother set in motion a terrible thing. Believing a ghost would prevent anyone from obtaining his prize, he buried it in the sand and turned on his brother. Jonn was dealt with like a traitor, beheaded by a blow from his brother's sword. His blood was poured over the buried treasure, his body thrown into the sea, and his head placed on a pike on the prow of his brother's ship. This way, when Jonn's ghost saw his own visage approach, he would let those aboard land safely when only horror would meet all others. After all, he could never find peace until some part of him was buried, and with his head being all that remained and in the possession of his brother, his soul was at their mercy. His brother then set sail with not a moment of regret, but this was not to last long.
No one knows how much time passed before a ship finally landed on that dreadful shore, or even what truly happened, for the first account of something unholy on the seas came from a half-mad sailor. It seems his ship and crew were becalmed one dark night, resting quietly on the peaceful ocean, not a breeze to be found to stir their sails. The moonlight glistened on the mirror like ocean, the scene as still as a painting. Then the lookout cried out that a ship was approaching, its sails filled with a wind that touched them not. Not grasping how this could be, understanding dawned in the most terrible of ways as the ship neared, for standing upon its deck, watching from its yard arms, and steering it through the night were all manner of things from beyond the grave. Sightless eyes stared greedily at them, a ghost of fearsome hate whispering orders to his crew, the voice somehow slithering all the way to their ears and down their spines. The ship came on inexorably, and the cries of fear were echoed by howls of hate from across the sea. The living dead in all their forms came upon the ship that, though becalmed, knew naught but terror. One sailor, and only one, flung himself into the still sea to escape, for though you may think it strange, many a sailor cannot swim. It was to be their doom as much as Jonn, for he took their souls to be his own and left the ship adrift in the night as he sailed away into the darkness, searching for his revenge still. Tales of such abandoned ships, the crew dead with not a mark upon them, soon sailed through port towns on a crest of fear, dashing the peace of those upon land as much as those who took to the waves, perhaps never to be heard from again.
Lest you believe you are safe from them ashore, know that they have come to port before. Rumor has it the ship sailed straightaway over the land, slicing through the earth like the sea from which it came, felling the life before its prow like a scythe through wheat. On the winds of vengeance did Jonn seek his brother in a brothel known to both, and all who were cavorting that night perished as the undead swept into the port town. Only the sun rose the next morning, for all else lay still and sleeping forever more.
When Jonn's brother learned of these events, he rightly feared for his very soul and fled far. Some say he sought the treasure of Jonn and then sailed to a far away land, but few believe him brave enough to return to that isle, wherever it may lie. Who knows what horrors await in Jonn's place, for surely he'd not let anyone have the prize for which he was damned. The ghost ship has sailed onward since, always searching, always sailing, always stealing souls. There is only one pirate who seeks such a treasure, for he has no use for the other. Though his brother has likely left this world long ago, Jonn will not be vanquished beneath sea or land till vengeance is his, even if this is beyond his ghostly reach. And there is, of course, the matter of his missing skull.
You may be far from the seas here, but not so far as you think, for though the living cannot traverse the barren land north or the great chasm, such things will not stop the dead. Perhaps the ghost ship has come ashore once again. They could be coming here even now, and what will we do then, trapped between them to our north and those lurking in the woods to the south?
The story of the hanged nobleman was what got everyone's attention on hauntings in general, but what turned that attention to the woods was an incident just a few months later.
It happened just south of the lake, which has always been rumored to be a barrier between the spirits and those of the city. It seems that one of the rangers had heard some strange things while hunting in the woods, and after feeling like he was being watched and finally losing his nerve, he started home and returned early at dusk one day. He was a religious man by all accounts, but superstitious and distrustful of the supernatural like many in those parts. Having just escaped what was in his mind a fate of supernatural horror, he was quite upset upon discovering his wife's apparent activities at home.
None know for sure what she was really doing with the pot over the fire, the various herbs spread about on the table, the candles, the chalk marks upon the floor, or the open book from which she was reading aloud, but her husband took one look at her long disheveled hair, the loose gown she wore, and a holy medallion around her neck that he forbade her to wear on the grounds that all talismans are evil, and flew into a rage. He pulled his sword from its sheath as he stormed into the small cabin.
She must have been terrified by the sight of him coming for her, his sword swinging toward her throat. He half sliced her head from her neck on the first blow and she fell without a sound, whereupon he struck her neck twice more, viciously, to behead her, believing this the easiest way to stop a necromancer or witch from ever acting again. He then grabbed her head by the hair and threw it into the fire as he dragged her headless corpse from the cabin. He took her for some distance into the woods to dig a shallow, unmarked grave, where he left his dead wife and returned to the cabin.
It had now been hours since night had fallen, and what with his early rising, traveling and harrowing experiences, his weariness overcame him. The fire had gone out and he mistook the stench for whatever brew the witch had been concocting. The cabin was a single room, and he lay down to rest on the small bed opposite the fireplace.
