The Dolocher

by European P. Douglas

  Chapter 19

  The candles in the tavern were lit in patterns, leaving gaps so that the collected light remained low. They had been reignited with flames from the bonfire on the street corner that blazed in honour of the great festival of Halloween. This year, it was very subdued on the streets; some people felt that it was in bad taste to dress up as animals when the Dolocher was roaming the streets, and others were too frightened to go out after dark for that same reason. Some did dress up and go about the night as they did every year; some of the students from Trinity College even dressed as what they considered the Dolocher would look like. In this tavern in the Liberties, there was no one so garish, and the men who gathered there drank and spoke in low voices out of respect for the dead.

  “Tell us one about Halloween, Cleaves,” someone said, and all eyes went to the table where Cleaves, Mullins and another tradesman sat. When he didn’t protest, people began to come over, the wooden chairs scratching on the floor as they all gathered around.

  Mullins looked at Cleaves and watched him as he looked about the crowd, trying to create the atmosphere that he wanted before starting. Mullins had seen this many times over the years. Silence grew, and Cleaves let it grow before he said anything. Mullins could feel his own apprehension growing even though he knew what was probably coming—such was the dark silence of the room.

  “Samhain is what the ancient Celts called this special holiday, where the dead walked among the living,” Cleaves, began seriously. “The druids would be able to tell people's fortunes better on this night than on any other. The people would dress up using animal heads and hides to blend in with the walking dead amongst them.” Mullins was sure he was not alone now in thinking of the Dolocher when Cleaves said this.

  The room was quiet now, and the candle flickers showed the dappled shadows of these wild dead and alive creatures on the lighted walls. Mullins took a deep drink as he imagined the scenes all those years ago. “The bonfires were lit and houses were kept in darkness and then lit from the flames of the bonfires for luck. Animal sacrifices and, it is said, human sacrifices were often offered up to appease the gods and the dead.” No one was saying anything, but it could be felt in the room that though the people respected the festival of Halloween, they were not too interested in its history. What they had wanted from Cleaves was a ghost story set around Halloween, and Cleaves must have felt it too.

  “Enough of the history lesson, lads!” he said cheerfully. “Time for a little tale, I think?” He looked about the now-smiling and animated faces that lit up at the prospect. “This one happened a long time ago in central Europe,” he said, and then he told this tale:

  “Once, in the centre of Europe, there was an old castle near a small town. This castle had been abandoned for a very long time, and it was said that the noble family who once inhabited it were all murdered within its walls, and that the murderer was never found out or brought to justice. This happened so long ago that no one then living in the town had been alive at the time, and they had heard the story passed down from parents and grandparents over the decades. People would always say that the castle was haunted by the ghosts of the dead, and there were numerous sightings of ghostly figures walking about the grounds. Everyone was afraid of the place, and no one had been inside its walls for many, many years.

  “One day, a knight showed up on horseback, and he made no secret of his arrival. He challenged any man to any task to prove his worth and proclaimed his fearlessness. He told tales and stories of his adventures and his bravery to everyone in town. The people grew quickly tired of his bravado and antics, however, and men stopped answering his call. He soon heard about the castle, and he vowed to go into it and walk to the top of the stairs and plant a red spike to prove he had been up there.

  “This was enough to get the attention of the people again, and when the knight went in, they all gathered close enough to be able to see the entrance. They were all terrified that they would hear his terrible screams, but the draw of curiosity was simply too strong for them to stay away.

  “On his way to the castle, the knight bowed and smiled to the people as he passed. But he began to notice their fearful faces, and it seeped into his brain that maybe there was something in that castle to be afraid of. He did his best not to show his fear, and he could not refuse to do the task after all his boasting. He dismounted his horse, which refused to go nearer the castle, and he waved once more to the people before he went in through the heavy wooden door, which was ajar and warped from damp and wind over the years.

  “Inside, he could hear the echoes of water drips from all parts of the castle. It was cold inside, and webs covered the walls like wool tapestries. Some light came in from damage in the ceiling high above him, but it threw deeper gloom to places it did not light up. The air smelled of thick mould. He took the spike and mallet from his cloak, and he began to walk up the stone steps, which had been worn smooth by the wind over the years—or was it from the soft trippings of ghostly footsteps? As he did, he grew more afraid, and he was convinced he could hear someone moving around, but where the sound came from, he could not tell. Halfway up, from outside he heard his horse neigh and run, and the sound rattled around the hall and stairway and had him plunge his back to the wall and his hands rise to defend himself. His heart thundered, and he glanced back down from where he had come. He was more than halfway up the stairs now, but he was becoming more and more sure that there was something up there, moving around the landings, waiting for him. But he couldn’t go back down without completing his task. He went on one step at a time until he could lean forward and see around the corners at the stop of the stairs. He heard the noise that had been so scary to him, and when he looked and saw that it was a large tapestry on the wall, moving and scraping in the wind, he let out a sigh of relief, glancing the other way just to be sure that there was nothing there either. He sat down in relief and took a few deep breaths, and like you or I—when we have ourselves a little scare, we have a little chuckle at our own folly afterwards. He took his spike and placed it firmly at the centre of the top step of the stairs, and he struck it three times heavily with his mallet. The noise was deafening with the ringing of the metal on stone, and the spike stuck into the step. He was sure that everyone outside would have been able to hear the strikes. As he stood up to walk back down the stairs, he heard the noise of movement again, and then in terror he felt something grab hold of his cloak as he tried to walk away. He died of fright without ever turning to see what it was.

  “When he was in there a long time, the men of the town decided that they would go in as one to see what was going on. After amany attempts of going to the door and running away in fear, they finally went in. They found the knight frozen in terror as though he were in flight from the top of the stairs, but when they got to him, they saw his cloak spread out behind him and nailed with the red spike to the top step of the stone stairs.”

  The faces around the table broke into large smiles, and men looked at one another for reactions to the story, nodding their approval and winking at Cleaves, some telling him how good that one was and asking for a drink for him. Mullins had not heard that story himself before, and he thought it was a good one. He wondered where Cleaves constantly heard about all these things and how he remembered them all so well; he had asked before, but Cleaves just winked and tapped his nose and wouldn’t tell him.

  Happy with what they had received, some of the men asked for more, but Cleaves waved them away in his amicable way and promised more on another day. The group around the tables shuffled back to the other reaches of the tavern, and soon the place was as it would be on any other night of the week. Outside in the night, fires burned all over the city, and candles indoors were low; the city was darkest just outside the light and fear lurked behind the festivities.