Some time later, after midnight, he was roused by the sound of footsteps outside the cabin. They shuffled through the leaves to hesitate before the door, which it had not occurred to him to lock. The door opened slowly and evenly. He leaned up on one elbow in bed, and as the first footfall fell inside the cabin, realized his sword was across the room on the far side of the doorway. This must have been his last clear thought before he looked at the dark figure entering the cabin.
It was covered from neck to toe in dirt, which it left a trail of behind as it slowly moved into the room. The figure paid no attention to him, heading instead for the table where the book his wife had been reading earlier still lay open. This it ran one finger over as if tracing a passage before closing the book, tucking it under one arm, and turning to go. Upon passing the fireplace, it knelt down to seize the skull with its remaining bits of charred, black flesh. The figure then rose to its feet and with one hand placed its decapitated head back on its bloody neck. It then turned toward the door and started to leave. It was all of two paces from the doorway when he sat up more in bed.
The figure stopped suddenly with one hand on the open door, its head turning slowly to look at him as if realizing he was present for the first time. It then let go of the door and turned more fully to him, confirming his identity. It then stepped away from him to pick up something across the room, which he realized was his sword as the figure turned back and advanced upon him. He was too horrified to do more than stare with wide eyes as his own sword decapitated him.
None are sure what happened after this, as the seers who came to investigate could sense from the walls that this much had transpired here, but once the two corpses had left the cabin and disappeared south into the woods, the trail of information vanished. There was no sign of either body or the book she had taken. The bloody sword, the first clue that something had happened here, simply lay upon the floor.
Friends would later say that his wife was no witch or necromancer, but just a cook who preferred plants to the meat her husband brought home, and so harvested and prepared them when he was away. She did this in part because he was known to like only meat and bread and be intolerant of her tastes. She somewhat secretly worshiped the goddess of agriculture, the medallion she owned being this goddess' symbol, and the chalk marks just indications of what plants she had already added to her soup. While these friends didn't dispute her murder, they could never believe the story of her returning from the afterlife, despite the empty grave near the cabin and that neither was ever seen or heard from again.
Lest you think that all hauntings occur here or nearby, the tale of the Twisted Maple of Andar will make you think twice about fleeing elsewhere for safety. A man visiting friends there was given a first floor room at the back of an old house, where a wide window stood just feet from the bed. It gave a lovely view of a lawn stretching to a line of trees, where a peculiar maple with a twisted branch drew the eye. A path of loose stones passed under the window, and he left the drapes open so the bright moonlight filled the room. He had been asleep for some hours when a noise roused him. It was the sound of stones crunching as if being walked upon, growing louder and louder so that he fully expected to see an individual passing by outside. When one did not even as the sound clearly went by, his curiosity grew so that, moments later, when the foot-steps returned, he cautiously rose and peered through the glass. There was no movement whatsoever and certainly no one there, even while the crunching continued across. Unnerved, he returned to bed and lay pondering for some time. Though all was silent now, the window drew his attention still, and a chance look showed something he'd not soon forget. Across the field, a tall glowing figure in white was moving by the twisted maple. What it was doing he couldn't tell, but fear gripped him fast until it disappeared. Sleep was long in coming and he awoke tired the next morning.
He mentioned nothing of this to his hosts and went about his affairs, but on returning to the house a few hours before dinner, he decided to walk the grounds. He soon found himself across the field by the gnarled maple, quite calm now and certain he'd dreamed the whole affair. The ground was undisturbed and showed no signs of activity, and since the afternoon was warm and he had a short time left to him, he lay down beneath the tree to rest.
He must have fallen into a deep sleep, for full darkness had come when a peculiar cold roused him. His eyes opened to see the frightful figure of the previous night bending over him, a hideous countenance of glowing menace staring into his eyes. Terrified, he asked what it wanted, but the spirit merely searched the earth beside the tree in agitation before disappearing. The man quickly gathered his things and returned to the house, where he refused to stay in that room for another night, but he was unable to stifle his curiosity. One afternoon days later, he approached the twisted maple and began searching its base. There, barely visible and wedged in a crack in the tree's trunk, was a small golden key, which he retrieved after much prying.
That night, against his better judgment, he once again slept in the room overlooking the field, the key on the night table beside him. There was no plan to his affairs, only a longing to understand, but when the footsteps sounded outside as before, no answer came. The walker was unseen, passing by unmindful of the key, if indeed this was known to be present. The man rose from the bed and stood before the window, key in hand, thinking to lay it upon the sill, when the spirit appeared beneath the twisted maple, again searching. It must have been the sound of the window sliding open that drew its attention, for only a moment passed when it noticed him raising the key in the air. The ghost snapped to attention, whirling towards him with breathtaking, menacing speed to stand beyond the window frame. Startled motionless, he stood staring as it slowly opened one palm to him as if the key was to be laid there, and this he did, trembling. The ghost looked at it triumphantly, slender fingers closing upon it fast. With nary a nod of thanks, it then walked away, the stones crunching beneath its feet. It was not seen again thereafter, and he believed that for whatever reason, the spirit could not find what it sought without help, or pry it loose, or otherwise touch this earthly world save for walking upon it, but what it wanted an earthly key for, and why it could touch that and nothing else, he would never know.